Bruar's Rest

murdered at the hands of Bull Buckley. Sam’s detailed account of Megan’s near-death experience left them aghast and speechless.
    Poor little Nuala had been so eager to show off Fiddler’s foal, but on hearing that her favourite person was dead, she became inconsolable, and blamed the angels for not looking after the old woman. Bridget, to protect her child, simply said that Mother Foy had slept away peacefully, and being so young, Nuala accepted this.
    In view of the fact that there was a murderer on the loose, she refused to allow Megan to leave. ‘Stephen has gone to fetch the police, so you have to tell them everything,’ she sternly insisted.
    ‘If I’d kept my mouth shut about a certain wayward landowner and done as the gypsies said, then I would be fine, and Mother Foy would have passed away as nature planned. Because of my blabbering tongue, choice is denied me, I have to tell them all I know. I feel in my bones it will take more than the law to finish Bull Buckley, though.’
    ‘He’s had a free hand far too long that one; they’ll get him, and before those bruises have healed on your body, we’ll hear news of him dangling from a rope.’
    Megan had suffered a devastating experience; she might have died at his hands. She longed to lie in her man’s arms, protected and cared for. At that moment she ached for him. Was he waiting for her in a high-walled asylum? Did he look to the North Star at night, wondering if she’d ever come for him? If he was alive, that is. It seemed there was not a single person in the world apart from Sam and these good people who cared if she lived or died. Yet she had come through a terrifying ordeal, and she wondered once more if some unseen force was looking after her. And if there was, then it was surely done for a purpose. A clearer picture emerged; her mission had to be to find and bring her husband home.
    Finding her surroundings comfortable and secure, she divulged to Bridget, as she’d done to her deceased friend, the quest she had undertaken, and why her journey had taken her to their door.
    ‘You dear, poor thing, what a burden sits on those bruised shoulders! Stay in bed now, I’ll be back in a minute.’ She hurried off, muttering and shaking her head, and presently she was back, smiling. ‘I have brought a friend, will you allow a visitor?’
    ‘Bridget,’ she told her, ‘is this not your bedroom and me just a tinker guest? Of course, now who is it that hides behind your back?’
    She stepped aside, and standing there like a shy child was Michael.
    ‘Megan, why in heaven’s name did you not tell us about Buckley? We would never have left you and Mother Foy at his mercy if we’d known.’ He sat on her bed with no hint of the shame that their brief encounter in the barn had once put on his conscience. All that concerned him was that she had survived a terrible ordeal. He continued, ‘I’m going home to Ireland next week again, and you’re coming with me.’
    If life was to throw her once more against its rocks, could she survive another shock? ‘Hasn’t Bridget told you about Bruar, and why I have to find and take him home?’
    ‘Yes, but what good are you to anyone in this state?’
    She cried, the strain of the day’s awful events, of seeing him again and now waiting for the police proved overwhelming. Burying her head under the pillow, she demanded to be left alone. Bridget walked quietly out of the bedroom and summoned her brother to follow, but he couldn’t; he needed to speak to Megan. Her pain seemed to penetrate his heart. He felt her agony; gently he touched her limp hand, held it firmly, and then whispered, ‘Come for a few weeks’ holiday as my friend, it’s the least I can do. Oh Megan, what wonderful dreams I’ve had since last we met. When the bloom returns to that bonny face of yours I’ll pay your fare home. Come to Ireland with me, no strings.’
    He was talking with two tongues, yet at that moment as his body touched hers, she didn’t care. ‘Hold me someone, anyone,’ she thought, ‘Whoever leads me to Bruar, lift the veil from my heart and help me find the right answer.’ Instantly her wedding photo flashed before her and drove away the hazy pictures in her tired mind; she knew what to say.
    He was a proper gentleman, but there was no way she’d go anywhere without Bruar. Bull Buckley had it in for her, time was a luxury now, and one she couldn’t afford.
    ‘Megan, in a couple of months the ground around my