Bruar's Rest

have you?’
    Much to their great relief, no one had seen or heard of him for many a month. They had heard, though, that his life-long sidekick, that weed of a man Hawen Collins, had met a bad end.
    ‘What happened to him?’ Mother Foy pretended not to know anything about it.
    Stephen took a log from a basket at the side of the fireplace and placed it in the big iron grate, ‘Bridget, you met a gypsy girl didn’t you? Remember the one who told you about that fight?’
    ‘I do remember something, now what was it?’
    The old woman glanced over her shoulder at Megan and winked.
    Bridget continued, with the undivided attention of her visitors. ‘It was in a pub on the outskirts of York, the Dog and Gun. Seems a bunch of locals were having a laugh at a mate’s birthday party when Hawen, being drunk, tried to gatecrash. He was for the chop, when one bulky guy threatened to fight him. The stupid fool took the challenge, probably thinking that because he was known to be the great Buckley’s friend, the big chap would back down.
    ‘What happened?’ asked Megan, lowering her voice to disguise an obvious panic.
    “Well, there’s a mystery as to what really happened, but this big chap took him out in the back-alley. The next thing, someone passing saw Hawen’s body all hacked.’
    ‘Did you find out how he died?’ Mother Foy asked quietly.
    ‘Stephen met a policeman he knows. You tell them, dear.’
    ‘His neck was broken, but he’d a knife wound at either side of his heart. My friend said the big man, him who did it, wasn’t a guest at the birthday party, nor had he ever been in that pub before. Locals at the Dog and Gun thought he was a passing gypsy having a quiet drink. No one was sad to see Hawen’s end, though, and that goes across the board. Just a pity his mate Buckley didn’t get it too.’
    ‘He won’t be so easy caught, he has the sign of the Devil, that black-hearted one,’ Mother Foy said in a low voice. She leaned forward in her chair and spat in the fire. ‘That’s what I think of him! Now, I feel we have taken far too much of your hospitality for granted, it’s time for bed.’
    Megan helped her onto shaky feet, and guided the tired old lady off to a very comfortable bedroom Bridget had prepared earlier. Michael said goodnight with a long lingering look at Megan. A tingle ran the whole length of her spine. He made her feel strange, but he made her think less of Bruar and that was wrong. She wished Christmas Day was over, and they were home in the wagon. She said so to her companion.
    ‘Now, child, try not to think too much on the young master. Mind you, if I was your age I’d be hard-pressed not to give him the eye.’
    Megan blushed; her old friend seldom spoke of romance. She continued, ‘I don’t doubt for a minute you’re not tempted, none of us are exempt from temptation, but it’s the consequences that you have to watch out for. It’s been a long time since a man held you, and the longing will be there, you’re human after all. But might I add you are not like others. You have a living husband somewhere, waiting. It might be the case he knows little of what is going on, but the time will come when his eyes will see again. I have a feeling you are joined to this Bruar of yours. A force far stronger than any mere mortal controls things, and if I’m not mistaken this force guides you. Remember this!’
    How could she forget? Here she was on her quest to find him, indeed a long road lay ahead. A longer one lay behind, but while she could breathe and walk she would not give in.
    ‘I feel a lot better now. Is this not the night the Son of God came; the great star shining in the east?’ Megan was peering from the bedroom window at a beautiful starry sky.
    ‘So they say, girlie, so they say.’
    ‘Then I shall do something I very seldom do.’
    ‘What be that then, my young friend?’
    ‘I shall pray.’
    ‘What will you pray for?’
    ‘For the safe union, one day soon, of me and my Bruar.’
    ‘What a perfect place to dream,’ she thought, sinking into a soft warm mattress covered in spotless linen sheets. It sported a shiny brass bedstead with bows of yellow silk tied here and there. ‘I can’t remember ever seeing pillows of this size, nor sleeping with an old gypsy.’ She nudged her bed companion, laughing, ‘They are as big as my tent bed was, these pillows.’
    ‘You make me laugh, you do, girlie; but best get some sleep now. And as for myself, well, after