The Laird of Lochandee by Gwen Kirkwood Page B

for control. Haltingly she tried to tell him that she had lost her employment at Windlebrae. Peter listened in silence, his brow growing darker as he filled in the gaps which Rachel would not, or could not, put into words. At last he moved to her side again and put a gentle arm about her shoulders. She winced sharply.
    â€˜You’re hurt. Surely … have you been beaten?’ She nodded miserably, her head bowed.
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜M-Mistress M-Maxwell,’
    â€˜Surely even she … but where was Ross?’
    â€˜She says he has gone away. She – she says h-he is not c-coming back.’ Rachel bit back a despairing sob. She stared at him, her eyes wide and pleading. Wanting him to tell her it was not true. Indeed Peter Sedgeman could not believe Mrs Maxwell would allow Ross to go anywhere. What Gertie had, Gertie kept, he thought bitterly.
    â€˜I must find work and shelter,’ she told him urgently. ‘I must earn money – for food.’
    â€˜Have you eaten since breakfast?’
    â€˜I did not have any breakfast.’
    â€˜No breakfast? Nothing all day! No wonder you can scarcely stand.’ He left her side and opened the double doors at the back of the van. He returned with a small loaf of bread. ‘I’m afraid I’ve no butter to go with it,’ he apologised.
    â€˜It’s wonderful!’ Rachel’s eyes shone with tears of gratitude. Then she put her hands behind her back. ‘But I c-cannot accept it. I have no money to pay for it.’ Suddenly the tears flooded her eyes again and ran down her cheeks. ‘She would not let me bring my box – the wee carved box Dada made for me. It has a secret drawer. I had a shilling and a gold sovereign from Minnie, and M-Mama’s necklet and ring. Wh-what am I to do?’
    â€˜For a start, lassie, you can take this wee loaf. Eat it now, if you can eat it dry?’
    â€˜Oh, I can, I can.’ Rachel assured him fervently. ‘I c-can’t thank you enough, Mr Sedgeman.’ It was all she could do not to cram the bread in her mouth. She had eaten nothing since the previous afternoon and the sickness had drained her strength. She turned away from him, to return to the shelter of the barn, out of the rising wind. Peter watched her.
    â€˜It’s no use, I can’t leave you here.’ Peter frowned, pushing back his cap. He rubbed his head. ‘No, I can’t leave you here alone,’ he repeated firmly, making up his mind. ‘It’s usually after seven before I finish my deliveries, but if you can squeeze up onto the seat beside me I will turn for home at the next crossroads. My housekeeper will make you a bed for tonight. In the morning we will decide what can be done.’
    â€˜If – if you give me shelter Mrs Maxwell will be displeased with you.’
    â€˜Ugh!’ Peter uttered a harsh sound. ‘Mrs Maxwell and I are old enemies, didn’t you know?’ Rachel was too busy chewing on the crusty bread to answer. ‘She banned me from Windlebrae long ago. So that just makes me more willing to help you, Miss O’Brian.’ He smiled suddenly and Rachel noticed what a pleasant face he had when he was not looking harassed and unhappy. ‘Let me help you up onto the seat.’
    She gasped at his touch.
    â€˜Sorry,’ Peter said apologetically. ‘She must have beaten you badly to make you wince like that.’
    â€˜She used the horsewhip …’ Her voice faded as the horror returned. ‘Her eyes … they were so wild.’ She shuddered.
    â€˜I must make one more delivery to an old woman who is crippled with rheumatism. I can’t let her down but after that we shall return to my house. It will be a surprise for the children to see me home so early. I will deliver the rest of the groceries tomorrow.’
    â€˜I am sorry to be a trouble,’ Rachel mumbled unhappily.
    â€˜Don’t worry, there’s