Page 67 of A Scot in the Storm
Members of the kirk followed behind them while the bell carried across the grey morning.
Every person along the road stopped when the procession passed.
Men removed their caps. Women lowered their heads, and even the children went quiet.
While she hadn’t known Jamie or the other boy, Abigail stood at the window until the procession disappeared beyond the curve of the lane, then she sat heavily on the edge of the bed and covered her face with both hands.
She still hadn’t cried since she’d arrived in the past. At some point between the lantern room and breakfast she’d apparently decided crying would be a terrible idea, because she strongly suspected once she started she might not be able to stop until spring.
Later that afternoon, a knock sounded at the door. Ewan MacLeod stood outside holding his cap in both huge hands.
Every time Abigail heard his name she thought of that Highlander movie, though this MacLeod was much cheerier than the guy in the movie and had prettier coppery red hair.
“The captain asked me to bring ye something to eat,” he said. “Mrs. Gable’s put it in the small kitchen down the hall where it’s quieter.”
“Is he…”
“He’s writing. Likely will be most of today.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Nay lass.” His voice gentled. “Not today. Tomorrow I’d likely say the same.”
She nodded.
Ewan didn’t leave immediately, instead he slowly turned his cap between his hands, glancing once toward the hall before looking back at her.
“What is it?”
“Ye shouldn’t carry all of it yerself.”
“Two men are dead. They didn’t find Gregor Keith’s brother.”
“Aye.” He leaned one shoulder against the frame. “On a reef that’s been killing men since before my grandfather’s grandfather. The weather and the reef killed him, and the sea took him home. We announced the light was being tested. Ye’ve a hand in that part. I won’t lie to ye.”
Abigail looked away.
“But ye’re carrying more than belongs to ye.”
“I pushed the four-hour run.”
“The captain made the decision.”
“I didn’t say no.”
“Aye.” Ewan studied her with the tired patience of a man who’d buried enough people to stop expecting grief to make sense.
“But a captain doesn’t wait for permission from a lass he only recently allowed near his light. He chose.”
“He doesn’t seem to think so.” Abigail gripped the soft gray wool of her skirts.
“The captain’s blamed himself for storms, reefs, fog, bad luck, and likely poor fish harvests these last fourteen years. He wasna about to stop yesterday.”
Ewan settled the cap back onto his head.
“Eat the bread and broth. Sleep if ye can. Tomorrow’s another day, and ye both need to get the light working for the next poor souls crossing those waters.”
“We will,” she said softly.
