by Aileen Adams
Maccay shook his head. Realizing she couldn’t see, he spoke up. “Not that she’s told me.”
“I haven’t seen her outside of your house.”
It was just a comment, but to Maccay it sounded like an accusation.
He stopped walking, hands on his hips. It was bad enough if he’d spent the last two days enduring the silence of his new… companion. He didn’t have any other way to put it. But to have Sarah even vaguely hinting that he was not a good host injured his feelings.
He lifted his chin.
“I promise you, that the lass is free to come and go as she pleases. If she pleases not to, what do you expect me to do about it?”
Sarah turned to him with a frown. “Is that a hint of defensiveness I hear in your tone?”
He stared at her. “What do you want me to do? It’s not like I… it’s not like I have any intentions toward her.”
Sarah’s eyebrow lifted and a slight smile curved her lips.
He frowned. “I don’t!”
“But you like her, don’t you?”
Sarah continued to walk, her step slow and measured.
If Sarah could see it, could others? Then again, Sarah was uniquely intuitive.
He supposed that came naturally to her because she was a healer and often had to treat people who couldn’t really express where they hurt or how.
“Yes.” He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She laughed again, not looking at him. “Why wouldn’t you indeed.”
He scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I can see the way you look at her, Maccay. Why don’t you just admit it? Why is it a problem? If you like her, tell her so.”
“It’s not that simple,” he mumbled.
Apparently, Phillip had not told Sarah of his ulterior motives when he suggested that Maccay take Alis under his roof, and he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.
“Relationships are never simple,” she commented.
“There’s no relationship—” Sarah turned to him, her expression serious. She smiled at him then, her hand gentle as she placed it on his arm.
“Maccay. I’m not teasing you. I’m serious. Over the past year, I’ve learned that sometimes things happen over which we have no control. Death can come at a moment’s notice.” She glanced down at her growing belly. “So too can life.” She looked at him. “Don’t spend too much time over-thinking things. If you like her, you like her. You don’t have to apologize to anyone over that. Life is too short to waste a moment on worrying about what other people might think.”
While he appreciated her words, it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all.
He raised a brow as he replied. “How can I get to know her better when even she doesn’t know who she is?”
She glanced at him. “But who is she now?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Her name might not be Alis. She doesn’t come from here, that much is obvious. But the woman living under your roof, right now, is who is she. Right now. For now, she is Alis. She’s smart and she must be brave. She survived in the woods for who knows how long.” She paused, peering into the distance. “She didn’t hesitate to help me or Heather when Ceana attacked us.” She turned to look at Maccay. “Don’t those actions portray someone of good character?”
They did.
But what if he was wrong?
What if Phillip was right and she was a spy?
“What have you got to lose, Maccay? What’s the worst that could happen? She rebuffs your interest in her?” She shook her head. “No one’s saying that you have to marry the girl, but would it really hurt to get to know her better? To reassure her that she’s not all alone in the world?”
“Her memory might never come back.”
She nodded in agreement. “You’re right. It might not. And if she has to start over, what better place than here, on Duncan lands?” She smiled and then continued along the path.
Maccay sighed heavily.
Everything Sarah said was true.
But how would she think about things, what would she think about him, if she knew the entire truth?
* * *
That evening Maccay sat on one of the stools at the table while Alis sat on the other. He dipped his spoon into the bowl of vegetable and rabbit stew she had prepared.
A heavy, awkward silence reigned between them. It had been this way since she had moved in a couple of days ago.
He tried to stay away from the house as much is possible while still keeping an eye on it, just in case she decided to dart into the woods—
To what?
Meet with a secret admirer? Someone who she could report to?
He shook his head.
This was foolishness.
She wasn’t a spy. If she was, she was very, very good. As far as he knew, she hadn’t left the house more than a few minutes at a time, and that was to take care of personal needs.
He had followed her the first time as she walked behind his small house, down the slope to the stream.
The moment she started to disrobe, he had forced himself to turn around and walk away.
Not once had she complained. Not about bathing in the cold stream, not about her circumstances, and not about sharing their cramped quarters.
She was a good cook. She made do with the supplies he had stored in the small cubby behind the house. Quite creative, really.
The past two evenings after supper, she quietly scraped the remains of their supper into a small bucket and then took it outside to dump it. As the house grew dark, the glow of the firelight lighting the interior, she retreated to his pallet, still dressed in her boy’s clothes, turning her back to him and apparently falling asleep.
He on the other hand lay awake for hours, laying on his back on the blanket he had placed in front of the hearth, head resting on his arms, crossed behind his head.
How long was this going to continue? This stilted silence between them?
He glanced up at her, surprised to find her watching him. His heart skipped a beat.
In the dimming light of day, her eyes look so big, her features so soft. She wore a troubled look.
“What’s wrong?” he finally asked.
She said nothing for several moments. “Well, I was thinking. I…” she sighed and placed her spoon on the table. “I’m restless, Maccay. There’s only so much I can do around here,” she continued, gesturing around the interior of his small house.
He considered her words as a slight frown tugged at his brow. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
“I need to stay busy, Maccay. I can’t just sit in this house, staring at the walls for hours on end.”
He shrugged, moving his bowl aside. “You’re not a prisoner. You can come and go as you please.”
“I know that,” she said. “That’s not what I mean.” She seemed to search for the right words and glanced hesitantly at him. “I need to do something to repay you—”
“Repay me? For what?”
“For letting me stay here.” She shook her head, staring glumly at the fireplace. “Until I figure out who I am and where I belong.” After several seconds, she lifted her chin and shrugged. “Until then though, I need to be more productive.”
He nodded. “All right. What do you want to do?”
“I was thinking of starting a small garden, here by the house.” She paused and then pushed on. “Of course, I’m more than willing to help with the village garden as well, but it would be nice to have a small garden by the house, wouldn’t it?”
While he didn’t exactly see the point, he understood that she needed something to do. “I think you used to be quite active, before,” he mused.
“Now it’s my turn to not understand what you’re trying to say,” she said.
“I have a feeling that you’re not like most women, Alis… and don’t take that the wrong way. What I mean to say is that you were living in the woods
, and you were taking care of yourself while you were there. You made shelter. You hunted and captured and cooked your own food. Those are not skills that most women know.”
She gave it some thought and slowly nodded. “And I wear boy’s clothes.”
He smiled. “That you do.” He thought about it. “In fact, I don’t see you spinning cloth or sitting around all day sewing. I think you know how, but I think you probably don’t prefer it as much as being outside.”
Feeling more comfortable, she grinned. “I’m strong and my skin is not as pale as other women. Maybe I have spent a great deal of time outdoors.”
“If you want to start a garden, you can start a garden,” he said. “There’s a shovel in the stable. The ground’s pretty hard still, but if you take it slow, it shouldn’t take more than a week to turn up the soil. You can fertilize it if necessary, with Bruce’s manure.”
For the first time since he had tackled her on the forest floor, she smiled. It was a beautiful smile, one that created dimples in her cheeks and lifted the worry from her eyes.
He stared, amazed that such a small gesture could give him such pleasure.
“I’ll plant carrots and radishes, maybe some squash and cucumbers. Maybe even some herbs.”
Her voice seemed softer, invigorated.
He shrugged, captivated by the change that had come over her. “Plant whatever you’d like.” He watched her for several moments and could almost imagine her planning how she would go about it.
Then she looked at him.
Their eyes met.
At that moment, he felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her.
She was a lovely young woman. What would she do if he—
“Thank you, Maccay,” she said.
She rose from the table, moved as if to reach for his bowl. Instead, she leaned toward him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and gave him a hug. It only lasted a second or two, but it was enough to get his pulse racing.
He stiffened and she quickly released him and then reached for his bowl, mumbling an apology.
She had misunderstood.
“Alis.” He reached for her hand and clasped it gently in his own. “I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here. You’re not a prisoner.” A thought came to him, bringing with it a smile. “I have an idea. Tomorrow, after Sarah and Heather have finished their visits in the village, how about you and I do some fishing?”
She paused, gazing down at him, head tilted slightly as if pondering. “Fishing?” Another small smile curved her lips. “I think I like fishing.”
“Then we will do it,” he nodded. He felt suddenly uncomfortable, released her hand, and stood, brushing his hands awkwardly along his thighs. “I have to go brush down Bruce.” With that, he abruptly left the house, closing the door softly behind them.
As he walked to the small stable, he heard Bruce shuffling around inside. He grinned as he entered. “Now how smart am I?” he asked his horse, his thoughts preoccupied with the feel of Alis’ hands on his shoulders, the smell of her hair as she leaned in close to hug him.
Bruce snorted and shook his head, his long, black mane dancing in the air. He laughed.
He didn’t even doubt that Alis would enjoy herself.
It was a perfect opportunity for him to spend more time with her, but away from the cramped quarters of the house, which seemed to make both of them uncomfortable. Maybe, sitting along the banks of the river about a mile from the manor house to the east, he would have a good opportunity to get to know her better.
Maybe being out in the wilds, fishing, would help trigger some memories on her part.
And if not, perhaps it would be a good opportunity for him to decide once and for all whether her memory loss was genuine.
He believed it was, but he couldn’t ignore Phillip’s caution, nor blame him for it.
12
Several days had passed since Maccay first mentioned their going fishing, but nothing had come of it.
He appeared to be spending quite a bit of time with Sarah and Heather.
While Alis tried to cull her disappointment, she knew that he was busy, responsible for the safety of not only the laird’s household, but the entire village and outlying properties.
His duties were shared by his friend Hugh, who often joined him when venturing away from the manor house.
Instead of sulking, she’d kept busy with small chores around his home, helping out in any way she could. Trying to feel useful in some way.
She mucked Bruce’s stall, organized the storage space behind the house, and strung a line between two nearby trees and aired out the bedding. She weeded around the base of the house and cooked. Still, when outside, she sought him out. She tried not to, but couldn’t help it. She refused to contemplate what that meant.
On several occasions, she’d spied him watching her from a distance.
Just today she had looked for him and, not once but twice, found him watching her as well, the first time from the doorway of the manor house, and another time from the meadow where the soldiers trained.
He’d been talking to the laird both times.
It made her feel nice, and wanted, and if not wanted, at least watched over. That realization compelled her, as did just about everything else, to wonder what kind of life she’d led before she was found in the forest. Was she neglected or loved? Was she an orphan or did she come from a large family?
As the days passed, she found herself growing more comfortable around Maccay. At ease with his presence—when he was around. He treated her like a brother would treat a sister… well, a little more solicitous perhaps, but she no longer felt awkward or uncomfortable living under the same roof with him. Most of the time.
She realized she had grown quite fond of him, though she tried not to. He was very nice, had a wonderful sense of humor, and was even-tempered.
She constantly reminded herself that she didn’t belong here. That somewhere out there she had kin, and she needed to find them. But for now, she was content to stay.
Over the past few days after Maccay had idly mentioned that they go fishing, she had felt better, not quite so… it wasn’t that she was bored, but she didn’t like being idle.
That triggered yet more suppositions as to who she was. She was someone who liked to be active. She sensed that. Obviously, someone who enjoyed being outdoors. So, she gradually deduced that she wasn’t a typical female, at least not one content with filling her day with womanly chores.
She mentioned as such to Maccay after he arrived home one evening. She had prepared a supper of vegetable soup and warmed a loaf of bread one of the women from the manor house had brought over earlier that afternoon.
“Good bread,” he mumbled around a mouthful, nodding.
She agreed. “Yes, it is, but I didn’t make it. I don’t know how.” She frowned, trying to remember. “I don’t think I’ve ever made a loaf of bread.”
He swallowed, trying not to laugh. “Every woman knows how to make bread. What makes you think that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s just a feeling.” She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to say more, but he glanced up at her and offered an encouraging nod.
“What’s on your mind?”
She might just as well say it. “Since we talked about it last, I have stronger feelings about it. I definitely don’t think I’m like other women.”
His hand stilled, the spoon halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
She waved a hand toward the manor house. “Oh, woman things like baking, sewing… girl things.”
He grinned. “Like we talked about, Alis, it doesn’t matter. You know how to survive.”
“Do you think that’s a bad thing? Do you think that’s why I was out in that forest all by myself?
“How so?”
“Maybe I’m just so different that nobody wanted me.” She frowned. “Did I disappoint my parents? What if I had a husband and he wasn’t happy with the kind of person I was?”
Maccay offered a slight shrug. “Not everyone’s the same. That’s what makes all of us special. If we were all the same, I would think that life would be rather tedious.”
She hadn’t expected that kind response. He didn’t care that she didn’t like to do women things, that maybe she was not like other women.
“You’re special, Maccay,” she said, and then immediately regretted the words that had left her mouth.
His eyes widened and he sat up straighter in his chair, staring at her.
She rushed to explain. “What I mean is, most men don’t want their women to know how to take care of themselves, do they?”
He offered a small laugh and shook his head. “That’s more the norm around here than one would think.” He left his spoon in his bowl. “Why, look at Sarah. She’s a feisty one. She can run circles around Phillip and he’s none the wiser.” He placed a remnant of the bread back down on the table. “And Heather. Did you know that she prefers to wear boy’s clothes, like you, and that not so long ago, she used to go sneaking off in the woods to learn how to use weapons?”
“She did?” Alis asked, dismayed.
“She did. She’s a fighter, that one.” He shook his head. “She saved Jake’s life from an attack by Ceana and that scoundrel Clyde McGregor. You know, Alis, women shouldn’t be expected to act the same, any more than women should expect all men to act the same. We’re all different. That’s what makes life interesting, don’t you think?”
She nodded and dipped her spoon into her soup, contemplating his words.
“I know I mentioned us going fishing and we haven’t done it yet,” he said. “I’m sorry for that. I’ve been busy doing things for the laird. But tomorrow, I am free.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “So, do you want to go fishing with me tomorrow, or do you have women’s chores to do?”
She gaped at him, but it took only a few seconds for her to realize he teased her. She nodded, grinning back at him.
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll look forward to it.”
It was the truth.
* * *
Alis at on a rock by the side of the river holding a fishing pole, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Just being here invigorated her soul.
