Bruar's Rest

take him home and together Bruar and me will live out our lives. When I have that knowledge, then and only then will I be free to decide.’
    ‘I feel in my heart your man is dead, and my heart also tells me that I will spend my days with you!’
    She smiled at his passion, and felt in a strange way that his love went far beyond any she might feel for him, even if Bruar was indeed gone.
    He lifted her into the air and swung her round like a flag on a pole. She begged him not to, her wounds were smarting, so he gently apologised, putting her feet on the ground just as Sam came in and began packing his leathers into a bag.
    ‘Are you leaving?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes, it was only while Mr Stephen was in Ireland he needed extra hands to work the stables. Now he’s home I’m not needed.’
    ‘Where will you go?’ asked Michael
    ‘I’ll find somewhere, sir.’
    ‘So you have nowhere to live, is that what you’re saying?’ Michael enquired.
    ‘Like I said, sir, I’ll find somewhere.’
    Michael thought for a moment and said he knew of a small derelict farm in the Lake District. ‘I’m friendly with the owner of the land, and I bet he’d be pleased to put a man in it, a hard-working man like you, Sam.’
    Megan added, ‘A hard-working hero like you, Sam!’ She kissed him and thanked him again for saving her life.
    ‘Look folks, don’t think me ungrateful like, but what good is a farm to me? I have no livestock.’
    Megan slipped an arm through his. ‘Yes you do,’ she smiled. ‘You have a fine Shire horse.’ She pointed to Beth, who was oblivious to everything apart from her bundle of hay.
    ‘Are you giving her to me, honest, really?’
    ‘Mother Foy loved that horse, and I know she’d be right pleased if one such as yourself looked after her.’
    ‘That’s that settled then,’ said Michael. ‘I’ll write my friend a letter and say we’ve found him a tenant farmer, with a bloody good plough horse.’

     
    ‘Oh look,’ she said, as they walked back to the house with Nuala, ‘there’s Inspector Martin’s black car.’ His familiar vehicle with its mudsplattered bottom was parked at the front of the farmhouse. Seeing it again brought the thought of Buckley home to roost uncannily in her mind. ‘If that man hasn’t caught Buckley I’ll never sleep soundly again,’ she told Michael.
    ‘Don’t fret, colleen. He’d have to face me to get to you, and my brother-in-law has a cabinet stuffed with firearms to help me put him in the cold earth.’
    His bold words made little difference to her. She’d seen a man twice his size part with his head at the hands of hell’s messenger. ‘Don’t be so sure, Michael,’ she warned him, ‘he’s not known as the King of the Gypsies for nothing.’
    ‘Don’t underestimate the Irish fighting cock in me neither, my bonny Scottish lassie.’
    She giggled at his antics as he danced a jig on the cobbled courtyard.
    Inspector Martin saw them approach and sucked upon a fine mahogany pipe. ‘Hello, Megan, and how are you doing this fine day?’
    His tone was quite upbeat for a man like him. She told him her state of health was improving, thanks to such hospitable hosts. Bridget and Stephen came back from their ride just as the police arrived. ‘Is there any news of the fiend?’ she asked, her voice filled with fear.
    Before he answered, little Nuala came running in, breathlessly saying, ‘I think the name will be Foyranday!’
    ‘What name?’ asked her mother, calling the child over.
    ‘The foal’s name, Mummy—“Foy”, after Mamma, and “ran” as in running like the wind, and “day”, the special day she came to bring me into the world. There now, what do you all think of that?’ She beamed with pride, awaiting everybody’s response.
    Both parents were delighted and hugged their child. Michael told her she would be a great leader some day with such a sharp mind, and Megan cried as sweet memories of her old friend and the days they shared brought a sudden surge of emotion. Bridget handed her a handkerchief before addressing Martin, asking what they were all eager to know—had Bull Buckley been apprehended?
    There was a ‘cat’s got the cream’ look on his face and his answer almost took the feet from Megan. ‘Very early yesterday morning, a young boy delivering newspapers to a hotel in York saw a man hiding behind a row of barrels to the rear of the building. He thought little of it, it being a favoured place for down-and-outs to