Chapter 42

Moira was delighted to see Peg in such good form the next afternoon. Having dropped by again before heading to Aédach’s, she found Peg sitting in her chair near the fire, poring over a tattered copy of the Bible. Colm had been right—the book was massive.

“Thank God you’re doing so well.” She bussed the top of her friend’s head. “How’s the cough?”

“Tsk! ” Peg batted her hand through the air. “Ya shouldna be fretting over an auld biddy like me when ya have a whole schoolful o’ wee ones that need lookin’ after.”

Colm chuckled in the corner as he spread a thick slab of butter on a chunk of the brown bread Moira had brought. “Ah, c’mon, a Stoir,” he crooned. “Ya know she’s only askin’ ’cause she loves ye.”

Moira’s heart skipped at the word “love.” She hadn’t realized it before, but Colm was right. She loved this dear couple almost as much as she’d loved her own parents. They’d taken her under their wings, lavished the love of a parent upon her, and guided her in the fear and admonition of the Lord. Suddenly overcome with emotion, she rose and stoked the fire, hoping to keep at bay the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

“Aye, love, aye.” Peg reached out and squeezed Moira’s hand. “She’s a good girl, our Moira.”

The two women locked eyes, and in that moment, Moira knew they were forever bonded in a special sort of kinship forged through the fires of hardship and spiritual connection.

“Her cough is fine, by the way,” Colm called through a mouthful of crumbs. “I’d say by tomorrow she’ll be right as rain.”

“I’m glad to hear it!” Moira lowered herself onto the wingback chair opposite her friend. “It will be nice to have your company again tending to Áedach—once you feel strong enough, of course.”

“Aye.” Peg nodded. “I’m looking forward to that as weel, peata. How is the lad, anyway?”

Moira shrugged. “It’s difficult to say, really. His temperature seems to have stabilized somewhat, but he still hasn’t roused. And then there’s that terrible cough.”

“The poor créatúr.” A slow, heavy sigh eased from the woman’s lips. “All we can do is keep on wit’ what we know and keep layin’ him at the Laird’s feet.”

“Amen.” More crumbs accompanied Colm’s fist on the tabletop.

“Well said, dear friend.” Moira gave Peg’s hand another squeeze. “Speaking of, I’d best be off. I’m hoping to get home a bit earlier this time and enjoy a nice, quiet evening in front of the fire.”

Colm saw her to the door, and she pulled her cloak tight around her neck as she headed for the main road. Thoughts, prayers, doubts, and worries swirled through her heart and mind as she walked. Prayers for Áedach, prayers for herself, worries about her mother’s secret, and doubts about her own reputation vied for her heart’s attention.

Just as she rounded the corner onto Áedach’s road, a large blur landed at her feet with a thud. Jumping back with a start, she stumbled, dropping her basket, its contents scattering on the road.

“Oh, Moi—Miss Doherty.” A strong hand grasped hers. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you so.”

Moira looked up to see Declan’s eyes, swimming with concern and remorse, staring back at her. She swiped the hair from her forehead with her free hand. “Why, Mr. O’Malley, whatever were you doing?”

He placed his other hand beneath her elbow, steadying her. Moira tried to ignore the feel of his touch.

“I . . . I just . . .” His eyes fell to his feet and he offered a sheepish shrug. “I just wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or slap the man. “Well, I’d say you succeeded.”

Nervous laughter enveloped them both. Declan gathered her things from the road while she brushed the dirt and moss from her skirts.

“I truly am sorry.” He handed her the basket. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

“What did you want to ask?” Glory be, he was handsome.

“I know you’re off to tend to Áedach.” He paused while she nodded. “And I’ll leave you to do just that. But I wanted to ask if you’d meet me here, right at this spot, this time tomorrow?”

She stared at him and raised her eyebrows.

“Maybe not this exact spot.” He eyed the ground where she’d dropped the basket. “But here at the corner. I promise, no tricks or jokes this time. I have a surprise for you.”

Curiosity mingled with uncertainty at his request. She rearranged the items in her basket. “I don’t know.”

“Aw, say you will, Miss Doherty?” He removed his cap and bowed deeply at the waist.

Curiosity and unease played a nauseating game of tug-of-war within her. She had to admit the possibilities of what his surprise could be were intriguing. But then there was also the nagging sense of apprehension she’d felt during her previous encounters with him. Although he had toned down his forward behavior. Ach! How far her mind could wander!

“Please?” He looked up at her and grinned.

How could she resist that smile? His giddy, boyish delight tipped the scales in favor of her curiosity. “Oh, alright, Mr. O’Malley.” She dipped a curtsy. “I’ll meet you here this time on the morrow.”

Declan clapped his hands together. “Lovely. Perfect. Until then, Miss Doherty.” He bowed once more before stepping aside to let her on her way.