Molly in the Middle

by Stobie Piel

"This is pathetic."

  Nathan startled and dropped his glass. Simon stood in thedoorway, arms folded over his thick chest. Smug. Nathan's jaw clenched, but he refrained from comment.

  Simon stomped into the room as Nathan retrieved his glass. "This is just what I'd expect of your kind. You'll have to resist your instincts, boy. No kidnapping."

  The old Scotsman never missed an opportunity to remind Nathan of his true heritage, with an emphasis on those qualities of birth he lacked. "If I fail to resist my 'instincts,' you'll be the first to know." He kept his voice low and dangerous. It worked. Simon paled at the veiled threat, but he didn't depart as Nathan hoped.

  "Your people could teach the Vikings new tricks. Mayhem, slaughter . . ."

  "My understanding is that Scottish history isn't totally devoid of violence. Wasn't it Tacitus who reported that your ancestors, the Picts, raced into battle, painted, naked . . . with spears? I question the good sense of attacking iron-clad Roman warriors with a spear . . . naked . . . And as for the paint . . ."

  Nathan tilted his head back, folded his arms, and enjoyed Simon's flush of rage. "You're speaking of centuries past, boy! We're the most civilized race on the Good Lord's green earth."

  Biblical references again. Nathan had won easily this time. He drew the MacCallum brooch from his vest and held it up to the sunlight. "Your clan chieftains didn't ascend to power through conversation." He cast a meaningful glance toward an encased collection of sgian-dhus and dirks. "Civilized? I think not."

  Simon pointed his stout finger at the window, diverting the conversation. "Lady MacCallum isn't happy about those sheep, Nathaniel. She confided to me her fear that rumors might abound about your relationship with that girl."

  "Isn't that expected of a laird?"

  Simon hesitated. Whether or not Nathan took a mistress was inconsequential. Even Simon couldn't deny that. "Morerumors would start if you didn't . . ." Simon stopped and shook his head. "Had to bring her here, didn't you? I knew when I enlisted your aid in this endeavor you'd be more trouble than you're worth."

  "You enlisted my aid because I'm the only person capable of pulling it off."

  "Arrogance . . ." Simon shook his head and clucked his tongue several times. "I'd have more faith if you weren't up here peeping at that sheep lass."

  Nathan considered denying the obvious, then decided it was none of Simon's business. He turned his gaze back out the window. Miren clapped her hands, and the black dog came running toward her. It bounced around her feet, then crouched as if inviting play. He couldn't see her face without the glass, but he knew Miren Lindsay was laughing.

  "I will see her today."

  "If you're thinking of bedding the girl, it's best to go to her at night."

  Nathan ignored Simon's suggestion. "Have you told Irene you're leaving for a few days?"

  "Mentioned it this morning. Told her I had to head down to Stirling. Dr. Patterson's family is in Aberfoyle, and that's on the way to Stirling, but Lady MacCallum didn't seem suspicious."

  Simon paused, looking uncomfortable. "Just what am I looking for when I interview them?"

  No wonder Simon seemed uncomfortable. He hated asking Nathan's advice, or putting himself in a position of inferior knowledge. "You're not looking for anything. I want a clear picture of Patterson's history. You bring me the pieces, I will find the whole."

  Simon rolled his eyes. "Now you're a detective . . ." He shook his head and left the room grumbling. Nathan heard him stomp down the hall, still grumbling. Something about Nathan's "kind" not being suited to "sleuthing."

  Nathan turned his attention back to Miren's cottage. Hewanted her. Simon would be gone, the investigation temporarily out of his hands. She might prove a pleasing diversion. It was expected. His loins felt tight. Congested. He had been long without a woman. He would pose it to her honestly, without pressure. She might long for a man, too.

  She didn't care if she never saw him again. True, Nathan MacCallum had been generous in offering his cottage, but his interest in her clearly didn't reach the level of friendship. It was charity. She felt sure her memory had exaggerated his good looks. Probably he wasn't as tall as she remembered, either.

  Three days passed, and Miren had seen no one but Grainger. Each day, the coachman brought food, supplies. He'd brought two more dresses, but she left them untouched. She should be grateful. Instead, she felt . . . annoyed.

  Miren sat on the front steps of the cottage and glared at the loch. Another sunny day. Three in a row since she arrived. Only fat, puffy clouds in the sky. No doubt everyone at the manor was enjoying the weather. Probably playing croquet on the lawn.

  Molly hopped to sudden attention, pricking her ears as if listening. Miren watched her doubtfully. It wasn't her usual posture. Molly rose stealthily to her feet, then crept around the corner of the cottage. She burst into excited barks.

  ''It's all right, Molly. I've come to see your mistress."

  Miren's breath caught at the sound of Nathan MacCallum's low voice. Her heart beat too fast. The reaction doubled her former anger. That she should care . . . She forced a deep breath, then rose from the steps. She brushed dirt off her blue skirt and waited.

  He came around the cottage, and her resolve faltered. He was taller than she remembered. He wore a loose white shirt beneath a black vest, with well-fitting black trousers. He looked more like a pirate than a nobleman, but maybe Americans dressed differently, with less attention to detail and more on overall appeal.

  His hair was longer than usual for a gentleman, too, hanging to his shoulders. Its softness contrasted with his high, firm cheekbones and his strong, wide forehead. Admirable bone structure, a face the like of which she'd never seen. He didn't wear a beard like most men. It would have been a shame to cover a face like that.

  She hadn't exaggerated his good looks. There was no getting around that fact.

  He smiled when their eyes met. Miren couldn't breathe. He had the most beautiful eyes, warm and brown. Secrets lay hidden in their depths, secrets that would inspire any woman to closer scrutiny.

  "Miss Lindsay, it pleases me to see you well, and free."

  For an instant, Miren didn't feel free. She felt trapped. "I'm fine. Thank you." Her voice came too high and too fast. He hadn't made her nervous the first time, but she had waited for three days to see him. Her imagination caused no end of trouble.

  His smile deepened. He knew he flustered her. And apparently, it pleased him. Miren tried to remember her planned speech. "I will repay you for your kindness, Mr. MacCallum. Would sixty percent of my proceeds be adequate?"

  His smile faded, his brow furrowed. "Sixty percent?"

  "Seventy?"

  Nathan MacCallum shook his head as if to clear his senses. "Miss Lindsay, what are you talking about?"

  "Repayment for your help."

  "There's no need"

  "There is. You saved me from the most unfortunate of circumstances. If not for you, I would be bound for Australia now. My sheep would have fallen to ruin. Delivering a percentage of their income to you seems reasonable."

  Nathan looked around at her flock, probably sizing up their quality and possible yield. He looked back at her, and hissmile returned. "Another option comes to mind, Miss Lindsay."

  Something about his expression sent tremors down her spine, into her limbs. Maybe he would proposition her. Men seemed to consider it reasonable for a woman to exchange her virtue for his support.

  She swallowed hard. "What option?"

  Nathan didn't answer for a long while. He seemed to be studying her. Not for her appearance, but something deeper. He sighed, and his smile turned gentle. "An agreement between us. When you have accrued enough income from your sheeps' wool, you will leave the flock in my care when you depart for America."

  Miren's heart expanded with pleasure, then lowered in shame. "I misjudged you, sir. Your suggestion is truly honorable."

  "Misjudged me?"

  Miren's cheeks soaked with embarrassment. "I thought yo
u . . . wanted more money."

  "I wanted you."

  Her mouth dropped as he stepped closer and touched her cheek. "But I do not believe such an arrangement would benefit you, after all."

  Her mouth was still open. She snapped it shut. It drifted open again, but she couldn't speak. Nathan turned to look out over the loch. "You are beautiful, you know."

  The only response Miren could think of was So are you, so she restrained herself. He had propositioned her, almost, and she wasn't offended. "Aren't you married?"

  He glanced back at her. "No."

  Miren's brow knit. "Not to a woman with curly red hair?"

  "No. Where did you get that idea?"

  Miren shrugged. "It seemed right."

  He looked confused. Miren felt confused, too. "Is that why you brought me here?"

  Nathan turned to face her, his arms folded over his chest.

  He looked casual. He looked strong. What would it mean to become his mistress? To lie in his arms, to do as he wished? Her insides tensed. She drew a quick breath.

  "I brought you here because I couldn't think of another way to help you. I couldn't leave you in prison, nor allow you to be sent into further bondage. It troubles me more than I can explain to see people in captivity. So I used my influence to convince Garrison Campbell that dropping his claim against you was in his own best interest. I couldn't leave you to wander around Scotland, could I?"

  "I see no reason why not. I was doing well enough on my own."

  "Until you landed in jail."

  Miren shifted her weight from foot to foot. "There was that."

  "You have nothing."

  "I have my sheep. I have Molly."

  Nathan glanced down at Molly, who sat obediently at his feet, looking back and forth between them as if her own fate hung in the balance. "A more useless animal I've never encountered." He paused. "Other than Muffin."

  Anger swept up through Miren, from her belly to her cheeks. "Molly is the best, most true, smartest dog in Scotland." The power and ferocity of her own emotion startled Miren, but her eyes puddled with hot tears of fury. "It may be true that her sheepherding instincts aren't as powerful as some. But she has defended me, she has stayed at my side. You have no idea, because you are favored, and life has handed you good fortune."

  Miren found herself stepping toward Nathan, her finger pointed at his face. "Do you know, Mr. MacCallum, that you are not the first to think that my situation might profit from your baser instincts?"

  It wasn't a fair accusation. After all, he hadn't really propositioned her. He just said he'd thought of it, and reconsidered. Miren didn't care.

  He looked surprised by her sudden anger. His brown eyes widened. Miren detected a trace of humor, and her anger soared. "If you remember, Miss Lindsay"

  Miren waved her finger aggressively. "I remember very well. Everyone wants something, and it's usually at a woman's expense. When my father died, I was so afraid. I had no one, no money, no house, nothing except my sheep. And I didn't know what to do with them. Dr. Patterson said he could help me."

  Nathan's expression altered. "Patterson? Drew Patterson?"

  Miren hesitated. "Yes. You know him?"

  "Not exactly. He was with my father when he died. What do you know of him?"

  "He tended my father, in a manner that suggested he didn't care if my father lived or died. And when my father was laid into the ground, Dr. Patterson suggested I become his mistress rather than worrying about how to support myself."

  "I take it you declined."

  Miren's eyes clouded with tears. "I was more frightened of poverty than that, Mr. MacCallum. I considered his offer. It's not easy to be a lady when you have no food."

  Miren was trembling. She had never told another this story. She had tried to forget, but it refused to be silenced. "It seems a good offer, doesn't it? I suppose you were going to offer something similar."

  "No. Less." A faint self-mocking smile curved his beautiful mouth. "I thought, since you were here, and I am here, we might find pleasure together, until we go our separate ways."

  Miren stared, but a slow smile formed on her lips, too. "That is not less, sir. Your offer places us on equal ground. True, it reveals conceit on your part, but it isn't so much an insult as I thought."

  "It wasn't intended as an insult, Miren. Patterson had a wife, didn't he?"

  "His wife was ill, near death. He wanted to marry me,

  which I believed because he encouraged me to sign a marriage betrothal."

  "Indeed. Why?"

  "I'm not sure. He wanted his lust slaked. That was obvious. But he seemed as eager for marriage."

  "It's not so hard to understand, Miren. Perhaps he loved you."

  Miren frowned. "Dr. Patterson was not capable of love. I don't believe he would marry me unless it could profit him in some way. I've never understood how a marriage to a peasant girl could aid his position, but his offer wasn't born of love."

  "Please tell me you didn't become Patterson's mistress."

  Miren turned to gaze across the loch. She didn't answer him at once. She felt the clean breeze in her hair and closed her eyes. What she had done in the past defined her character today. What she did meant far more than any illusion she might portray. When she spoke, her voice came small, as if from far away.

  "I waited until darkness filled the sky, and then went to his house as he asked me. His wife was in an asylum near death at the time. I stood outside his door, and I felt as if I stood outside the gates of hell. Fear drove me to that door."

  "Fear, Miss Lindsay, has driven many men to hell."

  "I knew if I went through that door, I would never come back, because my hell would be within. It wouldn't matter if I could reach America. I would carry it with me always. If I acted on fear, fear would be all I'd ever have."

  Miren sighed and drew in the clean air. She looked back at him. He stood watching her, wonder in his warm brown eyes. The sun shone on his dark face, on his black hair. He mirrored the sun, and Miren couldn't look away.

  "I had seven shillings in my pocket that night. I left Dr. Patterson waiting, and I walked all night. When the sun rose, I found myself outside a farmhouse. There was a sign that said 'Sheepdog puppies for sale. Inquire within.' So I did.

  And I picked Molly. She cost seven shillings."

  Miren waited to see if Nathan dared say she paid too much. He said nothing. He watched her, a strange, sorrowful look in his eyes. "I took her back to my father's cottage to fetch my sheep. Men were there, already tearing our house down. I opened the pasture gate and let the sheep go, and I have followed them ever since."

  Nathan looked down at Molly. She looked up at him, eager. Her tail wagged, as if she were trying to win his affection. "She has stayed with me, and she never asks anything of me. When I think of what I might have been . . ." Miren stopped and swallowed hard. "I look at Molly and I see goodness, something of value. So I can't allow you to say my dog is useless. She is the best thing in my life."

  Nathan said nothing, but he knelt beside Molly. She placed her front paws on his bent knee, panting happily. He patted her head. He didn't look at Miren for a long while. She sensed he struggled with emotion.

  "It seems I was mistaken to doubt your dog's worth. I should know better than anyone that a living thing does what it can, not what it's bred to do. Please forgive me."

  Miren felt odd. As if she'd bled a great deal and the bleeding had stopped, but left her weakened. She didn't understand the meaning behind his cryptic words, but they resonated deep inside her. "It is I who should be sorry."

  Nathan stood up and gazed down into her eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Miren. You deserve all the good things life can bring. I wish I could give them to you. But this home is yours, for as long as you need it. When you're ready to go, I will arrange passage on a ship, and I'll help you locate your family. You owe me nothing in return."

  "I owe you my sheep. We have agreed."

  "I'd forgotten. Your
flock is more than enough payment." Nathan eyed the roving sheep. "It may be time to have them sheared. Would you allow me to enlist a local shepherd to that task?"

  Miren brightened with hope. "Yes! I'm sure the wool will profit us both. Thank you!"

  "The money won't be enough to pay your way to America, not yet."

  "I know." Miren chewed her lip. "If Mr. MacTavish was right, it will take some work to get my flock into shape. Huntley needs assistance . . . Actually, he needs to retire and allow a younger ram to service the ewes. Perhaps I could buy another ram with the proceeds . . ."

  "That seems a good plan."

  Miren liked planning. She felt stronger, in control of her destiny. Maybe she wasn't as eager to go to America as she had been a week ago, maybe she wanted to stay near Nathan MacCallum just a little while longer. But it pleased her to think of developing her flock to prime readiness.

  "Thank you, Mr. MacCallum." She drew herself up, straight and tall. "You may not believe it, but when I leave this flock to you, they will be the finest in Scotland."

  Nathan smiled. "We will work together to assure that outcome." He took her hand in his and kissed it gently. He released her, then started back toward the manor. He stopped and looked back. "I still want you, Miren. But not as an 'agreement' between us. I want you when you're free of all fear. I want you when you need nothing from me but myself."

  He didn't wait for an answer. Miren didn't have one anyway. Her heart took quick leaps, her breath came short. His proposition certainly didn't affect her the way Dr. Patterson's had. For one thing, he didn't look at her the same way. It wasn't lust she saw, so much as masculine appreciation.

  Miren couldn't deny that she looked at him with an equal measure of female approval.

  Chapter Four

  This is going to be harder than I thought. Molly watched the dark man cross the pasture. He passed through the wooden gate that led toward the manor, once again, leaving Miren behind. Nathan. Molly considered the sound of his name. Much more appropriate to his nature than "Blossom" was to the stout ewe.

  Just when it seemed certain he had come to claim the young mistress, Miren had flared with anger. Molly had no idea why. Humans were unpredictable, no question.