Kathleen Morgan - Lady of light

L ADY of L IGHT

Other books by Kathleen Morgan

Brides of Culdee Creek Series

Daughter of Joy

Woman of Grace

Lady of Light

Child of Promise

Guardians of Gadiel Series

Giver of Roses

These Highland Hills Series

Child of the Mist

Wings of Morning

L ADY of LIGHT

BRIDES OF CULDEE CREEK BOOK THREE

KATHLEEN
MORGAN

2001, 2007 by Kathleen Morgan

Published by Fleming H. Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

New paperback edition published 2007

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Morgan, Kathleen, 1950

Lady of light / Kathleen Morgan.

p. cm.(Brides of Culdee Creek : bk. 3)

ISBN 10: 0-8007-5755-6

ISBN 978-0-8007-5755-7

1. Scottish-AmericansFiction. 2. Women pioneersFiction.

3. Married womenFiction. 4. ColoradoFiction. I. Title.

PS3563.08647 L3 2001

813.54dc21 00-067351

Scripture is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

For my mother

Table of Contents

CLAIRE
Bright, illustrious, source of light

No man, when he hath lighted a candle, putteth it in a secret place but on a candlestick, that they which come in may see the light.

Luke 11:33

Highlands of Sutherland,
Scotland, March 1898

He fell after the second blow, to lie in an ever widening pool of blood.

Clutching her torn blouse to her, Claire Sutherland stared down at her uncle for the longest time, then glanced up to meet her brothers angry gaze. Mother of God, Ian, she whispered, nearly retching from the renewed swell of stark, vivid fear, and stench of whiskey and sweat that engulfed her yet again. What have you done? Och, what have you done?

Naught that you wouldnt have done, if I was the one being attacked, the fourteen-year-old muttered. He lifted the bloody, stout wooden stick, stared at it as if seeing it for the first time, then flung it aside. Fergus is a foul-hearted drunk and lecher. He went too far this time, though, in laying a hand on you.

As a fierce spring wind howled in from the ocean, shaking the wooden rafters and battering the stone house, Claire hesitantly walked to where her uncle lay, squatted, and turned him over. After a horrified moment, she looked up. Och, Ian. Theres so much blood. Did you have to hit him so hard?

And what would youve had me do? Ians face mottled in his fear and frustration. Politely ask him to stop ravishing my sister? He laughed harshly. Och, aye. As drunk as he was, Fergus wouldve made short work of tossing me out the window, or worse.

Claires gaze lowered to her blouse. At the sight of the shredded fabric and marks of grubby hands, an image of her uncle attacking her but a few minutes before filled her.

Once more she saw his beard-stubbled face lowering to hers, felt his fat, thick lips slobbering over her neck and cheeks before claiming her mouth. Then there were his filthy hands, touching her, tearing at her clothes as he pressed her backward onto the rough-hewn table.

A freshened panic flooded Claire, as it had during those horrible, panic-stricken moments when she had fought frantically to protect herself. Her breath came again in short, painful gulps. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

Still, I dont know wholl believe us, when we tell them what Uncle Fergus tried to do, Claire finally forced herself to reply. After all, we arent from these parts, and he was born and raised here.

He isnt thought verra highly of. Mayhap the constable

Fergus Ross has kin aplenty! A little too sharply, Claire cut him off. Theyll stand by him, and the constable will soon be gone at any rate. Then wholl protect us? Nayshe shook her head in fierce denialwe cant risk it. Well have to devise some other plan.

The blame is mine, not yours, her brother protested. They wouldnt harm you.

Claire straightened. And do you think Id let them lay one hand on you, brother? Nay, not while I draw breath.

Then what shall we do?

Almost of its own accord, Claires gaze swung back to their uncle. Theres no way around it. Well have to leave, find sanctuary elsewhere. After tonight, itll only go the worse for us.

Ian chewed on his lower lip, his youthful brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he nodded. Aye, its the best plan. And itll suit me fine. I never cared much for this place at any rate.

Mayhap not, his sister thought as she hurried to her small, enclosed boxbed in the single-roomed croft house to change. What lay ahead, though, might not be any better.

She crawled inside, pulled the shabby, woolen curtains to, and shivering in revulsion, quickly stripped off her ruined blouse. As much as she hated to face it, Ian was right. Theyd never be able to return to this house. It was tainted beyond hope of ever being clean again.

Tainted, Claire thought with a sudden swell of despair. As were she and Ian and their vain dream of ever finding a safe haven, or a place to call home again.

The Village of Culdee,
Highlands of Strathnaver,
Scotland, May 1899

Luke 8:17

Hie yourself out of bed this instant, Ian Sutherland, or your teacher wont be the only one wholl lay the tawse across your hands this day!

Claire sent one final, narrow-eyed look across the crofters cottage toward the boxbed holding her fifteen-year-old brother, then turned back to the rough-hewn table and the two carved, wooden bowls filled with uncooked oatmeal. She poured a portion of boiling water from the kettle into each bowl, then set the kettle aside. Without further ado, Claire pulled up a small stool and sat. After sprinkling some salt over the now rapidly softening porridge and stirring it in, she poured a generous serving of milk atop it all.

Behind her, Ian groaned, kicked off his feather tick comforter, and shoved from bed. I dont see what it matters if Im late to school or not, the lanky, chestnut-haired boy grumbled as he padded barefoot across the packed dirt floor to the pitcher and wash basin. Old man Cromartie will find some excuse before the days out to lay the strap to me. He always does.

Then mayhap you should devote a bit more time each eve to your studies. Claire stirred the milk into her oatmeal, then scooped up a helping of the Scots staple food in a horn spoon. He means only to encourage you to excel, after all.

Och, aye. Her brother gave a snort of disgust. The day Archibald Cromartie cares a whit for my success will be the day I choke down an entire haggis without complaint!

Claire smiled at Ians scathing reference to the traditional dish of ground ox or sheep organ meats mixed with oatmeal, suet, onions, and seasonings that was then stuffed in the animals scraped stomach and boiled. Well, I care, and thats all that matters. One of us must make it out of this village and accomplish something with his life. I can always wed, if need be. You, though, my fine lad, will need schooling to make your way in the world.

Aye, Ian agreed with yet another disdainful snort.

As if youre of a mind ever to wed. I cant see you as a fishwife, or working the fields beside a big lout of a husband for some master. He paused to splash water onto his face and wash his hands, before glancing back up at her. But then, mayhap you wont even have a choice, if Dougal MacKay has any say in it. He means to make you his wife, you know.