London, Julia - The Perfect Stranger

by Radha

  He had woken her up one morning, shown her the sun. How could she now watch him leave, knowing that with his departure she would slip into an eternal sleep again?

  For as much as she loved him, adored him, Lord Arthur Christian of the English Sutherlands was as far removed from simple Kerry McKinnon and Glenbaden as any one human being could be. For as much as she desired himand oh God, she didhe was never meant to be here. Not now. Not ever. Not with her.

  This interlude would end.

  He would walk out her door, leaving her broken heart in his wake.

  And she convinced herself, as they bounced along the rutted road home, that it was perhaps quite all right that he should leave her heart in piecesshe certainly had no other use for it.

  Not after him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Arthur rose before dawn the next morning, thanks to another hazy nocturnal visit from Phillip, who stood to one side as Arthur doctored the horse in the heath. Except that the horse had been shot and was dying, and Phillip stood, twirling his hat on one finger, yawning with boredom at Arthurs efforts to save the horse. You wont save himhe prefers death to this life, he remarked nonchalantly, and Arthur had jerked around, intent on strangling Phillip for his indifference.

  He had awakened before he could reach him.

  He had also awakened before anyone else in the glen. So having had a breakfast of cold bread, he was sitting on a tree stump just in front of the white house, where he paused in the task of buffing his boots long enough to admire the sun rising above the horizon. He had discovered, having been in Glenbaden more than a week now, that much to his great surprise, the early morning hours were among the finest of the day. He loved the morning, a simple truth he had never known.

  He had never risen with dawns first light before now. But in Glenbaden, he did so each day and would wash and shave, dress in the simple clothes that allowed him enormous freedom of movement, then walk quietly down the hall, following the scent of ham May prepared for the men before they began their work.

  But he would always pause before the door of Kerrys room, which she left slightly ajar, and push it open just enough so that he might gaze at her sleeping. She was angelic in those morning hours of sleep; she slept with her hair unbound, spilling all around her and framing her lovely face. Arthur longed to touch one of the delicate curls at her temple, touch two fingers to the place where the skin was tender and soft

  But he always continued on, taking care to keep his steps light so as not to wake her.

  At the scarred wooden table, Arthur would devour the oats and ham May put before him, tending to eat twice as much food as he had ever had in London. He found this particularly interesting, because his trousers were looser than they had ever been in his life, despite his eating as much as the enormous sow they kept.

  Once he had his fill of the hearty breakfast, he would join Thomas and Big Angus in the yard, where Thomas, having abandoned his considerable efforts to kill Arthur, would divide the chores among them. And then he would be off, walking briskly through the crisp, cool morning. It pleased him tremendously to watch the mist lift as the sun made its slow path across the morning sky, and he remained quietly astonished at how the light would begin to dance across the dew-soaked grass, its warmth spreading throughout the glen. It was a beauty he had not often seen in his six and thirty years on this earth, and only then as he approached it from a night of revelry. But in London, the air was often so thick with smoke and other unhealthy vapors that he wasnt entirely certain anything like dew existed.

  Dew.

  Good God, what was happening to him?

  He was adrift in strange waters, that was what. He was floating and bobbing merrily around a question to which he had no answers. Astounding, but he enjoyed this existence in the Scottish glen. He relished the hard work, the sense of accomplishment the sense of purpose. Yet this life was alien to him, and really, wholly unsuitable to a man of his stature in the ton. He was the proverbial fish out of water, the English gentleman playing at a bit of rustic farming. Yet he liked it, liked it very much indeed; there were so many things that touched him here, he thought, as he watched the sun chase away the morning mist. Touched him deeply.

  A sound to his right caused him to turn, a smile slowly spread his lips. Kerry walked sleepily across the small yard toward the pump, her hand covering a yawn. She was barefoot; the hem of her gray skirts wet from dragging across the morning dew. She paused at the pump, stretched her arms high above her head for a moment, and then leaned forward, her back strong and lean as she filled a bucket with water.

  That was, he thought idly, exactly what he found so beautiful about her. The more he watched Kerry in the midst of Glenbaden, the more he found her completely and utterly irresistible.

  She had, in the course of these days, come to embody all the qualities of a woman he now realized he craved. Kerry McKinnon was real; there was no pretense about her, nothing false. She was not afraid of work, and in fact, he would wager that she worked as hard as any man he had ever known. It hadnt taken him long to realize that it was she who kept this little glen alive, kept them all moving, working, living. Even he, a jaded veteran of the highest reaches of cynicism, believed her cheerfulness when she greeted her neighbors and remarked on another fine dayeven those that were miserably cold and wet. But that was what was so unique about Kerryhe truly respected her unwavering ability to endure hardship without the slightest complaint, and moreover, he truly admired her grit to survive when it was so painfully obvious that there was no money.

  He had known men who could not and did not endure the hardships Kerry McKinnon seemed to balance on the tip of one finger.

  She was the very soul of this glen, the single light shining on its meager existence, and the reason, he suspected, that many of these poor souls remained, inspired and rallied by her determination. Arthur had no doubt whatsoever that she was partly the reason Thomas McKinnon had never left the glen as he threatened to do at least twice daily.

  And he could only thank God that Regis had defied his order and gone to Fort Williams instead of coming straightaway to Glenbaden as he had instructed him to do. He could no more evict Kerry McKinnon than he could cut off his right hand. Oh, he no longer doubted it was Kerrys eviction he had ordered; he had seen enough, heard enough to know.

  It was astounding, if not oddly comical, that he had happened upon Phillips land in such a bizarre fashion. It was so unbelievable that a man had to wonder if there hadnt been some sort of divine intervention. If Kerry hadnt shot him in the road that evening, he never would have known who he evicted, much less stopped it. He never would have known the simple pleasure and beauty of this glen.

  He never would have known Kerry.

  Ah, Kerry.

  There he was again, drifting into uncharted waters In a matter of days, he would leave Glenbaden, find Mr. Regis, and stop the eviction. He could not and would not remove Kerry from Glenbaden; no, he would find a way to somehow fix this little mess, a way that would enable her to remain in this idyllic portrait she had painted in his mind and in his heart.

  As for him, well, he wasnt quite certain what he would do after that. He wasnt certain of a bloody thing any more, really. Nothing seemed familiar to him, not his emotions, not his thoughts, not his body or his desires.

  And as he watched her turn toward the houseflashing a brilliant smile when she saw him sitting there, he noticedhe wondered what he would do to fix himself, for while he would see to it that Kerry remained in Glenbaden where she belonged, he could not. He was forced by birth and duty and circumstance to leave this place and this quality of life he was beginning to cherish.

  As well as the beautiful woman walking toward him now.

  I suppose now that you mean to frighten Thomas from his wits by rising before the dawn, she said as she stepped into the yard.

  Actually, I was thinking that the sight of you up and about before the dawn should put him directly in his grave.

  Kerry laughe
d, pausing at the gate to push a curl from her face with the back of her hand. A body must rise early round here or starvemost mornings, youve not left even a wee bit of bread for the rest of us, she said, pushing through the gate.

  I beg your pardon, but I have merely followed the laws of naturea man must eat what is placed in front of him or be devoured by Thomas in the course of some death-defying duty he has dictated.

  Kerrys laughter spilled out into the morning mist as she gathered her skirts in one hand and moved forward. But her foot caught the sagging hem of her skirt and she stumbled; Arthur half stood, catching her by the elbow. She righted herself, but his hand closed tightly around her elbow, drew her to him. The sparkle in her pale blue eyes darkened; she flushed with a heat Arthur felt beneath his coarse linen shirt as the current of desire flowed between them.

  His gaze locked with hers; slowly, he rose to his full height, unnoticing of the boot that slipped from his lap to the grass at his feet. He ignored the voice of warning in his brain and pulled her into his arms. A thought had been plaguing him for days now, teasing the far reaches of his mind, dueling with the sense of duty instilled in him from the cradle. He could not leave her, not without caressing her, kissing her breast. Try as I might, I cant seem to stop wanting you, he admitted softly.

  Her lashes fluttered; she dropped her gaze to his shoulder.

  I cant seem to stop wanting to taste your skin, he said, and brushed the curl at her temple with the back of his knuckle so that he could kiss the supple skin there. You are my last thought as I sleep and my first thought as the sun rises.

  Her body sighed; she whispered his name so softly that he barely heard her. He brushed his lips against her forehead. You are beautiful, he said against her skin. So beautiful. I want to possess you, possess you completely, every inch of you.

  Her hands came up; she caught the open lapel of his shirt and closed her eyes. You canna imagine how your words flutter like a bird inside me, she whispered. But but this is so very unwise.

  Arthur sighed into her hair. Yes, he responded truthfully, reluctantly. It is unwise. He grasped her hands at his lapel, held them tightly in his own for a moment as he prepared to let her go.

  B-but I want to possess you, too, she whispered. Completely.

  The utterance seized his heart; he felt an unusual tingling beneath his collar. He squeezed her hands tightly. You dont know what you are saying.

  A shy, lopsided smile spread her lips. Och, have you forgotten I was married, lad?

  Arthur suddenly felt as wobbly as her smile. She knew exactly what she asked for, and he wanted her to possess him, wanted it badly. But he also realized in that extraordinary moment that he had brought her to this state of wanting, that in the time he had spent in Glenbaden, he had seduced and cajoled and inveigled his way into her graces. Kerry had understated the obviousthis was not only unwise, it was insanity. Absolute insanity, and he had a moral obligationalbeit an extremely weak one at the momentto stop this before it progressed any further and consumed them both.

  He brought her hands to his mouth and kissed the backs of them before bestowing her with a roguish smile perfected through years of balls and routs and assemblies. Madam, you could bring a man to a state of knee-bending devotion. Its small wonder that your cousin wields such a heavy hand, he said, and dropped her hands. Speaking of that devil incarnate, I should best be about the odious tasks assigned to me today for God knows what he would do should he find me idle.

  He shoved his hands, hands that strained to touch her, deep into his pockets and stepped back, still smiling, even though his heart had climbed up to his throat, choking him. Kerry looked confused, but sheepishly dropped her gaze to her feet, unconsciously smoothing the hair at her temple. Aye. Hell not let you rest. And she turned awkwardly toward the house, her step quick but uneven as she moved away from him, dragging all the dew with her as she went.

  Arthur bit his lip, battled the urge to call her back and his deep regret.

  The next day marked the beginning of the barley harvest. The inhabitants of Glenbaden were, in Arthurs opinion, overly excited about the prospect of such a small harvest, and he remarked as much to Thomas. That was because, Thomas stoically informed him, there was a crop to be harvested this year, unlike the previous two years, when the barley had not matured properly.

  He showed Arthur the grass, explained how it would be used for bread and barley-bree, which Arthur understood to mean Scotch whiskey, and the stalks would make winter hay to feed the cattle. Thomas showed him how to hold and swing the long curved scythes they used to cut the grass, and they walked side by side, cutting together in a solid rhythm. They were followed by two more cutters, and behind them, May and Kerry stripped the grain from the stalks, which Big Angus and two older men bundled into big rounds.

  The cutting was a relaxing endeavor, the sort of mindless activity Arthur had come to appreciate in the glen. But while his mind enjoyed the respite from weightier thoughts, his body was cramping in agony by late afternoon. The muscles of his back felt as if they would burn clear through to his chest; his right hand was covered with a bloody blister from the friction of the scythe handle he had gripped all day.

  When the late afternoon sun began to weaken into evening, Thomas halted the work for the day. Stretching his back, Arthur glanced behind him to the path they had cut, certain they were near to finishing the harvest. To his great astonishment, however, it seemed that less than a quarter of the field had been cut. As he stood gaping in wonder at that phenomenon, Thomas slapped him hard on the back and laughed. Doona fret, laddie. Therell be more for ye on the morrow, he said, and laughed again as he walked away.

  Arthur smirked at Thomass retreating back, taking some satisfaction in the knowledge that in two days time, when he left for Dundee and Mr. Regis, Thomas McKinnon would miss him. Oh aye, he would miss him very much indeed.

  He walked after Thomas, following him and the others who, he thought irritably, remained remarkably cheerful after a day of such excruciatingly hard labor. They moved away from the white house, where an old, unused barnlike structure stood. Arthur was mildly surprised when Thomas turned left, going with the others instead of toward the house, where he fully expected to enjoy one of Mays delicious meals. Much to his great chagrin on that score, Big Angus and May followed Thomas. He paused, hands on hips, desiring of a suitable explanation as to why his supper would not be ready at the usual time.

  It is our custom to celebrate the start of a harvest with a common meal.

  Arthur turned toward the sound of Kerrys voice behind him, wincing at the sharp stiffness in the muscles of his neck. Indeed?

  Kerry nodded, walking easily to where he stood, apparently unaffected by the hard work of stripping the grain. Weve a Scotch broth, only weve not any mutton.

  He had no idea what that meant, but said lightly, Sounds delightful, and pressed his hands to the small of his back. And when does this veritable feast begin? he asked, glancing idly at his blistered hand.

  She stopped, suddenly grabbed his hand. Dear God! she exclaimed, and Arthur was shaken from the cloud of her lavender scent as she peered closely at the blistered hand, pulling his arm out so that she might better see his wound. She stared at it for a moment, then glanced up, her eyes filled with empathy. Arthur your hand.

  He shrugged. A bit of a blister, thats all.

  A bit? she echoed incredulously, and probed it gently, looking up to him again when he flinched at the pain that caused. It must be tended, she said authoritatively. Come. She released his hand and walked purposefully ahead. He did not dare think to do anything else but follow her.

  He followed her into the kitchen of the white house, where Kerry pulled a small wooden stool before a shelf lining the top border of the window. She stepped onto the stool and, reaching up on the tips of her toes, extracted a jar filled with the strange green-colored substance he had seen her use on Red Donner.

  She leapt from the stool, impatiently motioned him onto the bench at
the table. Youll not care for the scent, but it will draw the blood and water from beneath your skin. Then she opened the jar, and he instinctively recoiled against the pungent odor that filled the room.

  The odor willna last long, she pertly informed him, and stuck two fingers into the jar with a little more gusto than Arthur liked, digging out a thick dollop of the stuff.

  I do not fear it, madam, in small doses. Are you certain this requires so much of the stuff?

  Kerry ignored him. Here now, give me your hand. This might sting a bit, but youll be dancing with May when Im through, you have my vow. When he did not move as quickly as she liked, she grabbed his hand and jerked his arm forward. Before he could even open his mouth, she had slapped the foul paste on his palm, and an immediate fire went racing up his arm and down his torso, causing him to yelp with surprise.

  But Kerry was strong and held his hand firmly in hers as she rubbed the grainy paste across the blister. The fire was almost instantly followed by a tingling cool; Arthur could feel the blister begin to diminish as the pus was slowly drawn. After a moment, Kerry stopped rubbing the paste onto his hand and retrieved a strip of cloth from a basket near the stove. She sat next to him, his hand on her lap, and wrapped it tightly. You must keep this wrapped for two days or it will not heal properly.

  Arthur looked at his hand, then at Kerry. She smiled sweetly, wrinkling her nose a bit. It didna hurt terribly, did it now? she asked.

  How could he know? He was too focused on the cute little wrinkle on the bridge of her nose. He leaned forward, intent on kissing that wrinkle, but Kerry abruptly turned her head, and his lips fell to her shoulder instead. They sat that way for what seemed an eternityhis lips on the gray gown that covered her shoulder, her head turned slightly awayuntil Kerry turned toward him. Arthur caught the corner of her mouth as she turned, seeking the full of her lips.

  One slender hand came up to cup his jaw as her lips parted beneath his.