Something heavy shuffled on the floor above, and Tara gave a little shriek and froze. Was it a fox, a cat or a stray dog? Or could it be Cousin Walter’s ghost walking the halls? After all, he had died alone, under miserable circumstances.
She was not sure if she could ever live at Braecaple, even if it was made good. There was something about the place that was unwelcoming, giving her the shivers. It screamed of despair and loneliness. The dragging sound came again, and Tara rushed outside and sucked in the fresh air, squeezing her eyes tightly shut to stem tears. She wished she had not come.
A harsh voice broke her out of her sorrow. ‘Looting, are we?’
Chapter Six
Tara’s heart lurched, and she opened her eyes to see two soldiers, bright against the grey of the day in their scarlet uniforms. They looked down on her from their horses with predatory looks on their faces.
‘I say again, woman. What are you about here?’ said one.
‘Nothing…I….this land is….,’ Tara could not find her voice. She was so afraid, and before she could speak further, one of the soldiers dismounted.
‘What? Cat got your tongue,’ he said as he came closer, revealing a rattish face and days-old stubble. He was unkempt and slovenly for a soldier. ‘There’s harsh punishments for stealing,’ he continued.
‘I was not stealing,’ she replied, the words shaken from a throat closed in fear. ‘My family owns this land and this house.’
‘You don’t say,’ said the soldier taking in her muddy skirts and dirty hands. His companion said nothing and did not move from his horse. ‘Well, we patrol these lands from time to time, and my recollection is that the drunken old fool who once lived in this rotten heap died some time back. So you look like a thief to me.’ He turned back to his companion. ‘Shall we drag the girl to Fort George, or just punish her here and now?’ he shouted.
His companion gave her a sickly smile which made Tara’s heart thud in her chest. The soldier stepped closer and grabbed her arm, jerking her towards him. His breath was sour - onions and ale - and Tara choked back revulsion.
‘I must tell you that I am a respectable lady, and you will take your hands off me immediately,’ she cried.
‘Don’t worry. You won’t be respectable for long,’ he sneered, his face swooping down.
There was a thundering of blood in her ears, and then a voice bellowed, ‘Stop that, Maddox. Unhand her.’
The soldier let go and stepped back as another redcoat galloped up to them. He dismounted in a rush, stormed up and lashed the other man across the face, sending him reeling to the floor. Tara scuttled back but came up against a wall.
‘I will have you horsewhipped, you maggot,’ shouted the man. He turned to her and held out a hand. ‘Fear not. I will not harm you. I am Lieutenant John Forster, part of the garrison at Fort George, and I have the misfortune of commanding these two fools.’ He came closer and stood before her. ‘Did they mistreat you in any way other than having the impudence to lay hands on you?’
‘No,’ said Tara, feeling she might be sick in front of the Lieutenant. He was unlike his companions - tall, solidly built, and with a rugged face and a proud bearing. His uniform was immaculate, and he was looking at her with genuine concern. But Tara did not trust him, and he must have sensed it.
He grimaced. ‘Some of my men are louts who cannot behave properly around a pretty face. You have my apologies for any insult shown to you today. You are clearly a lady, and rest assured, such shocking behaviour will not go unpunished.’
‘I must go,’ she sputtered.
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘I would beg your name, Miss.’
‘Tara. Tara Hennaut, Sir. Now, if you would be so good as to let me go.’
‘You are not my prisoner, Miss Tara Hennaut, so, by all means, go on your way.’
Tara rushed away across the open ground, feeling the three soldiers’ eyes on her back. When she reached the path and rounded a corner out of their sight, she broke into a run and did not stop until she reached the cottage.
The squeak of the door hinge as she burst in woke her uncle. He blinked and yawned and sat up. There was a whisky bottle clutched to his chest. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I walked to Braecaple. I wanted to see it,’ she said with hot defiance, still angry at the encounter with the soldiers. Should she tell him of it?
Her uncle’s face set into a frown. ‘There will be little profit in the sale of that rotten pile,’ he spat. ‘How could my cousin squander his fortune like this? It irks me so.’ He swigged whisky from the bottle.
Tara hid her shaking hands in the folds of her skirts as he began to stalk about the cottage in a foul temper. ‘Perhaps, once his wife died, he ceased to care about his estate, Uncle. If he really loved her, then maybe he could not flourish once she had gone. It was that way for my father when my mother passed.’
Ralph Hennaut gave her a look of raw anger. She had touched a nerve, and she should not have, and now came the storm. He banged his fist down on the table. ‘Do not insult our name by comparing that peasant Walter married to my dear sister-in-law, Agnes. A truer heart, a finer lady there never was, and she was a better mother than you deserved.’
Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘That was not my meaning, Uncle. Please forgive me.’
Tara went to grab his hand, and he jerked it away. ‘You must have no more sense than a sheep not to see the difficulty we are in. Can your girlish little mind not grasp it? We are in a hole too deep, too dark to…oh, Tara, we cannot get out of this mess. We are friendless, with no family and no protection. We must shift for ourselves for the time being, build alliances, and find allies. Yes, that is the answer.’ He trailed off, staring blankly into the whisky bottle, and Tara feared his mind was slipping away.