The Bairn of Brianag

A week had passed since the night Robbie and I had been lovers. I was desperate to speak to him privately. I was in my room when he arrived; I ran to the window and watched as he galloped up the drive, my heart in my throat. When he disappeared under the porch roof, I sank onto the window seat, my hands clutched at my breast, waiting for my heart to return to its right place. I at last looked around my room; Lily was watching me furtively.

"Do not forget my hair pins this time, or I shall hide you!" I said.

She ducked her head and turned away. I felt a thread of some fearful thought begin; but Robbie was coming into the house; I could hear his voice! I went to the glass and looked at myself; my face was flushed, my eyes sparkling. It was almost suppertime, and I must get dressed.

"I shall wear the new gray gown," I said to Lily.

She didn't answer, busy placing things into the small trunk I would take to Grant's Hill the next day. I raised my voice, and stepped toward her. "Lily, do not dally! Get the gray gown for me at once."

She scurried to the wardrobe; and returned with the gown, and petticoat. She had been my maid since I was twelve years old, and I felt nothing but antipathy toward her. She was lazy and sly, and the only thing that she did really well was to dress my hair. As she fastened the gown she stuck me with a pin; I whirled and slapped her hard. She howled and cowered on the floor, her arms over her head.

"Oh, be quiet, you contemptible creature," I said. "Get up and finish. I must hurry downstairs."

At last I was ready. I sent Lily away and took a moment to compose myself. I came down the stairs slowly, my heart beating like a sparrow's. I couldn't tell if I was breathing.

As I reached the bottom stair, Kevin called out, "Come, sister! Sing for us before we dine!"

I entered the drawing room slowly. Robbie lounged on a sofa, a glass of wine in his hand. He was wearing a blue coat and black breeches; his linen was snowy white. His hair was smoothly brushed and tied into a queue; the skin of his fine hands, tanned by the sun, contrasted with the lace on his shirt. He looked at me, and I felt as if my head was hovering above my body. He stood and bowed.