Before I Wake Read online

  Bernie frowned, shook her head, and turned back to the patient. “I said that he must be with the rebels. I took a look at his clothes. They were worn, old. If he were a Brit, he’d have a better quality of garment, something red I think.”

  Ashling shrugged as Bernie continued,

  “I don’t think it’s wise to keep him here.” She turned her frowning face to Ashling. “What if the Brits come looking for him? They’ll kill us and burn the farm.”

  Ashling crossed herself. “Mary, Peter and Joseph, we cannot think of that now. Hopefully, he’ll be awake by morning, and we can send him on his way.”

  The thought saddened Ashling a bit. She didn’t want the stranger to go, but she didn’t understand why.

  “Aye. Hopefully.” Bernie threw the rag back in the bucket and wiped her hands on her skirt. “I’m going to work in the garden. Keep an eye out. If you hear anyone coming, put him in the potato cellar.”

  Ashling nodded and watched as her sister moved to the front door.

  “Finish dinner while I’m out,” she threw over her red freckled shoulder. “And don’t spoil any more bread!”

  She watched Bernie grab her basket of gardening tools and make her way to the garden. The sun moved higher in the sky. They’d have to work quickly to complete their chores before it set.

  She turned back to the stove, and her ruined pan of bread against the wall. Focusing on the tasks ahead, she picked up the pan, and threw the ruined bread into the fire, a small smile on her face. This stranger’s arrival shook up her ordinary life, and she was glad for it. She reached for the broom that stood on the stone wall next to the back door and began to sweep the crumbs and chunks of bread into a pile.

  Farm life was difficult and isolated. Her and Bernie rarely left the property, save for once a month when they went into town to sell fruits and vegetables from the garden. Next month they’d have several horses to sell, and judging from mild winter, they’d have a few baby cows, goats, and chickens as well. Money would be a lot less tight, and she thanked the Lord for it.

  She absently thought of buying a new dress, and chuckled at the absurdity of it. What’s the use of a new dress if no one but Bernie would see her in it?

  Moving back into the house, she drug one of the rickety, old, wood chairs from the near the table to in front of the hearth. Flat stones between two wooden planks served as a shelf. She reached onto it, and pulled out a mixing bowl. She’d need more dough.

  Ashling looked forward to her trips to town. Her and Bernie would wake up early, and set out before sunrise, their cart filled with their wares, their hearts filled with anticipation. After a twelve hour trip, they would tumble out of the old cart, and onto the doorstep of their aunt Maori. Ashling loved the old, gentle, doting woman. Maori was her mother’s twin sister, and Ashling found it comforting to look into her grey eyes and remember her mother, if only for a moment.

  For three days they would sell and exchange their wares to the locals. For three nights, Maori would parade man after man in front of them in hopes that one of her nieces might secure a husband.

  Husband. The word sent tiny flutters of sadness through Ashling’s heart. Not so much for herself, but for Bernie. Exactly five different men had proposed to Bernie since their father died, and Bernie had turned down every one of them. When Ashling would ask why, Bernie would give her a watery smile and hug her tight. In her tender years, Ashling never understood the gesture. But, as she grew older, the meaning became clear.

  It was because of Ashling. Bernie refused to abandon her sister. No matter how much they bickered and squabbled, they would never leave each other alone. Not even for the security of a marriage. Not even for their own happiness. They would need to marry together, or not marry at all.

  Ashling turned to the stranger. Hope rose in her. Perhaps he would bring change to their lives. Maybe, if Ashling minded her manners, he could be convinced to…

  She didn’t allow herself to complete the thought.

  No, she thought. He’ll be gone by tomorrow and our lives will go back to the way they were. He’ll be gone tomorrow.

  She punched the dough a few more times, sending flour flying through the room.

  He’ll be gone tomorrow.

  ***

  “There’s nothing more we can do about him tonight, Ashling, now come to bed. God willing, he’ll be up and gone by morning.”

  Dinner had long past when Bernie stood in the doorway to her room, night dress reaching the ground, irritation coloring her eyes.

  “I’ll stay with him for a few more minutes.” Ashling placed a hand on the stranger’s chest. They’d redressed him a few minutes prior. She felt the ropes of thick muscle beneath his thin shirt. A bubble of pleasure floated through her.

  Bernie’s eyebrows angled in suspicion.

  “For what purpose? He’s been asleep for hours.”

  “In case he wakes up.”

  Her pale lips pressed together. “Five minutes,” she said firmly. “Then you get to bed. I can’t be expected to do all the chores around here while you sit and stare at him.”

  “Aye.”

  “Five minutes, Ashling.”

  “Aye, sister.” Ashling turned sharp eyes to her older sibling.

  Scowling, Bernie relented, leaving Ashling with her patient.

  He had gotten his color back, but his adventure in the river had weakened him. Feverish sweat poured off of him, though the fire was barely enough to ward off the outside chill.

  Ashling pulled a blanket close around her. There was something about this man that called her to his side. A strange force that made her want to lock their hands together and never let go. She wondered who he was. Where was he was from? What happened to him? Was he a belligerent lad, proud and tempestuous? Was he gentle, kind, with a soft touch? The bubble of pleasure grew in her, and she bit her lip. Was he married? Did he have children?

  She reached forward and ran a hand down his too warm face.

  His skin had turned a deep shade of crimson as he boiled with fever. His sleep turned restless, and he groaned.

  Unable to leave his side, Ashling suffered with him. She collected water from the stream and wiped his face and body. She told him stories that her mother had told her as a child. She imagined that, somehow, he heard her and was comforted. She mixed a brew of herbs and pressed it to his tongue to help him rest and break the fever.

  All through the night she sat beside him while he sweated and moaned and screamed in his sleep. She prayed to God to heal him, to put his soul at peace.

  Even as he quaked with fever, Ashling felt the nagging thought that she knew this man. She felt it ever since they’d drug him across their threshold. There was something about him. She couldn’t quite put it into words, but her heart seemed to understand it completely.

  The constant question lingered in the back of her mind.

  Who is this man?

  The sun had just peeked through the hills when, suddenly, the stranger awoke. She’d been dabbing his forehead with a cold cloth when he looked at her, his coal-black eyes wild and red-rimmed. He grabbed her hands and pulled her to him.

  Ashling gasped, too shocked to pull away from his iron grip, to enthralled by his sharp gaze to look away.

  “Ashling,” he whispered, his voice deep and dry. Recognition softened his features. He brushed a curl away, his lips forming something close to a smile.

  “My Ashling.”

  And then, he collapsed back onto the table, dragged again into a restless, feverish sleep.

  Though freed from his grip, Ashling didn’t move.

  He said my name, she thought. How could he know my name? I’ve never seen this man before in my life.

  She moved slowly, hovering over his now still body, studying his tanned face.

  The feeling she’d seen this man before, touched this man before, rose sharply within her. Her heart told her that this was no stranger though her mind screamed that she was mistaken.

  Curiosity pea
ked, she reached for a bowl of water and a straight razor, sharpening it on a strip of leather near the sink.

  “Goodness, child, what are you doing?” Bernie demanded. With one hand she held her blanket closed over her, with the other she rubbed the sleep from her eye.

  “Shaving him,” Ashling replied matter-of-factly.

  “Why in heaven would you be doing that?”

  “He woke up.”

  “He woke up?”

  “Yes, and he grabbed me and said, uh, that he knew me.”

  She walked over to the stranger and wet his face with the water from her bowl.

  “He grabbed you?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Ashling this has gone far enough. You go on to bed. This stranger has brought nothing but trouble to this house. You leave me all the chores while you wait by his bedside and now you’re shaving him? I don’t know what to think.”

  “Then don’t think on it at all.”

  Bernie gasped. “Now look here, Ashling-”

  “I need to see his face.”

  “See his face?” Bernie whispered to herself.

  Ashling didn’t respond, focused only on passing the blade over the stranger’s weathered cheek in the rising sunlight.

  Bernie sighed and disappeared into her room to get ready for the day.

  Once his face was shaved and scrubbed, Ashling held the candle close to him, tracing her fingers over his features. They lightly trailed over his eyes, his straight nose, his lip.

  His lips, she thought. His lips remind me of something.

  Suddenly, a powerful vision pushed through her mind. Her locked in his arms, hands tangled in his midnight hair. His mouth moved down the columns of her throat, and she breathed his name.

  Liam.

  As quickly as it arose, the image faded.

  She stumbled backwards. Knocking over the chair she’d been sitting in, she tumbled to the floor in a heap of skirt.

  No, it’s not possible. How could I know that? How could I know his name? Who is this man?

  ***

  Ashling didn’t remember sleeping. She remembered blinking though. Yes, she had blinked, and when her eyes opened, it was nearly noon.

  She stretched and rose from the floor.

  How did I get here? She wondered.

  The last thing she remembered was the vision of her and the stranger. The memory heated her cheeks, sent tingles through her body.

  She heard the distinct sound of a shovel digging into the ground. She ran to the door and flung it open.

  Bernie was far afield, moving in and out of the barn, heavy buckets of carrots and oats at her side. Aside from her, no one else was around for miles.

  Behind her, the stranger stirred. He turned on his side, sucking in a harsh breath as his weight fell onto his splinted leg. The pain forced him back onto his back. He ran a hand through his coal black hair with a groan.

  Ashling didn’t breathe as he slowly propped himself up on his elbows, and scanned the small, simple room. Finally his gaze fell on her.

  The sun’s rays lost themselves in the inky black depths of his eyes, making them shimmer like stars. His black hair covered half his face, giving him a dangerous, predatory look. Now sitting up, he filled the room with the heavy, musky presence only a man could bring. The table creaked under the shift in his weight.

  Ashling’s mind went wild.

  He’d make strong sons.

  The thought made her blush, and she raised a hand to one, reddened cheek.

  He cleared his throat, snapping her back to reality as he gave way to a lung rattling cough.

  Shook from her admiration of his beautiful form, she ran to the water bucket, and filled him a cup of cool water. He drank it in a single gulp and held it out to her. “More.”

  Her feet rooted to the ground.

  He shook the cup at her. “More.”

  She didn’t move. This was it. She’d finally know who this stranger was. She would finally get the answer her heart had been craving since she pulled him from the haystack.

  She straightened her back, poked out her chin. “My questions first. Who are you? What is your name?”

  His brows knit together, his discomfort visible on his face.

  “Liam.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest. So she had been right. But how?

  Filling the cup again, she held it to her breast, and turned to him.

  “Liam what?”

  He held out a shaky arm for the cup.

  “Liam McGunntry.”

  She whispered his name as she handed him the water. He took it, draining the contents in a gulp.

  “Why were you in our haystacks, Liam McGunntry?”

  “Are you questioning me for the British?” he asked. His tone teased rather than accused.

  “This is an Irish house, lad, and you’ll do well to remember it. Now, why were you in our haystacks?”

  A small smile danced on his lips before he chased it away.

  She wished it would come again.

  “Will I get another cup of water for my answer?” He asked.

  “You’ll get that and more. Bread. Perhaps cheese if you are polite about it.”

  His gaze leisurely moved from her eyes, down her slim body, and back again. She shivered under his inspection.

  “Would you give me your name first, lass?”

  “My rules, Mr. McGunntry. No man has ruled this cottage since my father died and I won’t start having you rule it now.”

  Liam’s eyebrow shot up, the small smile returning, broadening. “Very well,” he said, his voice softening. He seemed to relax a bit as Ashling cut hunks of bread and cheese for him. She held it close to her, and out of his reach.

  “Now, why were you in our haystacks, Liam McGunntry?”

  “I was…” His eyes went wide, and darted around the room. “My satchel. Where is my satchel?”

  “Hidden.”

  “Where?”

  “In the cellar.”

  His hand laid on his belly as he let out a breath of relief. “Thank God for you, lass. You don’t know the good that you have done.”

  She nodded. “You’re welcome.” She looked at the bread and cheese in her hand and handed them to him.

  He took them gratefully, chomping into them hungrily. In seconds they were gone. He licked the salt from his lips.

  Ashling examined the man on the table.

  “I must tell you that it is only me and my sister here, Liam McGunntry. I trust that you will not harm us.”

  He shook his head. “I swear that I will do no harm to you. Nor your sister.”

  “Can I trust you, Liam?” she asked.

  “With your life, lass. As I have trusted you with mine.”

  She saw the truth in his eyes.

  “I believe you, Liam.”

  She eased a bit, the tension releasing from her shoulders.

  “Do I get more bread and cheese now that I have your trust, lass?”

  “I know that you’re hungry, and I will feed you. But first you must tell me why you are here. Does it have to do with your satchel?”

  “It would be much too dangerous if you knew who I was,” he said. “The last woman who knew…” He dropped his eyes, tried to climb down off the table. “I promised that I would not harm you, and I meant it. I have to go.”

  She ran to him, shoving him back.

  “No, you mustn’t!”

  Something flared between them, but it was gone too quickly to explain.

  “I have to leave. If they find me here, or think that I’ve been here, they’ll kill you and your sister.”

  “Who will?”

  “The British.”

  “The Brit-” It all snapped into place. The satchel, his fear, his condition. “You’re a spy.” The words came out in a single breath.

  He looked away from her, his eyes coming to rest on the door, “I have to go.”

  “But you can’t walk. Your leg is broken. It will take sev
eral weeks to heal.”

  “I don’t have that long.”

  Her mind knew that he was right. If he was a spy, he couldn’t stay. Her heart, however, said something entirely different.

  She looked down at his leg, gingerly placing a hand on the wooden splints that held it in place.

  The flaring came again. She looked up to find his eyes blazing into hers.

  She didn’t look away as his eyes devoured hers. His gaze swept over her face, fell to her lips, studying them. She stood up straight, and turned away.

  “At least let me feed you first before you go. You can’t ride in your condition, but you are free to use our cart and horse, and I can give you father’s old clothes.”

  She heard the table creak as he shimmied back into place and cleared his throat.

  “I can’t take those things from you.”

  “How can you say that with your leg in its condition?”

  “I’ve survived up until now. I’m sure that I can do it a few more days.”

  She imagined him dragging himself through the hills. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

  She wiped them away.

  “Look at me, lass.”

  She turned again toward him, his eyes furrowing as they took in her tears.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m a soldier. I will survive.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have to,” he sighed. “When I passed by here the other night, I saw you in the window. You were reading. I remember the way the candle lit your face, the way you looked at me. I promised myself that I would be back for you. I made that promise once, and I’m making it again. I’ll be back for you, Ashling.”

  She nearly dropped the bowl of soup she’d been holding.

  “How do you know my name?” She asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. How do you know mine?”

  She frowned, handed him a bowl of soup. His eyes held hers for a beat too long.

  “How did you know that I-”

  “When I said it, you didn’t look surprised. You looked like you were expecting it to be so. I don’t know how, Ashling, but something tells me I need to be here, besides you. I won’t argue with it. Will you?”

  She put her hand to her coloring cheek, and watched as he put the bowl to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. She found it hard to breathe.