Bruar's Rest

of raw passion. Later, as she lay in his strong embrace, she said, ‘Today I came here convinced it was to see Beth, but my heart knew it was to find you. Yes, I so want to stay, to lie like we did this day... but...’ Before another word fell from her quivering lips, Bruar flashed into her mind, pointing a stern finger at her naked form. She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. ‘It is impossible.’
    ‘Then why did you give of yourself so freely? It felt so right. Tell me.’
    For a minute silence fell upon them. She shuffled her bare feet in the chaff-covered ground. Beth gave a snort, then a whine, as if telling her not to stay another minute, but to run and never come back, fool that she was. Still, what kind of person would use another and not be truthful. It wasn’t her way. Cupping his face in her small but firm hands she said, ‘I am a married woman.’
    A look of utter disgust spread across his face. He lifted his scattered clothes and hastily dressed. His strong Catholic religion and upbringing forbade the cohabiting with another man’s wife. Adultery was a dreaded sin. It was looked upon with horror by society. Quickly he finished dressing, and without a word left her alone with the horse.
    Her inner self was merciless. ‘You deserve to be whipped,’ it told her, ‘making sheep’s eyes like a true hussy at the innocent man.’ On it went, ‘And what of Bruar, how could you do that to him?’
    Tears streamed down her face as she begged his forgiveness, shouting it aloud as if he were there, a witness to this abomination. His lassie taking another man like a bit of free food, picking him up like a pheasant left behind after a day’s hunting, shot and discarded.
    Such was the power of her guilt she took no notice of the biting wind now driving yet another snow storm into a new night. Soon she was sobbing into Mother Foy’s arms. ‘I knew it would come, it just had to. My sister was right, I’m a hussy. Oh, how I wish I was stone dead!’
    ‘So you been playing with fire then, eating at the forbidden fruit. Well, I did forewarn you, but never mind. We all fall in our lives, it’s not like you lied, killed or blasphemed, is it?’
    ‘Yes it is! I have lied to myself. Murdered my marriage, my blessed union, and broke a promise to my man.’
    ‘That’s not blasphemy!’
    ‘It is if he’s your God, and Bruar is my God, you know.’
    For all her words of comfort, Mother Foy could see none were easing Megan’s guilt. ‘Maybe another dawn will take the sting out of things,’ she assured her. ‘Now, have you eaten any supper?’
    ‘Yes, I’ve just eaten a man!’
    ‘Now listen here, girlie, I’m in no mood for your silly nonsense. This man of yours, a ghost sends you off on a mission to find him, even though the army have informed you he’s dead. He might be waiting for you as we speak, and then he might not. If things are meant then they will be. You don’t have to flog yourself every time you fall.’
    ‘He is alive—why else should this pain in my heart be so bad?’
    ‘Because you refuse to let go. I knew a gypsy girl, so inconsolable was she that only death brought relief, she jumped from a cliff. It isn’t hard to understand your hanging onto threads. Let him go. Find Michael, tell him about your missing man, see what he thinks. But like I said, if a path is set you’ll walk on it. Aye, you might get lost every now and then, but you always find it again.’
    Megan buried her head into a welcome pillow. Floods of tears later, she sat up. ‘Do you believe my man is dead, and it’s stupid imaginings that I cleave to?’
    ‘I will not say one way or tither, but so what if you steal a passionate moment? Remember, ’tis a long cruel war to our backs. Do you think other good women haven’t pinched a tiny bite of the cherry? Don’t be so hard on yourself, that’s all I’m saying. Now, when tomorrow comes and you have finished your chores, take a walk up to the farm and speak with him. Tell him the truth and see how he takes it.’
    ‘Mother Foy, do you know something?’
    ‘What is that, girlie?’
    ‘My Bruar breathes! I will find him, and it’s thanks to my wayward ways that I’ll have a lot of confessing to do. As for you, do you know that I love you like a mother?’
    ‘Well, slip your hand into the back of that cupboard ’bove your head and fetch me whisky, I’ll not take no to you sharing some.’
    This was all that was needed, a little tender