‘Alright,’ sniffed the Reverend, gazing heavenwards. He glared at Callum. ‘But do be gentle with the telling of it. Tara is a delicate lass and has a nervous disposition.
***
The ride to Braecaple was bitterly cold in more ways than one. Bryce declared him a meddling fool as soon as they had set off.
‘It is folly to go running to Tara Hennaut at the first chance you get. I thought you had put this ruinous infatuation behind you.’
‘I have, and why is it so ruinous?’
‘Because it has made you very poor company these past weeks, that’s why.’ Bryce shook his head. ‘All this time paying court to Jennet Ferguson means nought, doesn’t it?’
‘I will do as I please with whomever I please, and you will say no more on the matter.’ Bryce had hit a nerve, for Callum had flirted with Jennet only to take his mind off Tara, which had been unfair. Not that it had worked.
‘From what you have said, I doubt we are the best people to tell the poor lass her uncle is gone,’ continued Bryce. ‘You said Tara is not that fond of you, Callum.’
‘Better us than that timorous oaf, Reverend Shaw, and no matter what bitterness lies between us, I would not leave Tara at the mercy of any passing villain. I must see her safe.'
‘How honourable of you,’ snapped Bryce.
After that, there had been little conversation as they pressed on in driving sleet, heads down and plaids up around their heads, until Braecaple’s crumbling roof came into view.
All was silent and still at the cottage, apart from a weak plume of smoke coming from the chimney and the bleat of sheep from distant fields. Callum’s resolve faltered. Tara would not want to see him, and he did not want to relive the humiliation of their last encounter when he had thrown his heart, not to mention his cock, at her feet for her to stamp on.
‘You go and tell her, Bryce. You are better with words than I.’
Bryce sighed heavily. ‘Alright, anything to get this over with.’
He dismounted and banged on the door, declaring himself. Tara opened the door and peered out, and Bryce stepped back a little. She came outside rubbing her hands on a dirty apron, looking fragile, pale and lovely.
Her gaze travelled over Bryce’s shoulder to light on him, and then she frowned and looked back at Bryce as he began to speak. Callum winced inside as he thought of the pain she was about to endure.
He could not hear what Bryce said as he put his arm on Tara’s to steady her. Her eyes widened, and the colour drained from her face and Callum was off his horse in an instant. He reached Tara just as her knees went from under her, and she swooned into his grasp.
Chapter Twelve
Ralph Hennaut was put in the ground on a cold, windy day with little ceremony because he could not afford it. ‘He would have hated this.He would deem it sordid and low,’thought Tara, flinching at the hollow thunk of soil hitting the lid of the cheap coffin.
Her uncle had lived like a gentleman, clinging on to past glories as long as he could, but now death had wrenched that refinement away from him. Ralph Hennaut was being buried as a pauper. Mistress Shaw had told her, with undertones of disapproval, that bailiffs had come and taken away everything they could carry. They had picked her life clean like ravens, and now she had nothing, not even her uncle's scant protection.
How Tara had hated him in the end, once he had confessed that all her mother’s money had gone in a failed speculation, as though it were but a puff of smoke carried in the wind. How he had railed at her when lost in drink, revealing the depth of their debt and his hopelessness at ever being able to acquit it. Yes, she hated him alright, and struggled to mourn him. Would God strike her down for such uncharitable thoughts about a dead man? Maybe it would be a mercy if he did.
Tara glanced at Callum Ross and his friend, standing a little way off, heads bowed and hands clasped in contemplation, as Reverend Shaw muttered his eulogy. No one was really listening, and his words were swallowed by a bitter wind, sending her skirts flapping against her legs like sails on a ship. Why was Callum here when he must surely despise her?
Callum glanced up, and their eyes met.‘I was right, and now look at you,’his expression seemed to say. Tara tore her gaze from Callum and back to the hole in the ground. He had been right that night of the gathering, and she had been too blind and trusting to see it. Her uncle had come home days later, sour with whisky and bitterness, and declared her an ungrateful bitch for spurning Hew Gordon and her chance to become his mistress.
‘Your mother’s money is gone, and we are in more debt than we can clear with the sale of this land. It has gone for a pittance and less than it is worth because Dunbar Gordon knows we are desperate,’ he had snarled.
Tara had said nothing, fearing the hate building in her would spew out and scour everything before her.
‘You are a burden I must feed and clothe, woman. I should go my own way and leave you here to rot,’ he had said with utter cruelty.
Now, Uncle Ralph was the one rotting.
She had trusted in men, and it had brought her to this end. She would never trust them again, for they were all worthless cowards at the mercy of lust and drink, scrabbling for any coin or advantage.
Mercifully, Reverend Shaw came to the end of his eulogy and gave her a small, pitying smile as the few folk in attendance began to disperse. At least he was kind, in a patronising kind of way. If it weren’t for him and his wife, she’d have no roof over her head.
Mistress Shaw patted her hand. ‘There, there, child. Your uncle is gone and nought to do about it. We must carry on and bear the burden of mourning him.’