by Karen Ranney
In addition to plowing, they unloaded wheat from the granary, sent it to the mill, and inspected the irrigation ditches. James talked with the smith, the gardener and his son, the shepherds, and the young men repairing tackle. Nothing seemed amiss at Tyemorn Manor.
At noon they halted, but instead of returning to the house for their meal, a basket was brought to them by a smiling Abigail. She tarried long enough that even Ned noticed. When the lunch was consumed and the girl gone, Ned turned to him with a frown.
“She’s a young lass and silly. Best you remember that.”
“And young enough to remind me of my childhood,” James said calmly, understanding the protectiveness of the old man. Girls like Abigail were more foolish than wanton and needed to be protected from the world. Unfortunately, there were men who would prey upon that innocence. He wasn’t one of them, but Ned had little way of knowing that.
“No one seems alarmed at Tyemorn,” James said. “I would think the drovers would be more cautious with animals being stolen.”
“There’s a few sheep missing,” Ned answered. “Fewer head of cattle. I’ve no knowledge of the chickens. I don’t count the fool things.”
“Two hundred three, according to Riona.”
Ned smiled, looked off into the distance. The mist had been burned off by the sun, and now the air was clean and clear. Before them lay the south pastures, the crops already to his waist.
“She’s a marvel, that girl. City bred, but she’s taken to the farms as if they’re her own. Pity they’re not. She’d make a fine mistress for Tyemorn Manor.”
“You don’t feel the same about Susanna?”
Ned shook his head. “Now that one. I’ve yet to make my mind up about her. She means well, but I don’t think she knows the difference between a bull and a goat.”
“She’s fortunate to have you to help her.”
“I’ve lived here all my life. It’s home.”
His words reminded him of Riona’s earlier statement.
“Are there any other chores you need done?” he asked the older man.
Ned looked at him, his full beard obscuring any expression. “The cows need milking. We’re shorthanded today since one of the girls is visiting her sick mother.”
He’d never milked a cow in his life, but there wasn’t any way James was going to confess that to the old man. “Lead the way,” he said, squaring his shoulders.
Thomas Drummond stared at his target. How easily he wandered over the pasture and followed the paths around the farm. Not once had MacRae realized that he was being observed.
He didn’t know if these people were kin or not, hampered as he was in his discovery of information. The area was so sparsely populated that he couldn’t move around without being noted.
Yesterday, he’d waited for the MacRae to leave, only gradually realizing that he was staying the night. Nor did it appear that he was in any hurry to return to Gilmuir, a development Thomas had not anticipated.
His escape had trained Thomas to blend in with the landscape rather than call attention to himself. For that reason he’d chosen a ruse suitable for travel, stealing not only his money, but a grinding wheel from an itinerant knife sharpener. He’d already made a few coins from a goodwife who’d spotted him in Ayleshire. But she’d frowned at the job he’d done, so he’d spent an extra hour trying to please her rather than have her comment about his poor work. She’d finally taken her newly sharpened knives and axe away, leaving him blessedly alone.
Last night, he’d used a few of his coins to rent a room above a local tavern. He’d hoped that being a stranger wouldn’t cause comment, but the people of Ayleshire, while friendly, seemed otherwise occupied and not overly curious.
Another lesson he’d learned from the English—to focus on one thing above all others, his survival. Although he could have killed the MacRae at any time today, he’d have been discovered only too quickly. Thomas had no intention of dying until every MacRae was dead.
Tonight he would wait and watch for the man to be alone. Tonight he would rid the world of one MacRae before he returned to Gilmuir for the others.
James entered the three-sided milking shed to be greeted by the sight of fourteen cows all lined up, headfirst, in individual stalls. Two young girls standing shoulder to shoulder giggled when they saw him.
As the second oldest of five boys, he was familiar with being dared by his brothers. This activity was no different, he realized, as Ned took up a position at the side of the shed, leaning against one of the supports. The two milkmaids, both of whom were more than happy to help him with the rudiments of this chore, fetched a stool and sat it down on the left side of the cow. Beyond that, he was left to his own devices and a basic knowledge of what was required.
He heard Riona’s laughter before he saw her. Stiffening his shoulders, he wished she weren’t here. Not because he was reluctant to be viewed as inept at a task, but because he wished to keep some distance between them. The more time he spent with her, the more time he wished to spend with her. That circle of interest and curiosity was unwise. Twice today he’d become ensnared in the sound of her laughter and had looked for her. More than once, he’d wondered at her self-imposed duties and her whereabouts.
“Ned, that is too bad of you, to expect our guest to know how to milk.” She placed her hand flat on the cow’s flank and glanced down at him. “You don’t, do you?”
“I regret that I do not,” he said, wise enough to admit to lapses in his learning.
She grabbed another stool and placed it beside him. “Do you want to learn?”
“Not necessarily,” he answered honestly. “But I suppose my honor is at stake if I do not.” He glanced over at Ned, whose beard quivered as if he laughed softly.
“This is Marybell,” Riona said. “A very sweet lady.” The cow chose that moment to turn her head and placidly stare at him, as if they were being introduced.
“You grab the teats,” Riona said serenely, smoothing her fingers over the cow’s distended udder.
In his youth, he and his brothers had been given the task of looking after the sheep or fishing to feed the village. He’d never been asked to plow a field, or seed it, and only rarely assisted in the harvest. Even at Gilmuir, he’d been more involved in constructing the shipyard and occasionally helping in the rebuilding of the old castle than in tending to the animals.
James didn’t think he’d ever been this close to a cow.
“Use this part of your hand.” Grabbing his hand, Riona slid her fingers over the heel of his thumb. “Here,” she added, closing his fingers tightly in demonstration.
Leaning forward, he placed both hands around the teats as instructed. Pull. He knew that much. He pulled, but the only response was the cow’s interested glance.
His dilemma was attracting more than its share of onlookers. Even Marybell was evaluating his performance, and judging it poorly if her low mooing sound of displeasure was any indication.
“I did the same as you the first time,” Riona remarked, placing her hands around his. “I was terrified I’d hurt the poor thing. But she’s more likely miserable waiting for it. Aren’t you, girl?” This last remark was directed toward the cow, who was looking vastly relieved now that Riona was assisting.
“It’s not a pulling motion,” she instructed. “But a squeezing one. Squeeze and then roll.” She demonstrated, and milk streamed into the wooden pail. “Squeeze and roll.”
“Squeeze and roll,” he repeated, following her lead.
He could smell Riona’s sun-warmed hair amid the scents of new hay and warm milk. Her hands, soft yet strong, lay atop his. He could feel the exhalations of her breath against his cheek. If she whispered he would be the first to hear, and the only one to feel her tremble.
Who knew that such a moment would be so sensual?
“There, that’s it,” she congratulated him a moment later as another thin stream of milk hit the wooden pail.
The others, surrounding them, clapped their
hands, and he grinned at their good-natured teasing.
She withdrew her hands, making him regret that he’d learned so quickly. Dipping one finger into the pail, she held it in front of his lips.
“The taste of your success,” she teased.
Warm milk and Riona.
His thoughts, at the moment, weren’t concerned with theft or even milking. They centered on Riona smiling at him, her full lips curving in an enchanting expression. Her eyes were alight with humor, making him wish she’d share her thoughts even if he was the brunt of her amusement.
Abruptly she stood. “You have the way of it now,” she said, her voice suddenly quick and impatient. Before he could say a word, she was gone from the shed.
Chapter 10
“Y ou look very peaceful.”
Riona didn’t turn, knowing who it was by his voice. How could anyone not recognize James? In the three days he’d been here, she’d heard him speak often.
“I am planning things in my mind,” she said, feeling guilty for the laxity of the past hour. “It is the only reason I was sitting here with my eyes closed.”
She opened her eyes, glancing up at him with a smile.
“Why close your eyes when the falls are so beautiful?” he asked, sitting down on the bench beside her.
“The better to hear the water. It sounds like the voice of God.” He looked over at her, his smile broadening. “I never know what you will say, Riona.”
“I should, perhaps, be more circumspect with my words. But it is too late to fool you now. You have seen me at my worst.” Today she wore her most mended dress, with her hair askew. Yet she felt perfectly at peace. There was little to be gained in pretending to be someone else.
He studied her intently, but didn’t say anything. A lapse in his manners that she readily forgave.
“Try it,” she dared him, closing her eyes again.
She didn’t peek to see if he was obeying her, but a moment later she asked, “Do you hear the sound?”
“A deep rumbling? Is that your voice?”
“Or the sound of the earth,” she said. “Perhaps all we have to do to understand it is keep quiet long enough.”
Riona opened her eyes to find him studying her. She felt her cheeks warm. “Do you think I’m foolish?”
“No,” he said softly. She had the impression he wanted to say more, but he remained silent.
“I haven’t seen you often in the last few days,” she said. “Has your task kept you that busy?”
“That and Old Ned,” he said. “But I’ve seen you everywhere on the farm. You seem to have a hand in all sorts of duties.”
Keeping her hands busy kept her mind occupied. In less than three weeks she was going to be Mrs. Harold McDougal, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.
Her nightly prayers had begun to reflect that fact. She didn’t seek an escape from her marriage as much as the strength to be a good wife. When James’s face appeared a little too often in the midst of her reflections, she’d prayed about that, too.
“You are welcome to play truant with me,” she said. “I shall not tell Ned that you’re here. Or Mother, for that matter.” That was as close as she would come to querying him about his reason for being here.
“They both know where I am,” he said, smiling at her as if genuinely amused by her remark. Of course, a man like James wasn’t the sort to be given orders. Instead, he gave them.
“Ned seems to like you very much, which is a very great compliment.”
“Doesn’t he like many people?”
She turned and looked at him. “I suspect he is much more amenable than he would like to appear, but he doesn’t mention his feelings. The fact that he singled you out for comment is high praise indeed.”
A telling fact, that he didn’t seek to know what Ned had said. Had she ever been that supremely confident? Perhaps if she were as beautiful as James was handsome. Or imbued with that aura of authority seeming to surround him. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he’d been a sea captain and accustomed to being in command.
Such questions were permissible between them, but the interest they indicated was perhaps wiser to hide.
She didn’t ask him why he’d sought her out, because she didn’t truly want to know. There might have been an errand that sent him to her, a message to deliver, a dozen people might need her.
Or he might have simply wished to spend time with her.
More dangerous thoughts.
In her pocket was a letter from Harold. She should think of that, perhaps, more than James. She’d felt nearly ill when opening it. Her first prayer had been that he’d changed his mind and found another heiress to wed. The second was that he’d been irretrievably delayed and the wedding must be postponed.
Unfortunately, neither was the truth. Harold’s letter was simply informing her that he’d found suitable lodgings.
The house has a small garden to the rear, where you might like to plant flowers. The aspect is pleasant, overlooking a main thoroughfare, although the traffic is not such that it will disturb sleep. I trust you will approve of my decision when you see it as my bride.
His bride. She should be thinking of the role to come rather than the man sitting beside her. James fascinated her; being Harold’s bride filled her with dread.
“How is Fergus?” she asked, instead of thinking of Harold and her wedding. “My mother tells me he is marrying his Leah after all these years.”
“You know the story?” He sounded surprised.
“I know enough to wish him well,” she said, grabbing her arms beneath her shawl. How odd that the sound of his voice should have such an effect on her skin, rubbing against it as if the syllables and crisply enunciated words had the power of touch. She felt attuned to him in a way that both disturbed and saddened her. A mystery why he, above all the men she’d ever met, would have this effect on her. A riddle she wouldn’t have time to solve.
“He loved her before the war,” she recounted from memories of the tale Fergus had once told her. “But he was thought dead and never returned to her. I think his pride kept him away.” She smiled fondly, thinking of her friend. “I take it Leah cares not about the loss of his leg but rather for the man?”
“Yes.” James smiled.
“How wonderful that fate worked for them and that she was free to marry.”
He didn’t answer her, yet the silence wasn’t an easy one.
“Do you not think so?” she asked, curious as to why there was this sudden tension between them.
“Fate has less to do with it than her husband’s greed,” he said. “Magnus Drummond chose to march on Gilmuir. A matter of some territorial dispute. He believed our land to be his. He was killed in the battle.”
For a moment she studied him, wondering why his expression had grown so fixed. He stared at the waterfall, but she had the impression that he didn’t see it. Instead, she wondered if that battle was intent in his mind. There was more to the tale, she suspected, that he hadn’t told her.
“Tell me how it happened.”
He glanced at her. “It is not a story for this beautiful day.”
She wouldn’t let him escape so quickly. He couldn’t hint at something and not fill in the gaps. Especially since his voice had changed so oddly and his expression was so altered. Somehow she’d created a wall between them by her questions.
“Tomorrow might prove to be as lovely,” she urged. “But I’m not so certain this opportunity will come again. Tell me what happened. Please.”
“I killed him.”
She held herself in check so as not to ask a question or make a remark. Instead, she waited for him to continue.
“The battle was not going well for the Drummonds, and their hired soldiers had been beaten back. Magnus raised his pistol, and I saw that the target was his wife, Leah. No one else was close enough or knew what he had planned. I shot him through the heart.”
“Did you mean to kill him?”
H
e made a noise that sounded like a mirthless laugh. His eyes warmed the longer he looked at her. “You’re the only person who has ever asked me that question, Riona. No, I didn’t. But intent matters little when a man is dead at your hand.”
“But you still castigate yourself for it,” she guessed.
“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t question my own actions?”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself, James. Think of Leah, instead. You saved her life.”
She wanted to comfort him, and wasn’t that a foolishness? But the impulse to place her palm on the curve of his cheek, press her lips against his forehead, was strong. All forbidden gestures.
“You sound like my sister-in-law. Iseabal said much the same.” He hesitated, then spoke again. “Drummond was her father, so perhaps I should heed her words.”
Riona had nothing to say in the face of such goodness. Heaven was witness to her own weaknesses. One of them being another errant and wicked thought. If she had to be ruined, then why could it not have been with this man? Let him have lured her to the garden, and she might willingly have gone and gloried in her disaster.
Fate, however, or her own foolishness, had given her Harold McDougal, and she must make the best of it.
She stood, wishing that she could find the words to speed him back to his castle. He was a dangerous distraction, a perfectly charming man with a wicked smile and devilish eyes, and a face that no doubt fueled many a woman’s dream.
“I have work to do,” she said, almost rudely. As she walked away, she decided that it would be best if she pretended he’d never come to Tyemorn Manor at all.
Now, if only she could.
Chapter 11
M aureen watched as her sister made a studied effort to ignore their guest.
Sometimes she felt as if she didn’t know Riona at all, even if they were sisters and the closest of friends. There was something almost passionate about her sister, something feckless and free just beneath the surface. Except for tonight. This evening she was acting very oddly. She kept her eyes directed at her plate, and her speech, when it came, was monosyllabic and diffident.
