The Bairn of Brianag

The sound of a galloping horse stopped me. Robbie's head went up swiftly; he bounded across the room and hissed at Rabbit.

She must have been right outside the room. He snatched her by the arm and pushed her toward me. "Stay here!" he whispered. "Do not make a sound."

Rabbit ran across the room to the bed, and sank to the floor beside it.

The horse drew near and stopped. There was a loud knock at the door. Robbie looked at me, then went out.

The knocking persisted. Soon I could hear it open, could hear Polo's voice, then my father spoke and I curled onto my side, hugging my knees to my belly.

"Is young Robert here?"

Robbie's voice answered over the sound of his steps on the stairs. "Mr. Maclaine!

Come in, sir! How do you do this fine day?"

I let out my breath. My father's voice came more clearly to my ears as he entered the house.

"I am looking for my daughter."

After a short pause, Robbie said, "Sir?"

Another silence ensued, then Robbie said, "Come into the drawing room, sir. I shall pour you a whisky."

Their footsteps faded as they moved into the far side of the house. I loosened my grip on my body slightly. My elation returned. Robbie was heroic, a superb actor. He would protect me.

It was only a short time until I heard their feet again, and Robbie speaking. "I shall of course send word to Gillean at once," he said.

I heard my father gallop away down the drive, and Robbie's feet running up the stairs.

His smile lit his whole countenance. My eyes were stretched wide. I said, "What did he say? Did he accuse you?"

"No, indeed!" he said. "He only came here for comfort. He did not expect to find you here. He is going to Charles Town now to seek you there." Robbie's head tilted to the side.

"You told him the father of the child is a British soldier!"

I cast my eyes down, swallowing. He leaned down and put his finger under my chin, and I looked at him. "I could not tell them the truth, before you knew," I said.

He let out a sigh. "Gawd, Jessie, what a minx you are," he said.

"Do not call me that," I said. "My mother called me that. That, and slut, and whore."

"Jesus Christ!" he said, his voice angry. "Is there no compassion in the woman?"