by Lois Greiman
Gallagher laughed, drawing her attention from the perfection of the day. “‘Dimple up’?” he said.
“Yes.” She didn’t turn toward him. Didn’t smile, though the sound of his laughter made it difficult to resist.
“Dare I hope you enjoy my dimples, lass?” he asked.
“No, you may not,” she said. “But perhaps Emily is the sort to go dreamy-eyed when you turn up your charm.”
“But not you.”
Although she didn’t look at him, she could tell he was smiling. Dear God in heaven, he was always smiling. Except when he was looking at her as if he could see straight through her undergarments.
“Certainly not me,” she said.
“And what makes the likes of you so hard?” he asked.
She did turn now. Turned and raised a carefully plucked brow. “Perhaps you have mistaken hardness for discipline.”
“Is that what you call it, then?”
She looked at the unfolding country around them again. “Need I remind you that I am not the type of woman who would be attracted to an Irishman with too little funds and too much…” She waved a hand at him. “…good cheer?”
He laughed again. “Constantly,” he said. “In fact, it seems, at times, as if you are two different women entirely.”
She felt herself blanch but kept her back perfectly straight, her expression unchanged. “Tell me, Wickerbell, have you been getting into Lord Tilmont’s port?”
“In Darlington, for instance,” he continued as if she remained mute, “’twas you who wished to see the entertainment at the start. But ’twas also you who decided to leave shortly after the beginning of the performance.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps you have not heard that it is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”
He was watching her again. She didn’t like that. It made her skin hot.
“I am told that their acrobat is rather handsome,” he said.
What was he getting at? she wondered, but kept her voice steady. “‘Their’ being…?”
“The Gypsies,” he said.
“Ahh.” She nodded. “I should have known a man such as yourself would be interested in the wild Rom.”
He was silent for a second, maybe considering the fact that, once again, it had been her idea to see Dook Natsia at the outset.
“So you are not?” he asked finally.
She raised a haughty brow at him. At least she hoped it looked haughty. Maybe it only made her appear peevish. “Interested in the Rom?”
“Aye.”
She laughed. Holy hell, the effort all but made her face bleed. ’Twas not easy being a harridan every minute of the day. “Is he titled?” she asked.
“The acrobat?”
“I believe that is who we were discussing.”
He shrugged. “I asked around a bit. I am told Tamas is, in fact, descended from kings.”
“Well, he lies,” she snapped, and felt the silence thrum around them like a heavy drumbeat.
She could feel his confusion, though she dared not turn toward him.
“You know this Tamas?”
She felt her heart twang in her chest. How could she be so foolish? she wondered frantically, but kept her expression stoic, her eyes straight ahead. “Ahh, so you have found me out. Well, I might as well confess all, then. As it turns out, I am having quite a lurid affair with him. Just as I am with the tanner and the shoemaker and the hermit who lives under the bridge by the river.”
He was examining her, his gaze as steady and warm as the sunlight. God help her, he had eyes like a song. “My apologies,” he said. “’Tis just that there seemed something familiar about him.”
“Well, perhaps he is your long-lost brother after all.”
“I have only one brother.”
She raised a shoulder. “A by-blow by your father, perhaps, then. Not someone your sire admits to. It happens, I’m told, that babies are left with Gypsies on a fairly regular—”
“I’ll not have you defaming my family, lass.”
She turned toward him. All traces of humor had disappeared from his face. And in the sinking light of the sun, he almost looked sinister. Almost dangerous.
“My father had his faults, ’tis true, but he cherished my mum with every fiber of his being. Cherished her until the day he died.” There was something about the way he said it. Something about his fierce defense of the woman who had birthed him that brought tears instantly to her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” The words were out before she could stop them. “I wasn’t…” She drew a deep breath and reminded herself who she was, but it made little difference. She couldn’t stop the apology. Loving mothers were a rare and precious thing. None knew that better than she. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
Though she dared not look his way lest he see the tears in her eyes, she felt him soften. “She was…” He paused, and now she couldn’t help but glance at him. He was gazing into the distance as if lost in some earlier time. In some kindly memory. “She was sunlight,” he murmured.
His voice was soft and reverent, his eyes dreamy. Savaana found herself lost in his misty emotions. But she found her sharp-edged demeanor with an effort. “Not literally, I assume,” she said, and he smiled crookedly. A dark shock of hair bent upward gently before falling forward with cocky happiness onto his forehead.
But who would not be happy if she could touch him with such easy regularity? Surely Lady Tilmont herself would have been unable to withstand his come hither charm.
“All but,” he said. “Da was sure the day did not truly begin until she had smiled on the horizon.”
Something tugged at her heart. She tugged back. She was not one to be sappy, and Lady Tilmont even less so, but her throat still felt a little tight, and her eyes stung. Best to make small talk.
“She is…gone, then?” She stole a glance at him. He was studying the distant woods. And with his profile toward her, it was all but impossible to look without reaching out to touch.
“She was taken two years past.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, but certainly not even the most heartless could blame her for that apology. You’d have to be a rock not to say it. Surely Lady Tilmont wasn’t a rock, she thought, then caught herself. She was Lady Tilmont, but her facade was cracking badly.
“And your da?” Damn it. She should never use such a quaint colloquialism, but she had a tendency to pick up accents without meaning to. He didn’t seem to notice her slip, however, for he was lost in his own thoughts, almost scowling as he studied the verdant hills that rolled away from them like swelling waves.
“It was hard for him. First Mum, then—” He stopped abruptly and faced her.
“Then what?”
He shook his head and found his infamous smile. “I didn’t mean to sour the mood.”
Did he jest? Surely he realized Lady Tilmont’s mood had been soured for life. “What happened?” she asked, but he only shrugged.
“’Tis naught but a bit of trouble with me brother. You know how these family matters can be.”
“No,” she said. “I fear I do not.”
He watched her, expression soft in the evening light. “You have no kin?”
Dammit! She had learned little to nothing about Lady Tilmont’s lineage, despite her best efforts. All the lady had said was that she would not be bothered by either relatives or friends during her sojourn at Knollcrest. “None in this country.” ’Twas a wild assumption, but she had to say something. “Thus you can understand why my marriage is so very important to me.” Best to remind herself of the lie.
“You’re eager to have wee ones of your own, are you?” His tone was somber now. She matched it with her own.
“Certainly.”
“And might you be needing some assist with that?”
She jerked toward him and he laughed.
“Me apologies,” he said. “I but think it shameful that your husband is not here to keep you safe.”
“Safe?” she asked, an
d hoped to God he couldn’t tell that she was flushed. “Safe from what?”
He shrugged. “While returning from the river in Darlington, I glanced through the trees and thought for a moment that you were gone from the carriage. You can’t imagine how I worried.”
“I was gone,” she said, keeping her tone steady. “I went to fetch an ice for poor Mrs. Edwards.”
“And that’s how your slippers became soiled?”
For a moment she was sorely tempted to concoct some intricate excuse, but she stopped herself. “Tell me, Wickney, are you always so concerned about ladies’ footwear?”
“Only when the lady in question is as bonny as you.”
She resisted rolling her eyes back in her head. “Do you never give up?”
“Not when the lady in question is as—” he began.
She snorted and he laughed. “I but jest,” he said. “In truth, I find it quite admirable that you are so devoted to your spouse.”
“So devoted that I can even resist you?”
His grin quirked up. “You could pretend it’s difficult.”
“Maybe if you had a title and a decent—” She stopped as she noticed a ewe lying flat out, unmoving on the ground before her. Its abdomen was distended, its neck outstretched. Facing them at an angle, it was sure to be aware of their approach. Nevertheless, it failed to move even as they rode closer.
Savaana halted her mount. “Is it dead?” she asked.
Gallagher was frowning. “Dead, no, I think not, but—” he began, and in that moment the ewe emitted a low, agonized bleat. Her huge belly spasmed and her legs, straight and stiff, jerked spasmodically. “I believe she’s in labor.”
Savaana nodded. She realized now that she could just make out two tiny hooves protruding from beneath the animal’s tail.
They sat their horses in silence. The ewe lay still, panting, pink tongue extended below toothless upper gums.
Savaana glanced behind them. Perhaps she was hoping to see someone riding to their rescue, but there was no one. “What shall we do?”
Gallagher scowled. “These things usually work themselves out, don’t they?”
“These things being lambs?”
He was frowning. “And other young.”
The ewe bleated again and strained. The tiny hooves moved a half an inch, then settled back where they were near the head of the mother’s tail.
“It doesn’t seem to be working.”
“No. It doesn’t.” It was Gallagher’s turn to glance toward Knollcrest, as if he were no more comfortable than she with the animal’s distress. “Perhaps the babe is coming wrong.”
“Well…” She felt agitated and tense. “Fix it.” The words could not have sounded more demanding if they had been spoken by Lady Tilmont herself.
“Fix it?” he said.
“Yes. You’re Irish.”
He leaned away from her as if struck. “What the devil does that have to do with birthing lambs?”
“Irish.” She waved her hand, unnerved by the animal’s pain. “Sheep. They’re a match.”
“I’m a match for sheep?”
“Surely you know what to do.”
“Surely I don’t. Our laborers—” he began, then stopped abruptly.
She scowled at him. “You had laborers?”
“I mean to say, the neighboring farmers, they cared for the sheep.”
Savaana’s mind spun. Who was this man? “And what did you do?”
He opened his mouth but the ewe bleated at that moment, stopping his thought. “I hardly think that’s the point just now,” he said.
She tightened her hands on the reins, jarred from her suspicions by the animal’s agony. “We could ride back to Knollcrest for help.”
“By the time James returned here, it will be well dark.”
True enough. “Then you’ll have to do something yourself.”
He winced. “I don’t…” he began, and paused.
“What?”
“The truth is, I don’t much care for blood, lass.”
“Are you serious?”
He scowled at her, looking honestly peeved. “Perhaps you drink it for breakfast?”
She stared at him for several seconds, brows raised, then dismounted. Dropping the mare’s reins, she approached the distressed animal slowly. Too absorbed in her own troubles, the ewe remained as she was, eyes staring, mouth open and panting.
“There now,” Savaana crooned. She had lost Lady Tilmont’s supercilious accent, but she hardly cared, for she had just noticed one obvious truth: while there were, in fact, two visible hooves, as seemed appropriate, one was pointing up while the other pointed down. “All will be well,” she said, though she was far from certain that was true.
“My apologies,” Gallagher said and touched her arm.
She turned to find him behind her, and he drew her gently back.
“I shall do what I can.”
“What about your squeamishness?” she asked.
“Suffering saints, I suspect you’ll never let me forget that.”
“Doubtful.”
He shook his head. “Perhaps you could hold the horses.”
She nodded, walked away, and retrieved the animals’ reins as he eased toward the ewe. The animal lifted her head for a moment, then lay back down, defeated. Reaching under her tail, Gallagher touched one little hoof, then, grimacing, slid his fingers along the slippery leg, but in a moment he glanced back toward Savaana.
“I think there may be two little blighters trying to come out all at once.”
Savaana worried her lip. “Can you press one back, perhaps?”
He tried, then shook his head. “My hand’s too big. There’s no room.”
She cursed quietly.
“What say you?”
Savaana glared at him, dropped the horses’ reins and began unbuttoning her jacket. “Back away.”
“What?”
“I said, back away,” she ordered, and tossing the garment to the grass, rolled up the starched lace of her sleeves.
“And what might you be doing, lass?”
“What you cannot.”
He was grinning as he rose to his feet. “You’ll soil your clothing.”
She glanced down. It did seem a shame. On the open market she could sell the ensemble for a good bit. Why, the frilly blouse alone would buy six months of Grandfather’s medicine. “Give me your shirt,” she said.
He turned his head slightly, slanting his ear toward her as if he couldn’t have possibly heard her correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your shirt,” she insisted. “If I ruin it, I shall purchase you a new one.”
His lips twitched up a notch. “Might this be naught but a ploy to see me in me glorious altogether?” he asked, but the ewe moaned again.
Savaana grimaced. “This is an opportunity for you to quit being an ass,” she said, and he laughed as he opened his buttons.
Chapter 9
Gallagher watched the lady’s expression of distaste as she squatted behind the ewe. But in a moment she settled down to business. Her mouth set in a resolute line and her brow furrowed in rapt concentration. For several long moments she remained squatting behind the animal as she tried to release the unborn, but finally, perturbed but determined, she stretched out flat on her stomach.
Sean said nothing. He merely watched in fascination. Who was this earthy wench who had stolen the body of the stiff-backed Lady Tilmont? Alastar had said she was unpredictable. Indeed, he had lauded her as unique and kindly and beautiful, with the face of an angel and the soul of a saint, but until this moment, he’d doubted most of those descriptions. Now, however, he wondered if Alastar hadn’t been right all along. Only a saint or a shepherd would—
“Damn, bloody, son of a whore,” she snarled.
Sean grinned. Very well, then. A saint she was not.
“They’re just so demmed…” She paused, breathing hard. “There are two of them. I’m sure of that,” she rasped, and screwing
up her face, she pressed farther into the ewe. One tiny hoof disappeared. Deep in concentration, the lady poked her tongue from the corner of her mouth and eased an additional hoof into the open air. Both pointed downward, but the ewe lay perfectly still, too exhausted to move. Scooting onto her knees, Clarette scowled at her handiwork. Nothing changed. The ewe remained unmoving, the lambs unborn. Reaching out reluctantly, she tugged gently at the lamb’s knobby fetlocks with both hands. They slipped out a scant half an inch, and now, feeling the unhindered movement, the ewe’s belly contracted. The little cloven hooves eased out. They were followed by a pair of bony knees. A tiny head was squished between the forelegs, and a second later the wee animal sloshed to the earth like a loosed trout.
It lay there inert, absolutely unmoving.
Clarette glared at it for all of two seconds, then shook her head. “Oh no. Oh no, you don’t!” she rasped, and retrieving the lamb by the hind legs, gave it a firm shake. It wobbled in her hands, then hung limp, smeared with all kinds of unspeakable fluids and as flaccid as a woolen rag. “Listen, you daft little bugger, you’re going to live!” she ordered, and drawing back her right hand, smacked it on its ribs.
There was a moment of frozen silence. Then the little creature snorted, lifted its ridiculously pointy head on its ridiculously scrawny neck and bleated from its upside-down position.
The ewe, exhausted but revived, blinked and rolled onto her chest. After that it was all magic. Another lamb slipped effortlessly into life, wriggling immediately. As for the lady, she carried the firstborn to the mother’s head and flopped him onto the ground. In a moment the ewe staggered to her feet. Deep-throated, maternal noises rumbled from her chest as she cleaned her babies with quick strokes of her agile tongue. And they, in turn, responded by doing the seemingly impossible—rising on their gangly legs in a matter of minutes.
