Free Sharon Lanergan by The Prisoner Page B

you’ve come all this way to run away?” Agnes clucked her tongue. “You are many things, Brian, but you have never been a coward.”
    She had no idea. Brian shook his head.
    Agnes stepped back into her cottage and held the door wide. Brian turned, ready to make his way back toward the castle. He had to stop being afraid. With a sigh he headed up the small stone step to Agnes’ house instead.
    “Wasn’t so hard, was it?” Agnes asked, amused.
    Brian glanced around the tiny dwelling. “Have you any wine?”
    “Sorry, nay.”
    Brian scowled. He could see a container of it in the corner on a small shelf.
    “Sit down.” She pointed him toward a table with two chairs.
    Brian grimaced and took the seat.
    “I can offer you a small cup of ale.” Agnes walked over to a small side table and poured the ale, then water into the cup.
    “I don’t need it watered down,” Brian protested.
    “You drink far too much.” Agnes handed him the cup and then sat down at the table. “Have you eaten?”
    He shook his head. “I have no stomach for food these days.”
    Agnes snorted. “I am not surprised. But look at you. Naught but bones. You will eat some bread and cheese with me.”
    “You are no longer my nurse, old woman.” Brian frowned into the cup of watered ale. What had possessed him to come to this old crone?
    “For which we can both be grateful.” Agnes chuckled and tossed a hunk of bread in his direction. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten me.”
    Brian rolled his eyes and in spite of himself, took a bite of the crusty bread. “You could have come to see me.”
    “I am far too old to go traipsing up to the castle these days,” Agnes told him. “You are younger and more able to move about.”
    Brian eyed her over the bread. “You do seem rather frail.”
    “I’m old, Brian.” Agnes sighed and took a sip of her own ale. “And I have aged much since your father died.”
    He swallowed a hunk of the hard bread. “That is why I am here.” He’d been unable to stop thinking of his sire.
    She nodded, smiling sadly. “I thought as much. You want to talk of Hugh.”
    He took the slice of cheese she handed him next and nibbled on it thoughtfully. Turned to stare at the small fire she had going in her hearth.
    “I miss him,” he said.
    “Aye, me too.” A lone tear dribbled down her wrinkled cheek. “You look a lot like him, you know. More than his other sons, though I see a bit of him in them, also.”
    Brian let out a shaky breath. “I’ve seen more than thirty years pass and yet I still want my father like a little boy.”
    Agnes shook her head. “It’s not like that. You didn’t get to say goodbye.”
    “I know. I was so arrogant then. When he wanted to see me that last day I didn’t think much about it. If I didn’t meet him when he wanted, I knew he would be disappointed, but he would accept it and talk to me another time. He was always so patient with me.” Brian downed the watered ale. “I thought at the time neither one of us had anything to say the other wanted to hear anyway.”
    Agnes reached over and placed her hand over his.
    “Was he very disappointed in me? The way I was, I mean,” Brian asked, meeting Agnes’ gaze.
    “Nay, not at all,” she assured him, squeezing his hand. “He loved you very much.”
    Brian shifted in the chair. “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed in me.”
    Agnes peered at his empty cup, her mouth twisted thoughtfully. “You want more?”
    “Nay.” And he didn’t.
    “Hugh wasn’t happy you didn’t meet with him on the day you disappeared, as you guessed,” Agnes said. “And he was brokenhearted over your death. But he was proud of all his sons.”
    “I’m not like Nicholas.”
    Agnes rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Who is? Your father didn’t expect you to be Nicholas. Or Telford or anyone else. He knew who you were, Brian.”
    Brian nodded, feeling his chest constrict. “I just wish I could tell him how sorry I