Latimer couldn’t decide what made him angrier—Ceressa’s obvious aversion to him or the news that two of his best and most trusted workers were about to kill each other. As he and Mo neared the laborers’ cottages, he contemplated shaking sense into one and sentencing the other two to a week of bread and water and lengthening both indentures. Long before he and Mo reached the neat row of wattle and daub dwellings, he heard yells and ranting. When a woman’s scream rose above the other noises, he and Mo broke into a run.
As they burst upon the gathering, the light of several lanterns revealed the bloodied noses and bruised countenances of Avery Willett and Malcolm MacLarren. MacLarren was still in possession of his knife as Willett circled him. Latimer faced both men who suddenly ceased their fight, staring at him as though he was an apparition. Why did Willett, a cooper of unsurpassed skill, and MacLarren, a tanner whose services were much in demand, harbor such animosity for one another? Though they’d worked for him for nearly five years, he’d never uncovered the source of their anger. Perhaps, given the events of tonight, he should have tried harder.
“I’d like to remind you that you’re both dangerously close to losing your positions.”
“That man’s son”—Willett pointed at MacLarren—“couldn’t stay away from me girl after I told him to. I could kill the boy and be justified.”
“Ye will nae be touchin’ the lad, Avery Willett,” MacLarren yelled. “He has nae done nothin’ yer girl didna ask for.”
“Ye lyin’, no good Scottish reiver,” Willet roared back. “It was ye and yer kind that raided and killed me people; always wantin what ye can’t have. I say we finish this now like men.”
“Papa, stop. Please.” Suzanne Willet broke through the tight circle that had formed about Latimer and the two men. Sobbing, she caught her father’s arm. “Papa, Mr. MacLarren, don’t fight anymore.”
“I do nae care what either of ye do ta one another.” A young man’s voice rose stridently. Jarrett pushed his way to the fore, his gaze fixed upon the Willet girl. “I will marry Suzanne.”
“And I will marry Jarrett. Because I love him.”
The innocence of truth and hope and trust magically magnified the young girl’s voice, the word love echoing around them. In that moment, Latimer recalled Ceressa at about the same age as Suzanne. Her head filled with dreams and possessed of a contagious joy. He could no more stand aside and watch Suzanne’s spirit be crushed than he could have allowed Ceressa’s to meet such a fate. But wasn’t he doing that to Ceressa now? Hadn’t his pride and irrational animosity subjected her to something frighteningly similar to what he now saw unfolding before him? Dear God, what has happened to me? How is it I’ve forgotten all You’ve taught me?
Shuddering inwardly, he started to say something until a wraithlike apparition floated into his line of vision. Ceressa.
“Mr. Willett, Mr. MacLarren, what’s the meaning of this?”
The men and those gathered around stared at Ceressa as she came to stand by Latimer’s side. “My first night here at Tidelands, and my rest is disturbed by a disagreement. What am I to think?”
Latimer failed to summon the ire her appearance should have invoked. Instead, he was amazed at what she’d done with her angelic voice and softly spoken words, eradicating the blood lust between the two men.
“Lady Kirkleigh, my apologies, but this ain’t yer concern,” Willett said. “This is a private matter, personal-like.”
“It becomes mine and my husband’s concern when you’re about to seriously injure another man. Mr. MacLarren, put down that knife. What kind of guidance are you giving your children? Suzanne and Jarrett care for each other by their own admission. Nothing you do will change that. Why on earth would you want to? Jarrett has willingly defied both of you in declaring his love for Suzanne. Suzanne appears most eager to wed Jarrett.”
“My wife is right,” Latimer said. “You won’t resolve anything by fighting. It would behoove you to repair your differences. I will permit their union.”
Jarrett and Suzanne flung their arms about one another, Jarrett buying his face in Suzanne’s shiny brown tresses.
Ceressa looked up at Latimer, her eyes conveying her gratitude for his support. She’d not be thanking him later after he’d had a word with her.
Willett and MacLarren remained silent, each turning away and walking off in opposite directions. Fully expecting Jarrett and Suzanne to come to him with thanks, Latimer was amused and surprised when both rushed over to Ceressa, a stranger to them until ten minutes ago, offering her their effusive thanks. They thanked him next, their words more formal and less spontaneous, then clasping hands they hurried off murmuring words of devotion as they laughed and cried.
Mo said his goodnights, and then Latimer and Ceressa were alone. Suddenly, he hadn’t the heart to be angry with her.
“I asked you to stay in the house.”
“I know. But I thought I could help.”
“And you did.” She gave him a small smile. “I’ve always known the two men disliked each other, but I didn’t realize it was based upon ancient prejudice. The English and the Scottish have hated one another for centuries. I never imagined it would surface here.”
“Prejudice is a hard thing to shake. Look at how the English view the natives and how the natives view the English. Why should we think old hostilities have been left on the other side of the Atlantic? I only hope those two won’t continue the feud. Can’t you do something?”
“Without interfering any more than I already have? Or rather, you have? Probably not, but I will see them married just as I vowed. But that doesn’t guarantee them a life without trials and tribulations. Actually, I’m not sure that would be good for them.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“I’ll walk you back to the house.” He offered his hand, and she hesitated. Just as he was about to withdraw it, she slipped her fingers between his. He gazed down upon her, her lips parted and tempting. Shaking aside the notion to kiss them, he raised her hand instead and pressed his lips to the back. He felt her shudder, but she quickly lowered her gaze. Did she shudder from pleasure or revulsion? Refusing to ponder the troubling thought, he set off toward the house, Ceressa beside him.
Hours later, back in his lonely room, Latimer paced as heavy rain pummeled the house. When it finally subsided, he dropped wide-eyed and restless into the chair before his escritoire. While the first rose-gray streaks of dawn filtered through the departing clouds, he pulled out several sheets of vellum and picked up his quill. He stared at the top blank sheet, knowing what he had to do and should have done months ago. Latimer felt strongly that this was the Lord’s will, and he’d been fighting it far too long. Ceressa was right. It was time for him to break free of the binding pride that fettered his heart and kept him a prisoner, separating him from those he loved and from those who loved him. He began to write.
“Father.” How difficult it was to pen that word, and he had to swallow past a knot in his throat. “It is important for you to know that Ceressa Quarles is with me, in the Virginia colony, through a strange twist of fate that I shall attempt to explain. First and foremost, I assure you we are legally wed…”