When Beatrice spotted him, she reached her arms out to him and called out with a smile, “Save me, brave warrior, save me.”
Lachlan understood her actions were more than simple play. She was testing him to see if she truly could depend on him. He immediately went to her rescue; scooping her up then playfully grabbing hold of Harry and ordering him drop his weapon. Harry giggled and dropped the worm to the ground.
“You are my hero, brave warrior,” she sighed and wrapped her small arms tightly around his neck.
She stole his heart right there and then, and he hugged her, wanting her to know that she was safe. She looked so much better than yesterday, all cleaned up and with fresh clothes, a little too large, but tucked and tied in places that made them fit reasonably well. She was actually very pretty with a spattering of freckles across her small nose and bright red hair that curled nicely with all the grime gone.
Lachlan noticed how good the rest of the recent arrivals looked. Frances even appeared to have less wrinkles than yesterday. But then, he knew from experience, being half starved and fearful undeniably marred not only the soul, but the body as well. He had become all too familiar with the ravage and results of battle.
The sisters should be proud. They had taken hungry and battered souls and tirelessly tended them, nourishing their every need. Guilt stabbed at him again for having alluded in his message to the church that the sisters should be returned home. They did good work here and were truly needed.
“Sister Terese, my hero saved me!”
Beatrice screeched near his ear and made him cringe, though he did it without disturbing his smile and quickly looked around for the woman who had eluded him since morning. He saw the strain of worry on her face as soon as their eyes met. It pinched at the bridge of her slender nose and forced a wrinkle or two at the corners of her blue eyes.
“How wonderful for you, Beatrice,” Sister Terese said, her smile genuine, though worry remained evident as she stopped beside him.
“He can be your hero too,” Beatrice said and leaned close to whisper to Terese. “We’ll share him.”
Lachlan heard and his heart melted even more for the little girl.
“You are most kind,” Terese said and kissed Beatrice on the forehead.
“Beatrice, Harry, would you like to help me with the garden?” Rowena called out.
Beatrice kissed his cheek before she wiggled out of his arms and ran after her brother eager to help.
“I have been looking for you,” Lachlan said.
“A nearby farmer has been ill for near a week now, and he feared his time had come and wished spiritual comforting,” she said, walking over to sit beneath a tall pine, its fallen needles cushioning the ground.
He joined her. “His death leaves you troubled?”
She casually placed her hand over his. “What doesn’t trouble me? I worry over the fate of those who arrived here in need and wonder if more will seek refuge. I worry that this senseless battle will spread and consume the farm families. So, yes, much troubles me. But that is the very reason I am here…to offer help and comfort.”
Suddenly his guilt over wanting the sisters returned home vanished. Now he simply wanted Sister Terese safe and free from worry.
“You cannot possibly care for everyone,” he assured her.
“I can try,” she said emphatically.
“You are but one person.”
“If not one than how many,” she snapped. “How many will it take to help those in need, those suffering, those children that wander alone, hungry and frightened.”
She certainly made him feel the selfish fool.
“You are good with children,” she said more calmly. “You will make a good father.”
“When the time is right,” Lachlan said.
“There is a right time for children?” she asked curiously and answered her own question. “I always thought a babe chose his time.”
“I will wed and have children in my time,” Lachlan confirmed with a nod.
“You are so sure.”
“I know what I want, and I will have it all in good time.”
“How nice for you,” she said with a gentle smile. “To be so sure of what your life will bring.”
“I am confident I will find the perfect woman to wed,” he said with a teasing glint and was surprised when she scrambled to her feet, a sudden scowl on her face, and he worried that he somehow upset her.
“I must go. I will be gone for a few days.”
He jumped to his feet, intending to stop her from running from him, while wondering why she felt the need. “I will go with you.”
“No, I will go myself.”
“No, you will not,” he argued.
“You have no right to dictate to me. I obey the church, not a Sinclare. Where I go you will not be welcome.”