Mary and the Fighter (Prairie Tales Book 2)

by Kit Morgan

  Mary shrugged as she took a seat at the table. “Nothing.”

  Mrs. Wallace studied her. “Nothing my eye. I’ve never seen you so quiet. My guess is you’re angry. Am I right?”

  Mary blew out a breath in resignation. “Aye, I suppose ye could say that.”

  “Don’t tell me the squire set you off?”

  Mary’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, not him.”

  “Ha, that narrows it down then. What did Mr. Mulligan say?”

  “How did you know it was him?” Mary asked, brows raised in wonder.

  “Because he’s the only other man you talk to. Unless someone at Cromwell’s became ill mannered toward you. But I can’t see the squire putting up with that.”

  Mary fingered the teacup in front of her. “No, he wouldn’t. The squire watches out for me. I’m his property after all.”

  Mrs. Wallace waved Mary’s hand away from the cup, picked up the teapot, and poured. “Never mind about that. What did Patrick do?”

  Mary closed her eyes and shook her head. “He just… said things that… well, can never be.”

  Mrs. Wallace poured herself a cup, set the teapot down and sat. “What sorts of things?”

  “Things like me coming to work for him after my contract with the squire is up.” She rolled her eyes. “As if that could ever happen.”

  Mrs. Wallace smiled. “The end of your contract or working for young Mulligan?”

  “Working for Patrick of course,” Mary said. She picked up her cup and took a small sip, wishing the conversation was over.

  “And that’s what has you upset?” Mrs. Wallace asked in surprise.

  “Aye, because it’s far-fetched. He knows it and so do I.”

  “And how is it far-fetched, you silly girl? The man wants to open an inn of his own, that’s no secret. Of course he’ll need workers. By the time he has it built, your contract may well be up. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.”

  Mary stared at her a moment. “What?”

  “Yes, unless of course he decides to take on this silly fight with the Bruiser. If he does, and by the grace of the Lord Almighty he wins, then he’d have enough money to make his dream happen now.”

  Mary could still only stare. If what she said was true, then perhaps he wasn’t teasing her after all. But if he fought that brute and won, where did that leave her? Would a man wait seven years to hire a serving girl? Hardly.

  “Patrick Mulligan is a special man, Mary,” Mrs. Wallace went on to say. “You’d do well to keep an eye on him. In fact, it’s obvious he has both eyes on you.”

  Mary’s mouth dropped open.

  “Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Mrs. Wallace said. “You’re a very pretty girl, from his homeland and of marriageable age…”

  “And the property of Squire Ferguson,” Mary cut in. “Really, Mrs. Wallace, must you torture me so?”

  “Torture?” She said as her brows shot up. “I meant nothing by it, dear. I was only pointing out the fact that you caught the man’s eye. Anyone can see he’s attracted to you, not to mention protective.”

  Mary couldn’t argue with that, especially after the way he’d looked after her during the squire’s dinner. “I’ve caught his eye?” Her voice cracked on her last word.

  Mrs. Wallace smiled. “Of course, you have. There’s nothing wrong with it, is there?”

  Mary sighed. “We both know there’s everything wrong with it, Mrs. Wallace. The squire would never allow him to court me.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “From Bobby, the stable lad. He said the squire’s servants aren’t allowed to court each other, let alone by someone outside of the estate. Especially someone like me. At least not until my contract is up.”

  “Oh, I see. Bobby said that, eh? Is Bobby the squire?”

  “No, but…”

  “Then he best not be putting words into the squire’s mouth. Did you know you are the first indentured servant Squire Ferguson has ever had?”

  Mary began to fiddle with her teacup again. “No, I didn’t. Why did he take me on?”

  Mrs. Wallace shrugged. “Who’s to say? But the squire is a fair man, probably saw an opportunity to better the estate, and took it.”

  “But how can an indentured servant better his estate?”

  Mrs. Wallace’s look softened. “Perhaps he thought he was doing you a favor taking you on. The squire’s a fair man, just, and kind. Yes, he’s got a big mouth, but we all know he’s not cruel.”

  “No, he isn’t.” Mary sipped her tea slowly, peeking at the other woman over the rim of her cup. Everything she said was true about the squire. And if so, then what about Patrick Mulligan? Were her words about him true as well?

  Her heart leapt at the thought. Had she caught his eye? And if so, were his words at the brewery true? He would wait to hire her after her servitude to the squire was finished? Or was there something more to it?

  Mary sighed. She was simply going to have to wait and see.

  Several days passed before Mary saw Patrick again. The squire was having another dinner, and once again Patrick was there to serve the ale. What made Mary curious, however, was the fact that Patrick didn’t bring any new barrels with him. The squire expected him to serve what he purchased from the brewery days before. How strange.

  “There ye are, Mary O’Brien. Have ye missed me?”

  Mary couldn’t help the fact that her heart began to flutter. She couldn’t control it any

  more than she could tell the sun to stay put at the start of a new day. It was going to rise nonetheless. “How could I? I just saw ye not three days ago. Besides, it’s not like we’re…,” she shut up and spun away.

  “Mary O’Brien,” he drawled. “What were ye going to say?”

  She turned to him. “Nothing ye’d be interested in hearing. Why are ye here, anyway?”

  He gave her an innocent look. “I’m here at the squire’s request. Mrs. Wallace says he wants me to serve again.” He took several steps toward her, leaving only a foot between them. “Maybe he wants someone to look after his pretty little serving girl.” He winked then turned and went to the worktable. “Where is Mrs. Wallace?”

  “That’s a good question,” she said, her heart hammering in her chest. She swallowed hard and concentrated on the matter at hand. Where was the woman? She should be busy in the kitchen preparing dinner for the squire’s guests. Yet, none of the trays of food had been laid out yet and here Squire Ferguson’s guests due any minute. “Stay here, I’ll run upstairs and see if she’s in her room.”

  “I’ll check the dining room and parlor. Could she be in Squire Ferguson’s study with him?”

  “Only if she took him some tea or ale,” Mary said with worry.

  He gave her a soft look. “Don’t fret, we’ll find her.”

  Mary gulped as she turned and remembered the squire and Mrs. Wallace sharing a kiss. She certainly hoped Patrick didn’t walk in on them if that’s what they were doing. She spun to him, a hint of panic about her.

  “What sort of a look is that?” he asked and stared at her.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Now off with ye.”

  He arched a single eyebrow in suspicion. “You wouldn’t be telling me stories, would ye Mary Brigit O’Brien?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “How did ye know my middle name?”

  He grinned. “I asked around.”

  She continued to stare, her mouth now flopped open like a fish. “But why?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe the owner of an inn likes to know everything there is to know about his future employees.”

  She laughed. “Patrick Mulligan, what a strange man ye are. Ye’ll be waiting a fair amount if you plan on hiring me.”

  He shrugged again. “And what of it? I don’t mind, do you?”

  That caught her off guard. She stepped back, eyes wide as her heart thundered in her chest. Worse, her arms broke out gooseflesh as a tingle went up her spine. “Would you really wait for me?”

 
; He closed the distance between them and in a bold move, took one of her hands in his. “Aye, Mary, I would.”

  “But… I can’t even cook well.”

  He lowered his face to hers and smiled. “Then it’s a good thing ye’ve got time to practice with the best cook in the county, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, too dumbstruck to speak. Mrs. Wallace was right. He did have his eye on her. How could she not have seen it before?

  “I’d best go find Mrs. Wallace before the squire’s guests arrive,” he said in a soft voice and looked into her eyes. Mary stared back, unable to move, to breathe to think! That is until the length of her contract hit her like a stone to the head.

  “Aye, ye better,” she said as her heart sank. “I’ll start the platters. I know what she wanted to serve.”

  He sighed and stepped away. “Ye do that, lass. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She watched him leave, took a deep breath, and hurried to the pantry. Something had just happened, but she wasn’t sure what. It felt similar to what took place when they parted in the brewery days ago. Had she just botched things up again? She’d come to the conclusion that she was the one that severed whatever was growing between them. But how could she allow it? Seven years was a long time, far too long for someone like Patrick Mulligan to wait for the likes of her. Even if she had caught his eye, who’s to say another wouldn’t do the same? One of the squire’s neighbors could have a granddaughter or niece visit. Perhaps even a daughter that was sent away to a boarding school and returned. She didn’t know the neighbors or villagers and their comings and goings. Her situation was precarious at best. If she were smart, she’d do everything she could to guard her heart from this man. After all, he’d managed to capture it so easily.

  The realization made her stop what she was doing and stare at the pantry shelves. “Oh, mercy! Mary Brigit O’Brien! Look what ye’ve done.” She gathered what she needed and carried it into the kitchen. After setting everything on the worktable she went to the hutch for the silver. She took out the needed place settings and then leaned against the hutch a moment. “Mary, ye clot head! If he can so easily capture yer heart, can’t he just as easily toss it away?” And indeed, he could. What a fool she was. An idiot! She could just imagine the verbal storm her revelation would send the squire into. But he would never know. She could never let him see.

  It didn’t matter what Mrs. Wallace said, she didn’t dare risk losing her position. Or in this case, her contract with the squire. What if he sold her to that awful Mr. Pike? She shuddered at the thought. Even if he sold her to someone like Mr. Cromwell, she’d still be in a worse position than she was. She liked serving in the manor house. Yes, the work could be hard, but the squire was fair, Mrs. Wallace kind. She was just going to have to make sure she didn’t get too close to Patrick Mulligan. After all, seven years was a very long time.

  Patrick returned to the kitchen. “I found them. They were in the study going over the ledgers. Or should I say, Mrs. Wallace was going over the ledgers and telling the squire what to do.” He approached the worktable. “Need any help?”

  “No, fetch yer ale and see to that. Mrs. Wallace and I will take care of the food.” She spoke stoically, with little emotion. It was all she could do to keep her tone even. She didn’t know if she could win this fight with her heart. If it had its way, she’d fling her arms around his neck and kiss him! The thought made her shudder.

  “Mary,” he said with concern. “Are ye cold then?”

  “Not at all,” she said and wiped her brow at the back of her hand. “On the contrary, it’s quite warm in here, don’t ye think?”

  He put his hands on his hips and studied her. “I don’t think so. But if yer too hot I can open the window.”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” Mrs. Wallace snapped as she entered the kitchen. “I’ve got popovers in the oven, and I don’t need you ruining them by letting cold air into the kitchen whilst I take them out!”

  He held up his hands as if to ward her off. “I hear and obey, oh mistress,” he teased.

  She grabbed a spoon off the worktable and smacked him with it. “Get out of my kitchen Patrick Mulligan and go pour your ale. It’s down in the root cellar. Fetch it.”

  He laughed and left the kitchen. Mary stared after him, her heart slowing. She didn’t wonder if they could see beating against her dress.

  “Mary, where’s the sugar?” Mrs. Wallace asked. “You know it I always sprinkle some on the pies.”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Wallace,” she said and hurried to the pantry. She retrieved the sugar jar, returned to the kitchen and set it on the worktable. “Why is that man here?”

  “What?”

  Mary licked dry lips. “Mr. Mulligan. Why is he here to serve the squire?”

  Mrs. Wallace studied her a moment. “Why little Mary, you seem a bit flustered. Just look how red your face is…”

  Mary rolled her eyes. She never could hide her emotions. “But does he have to be here?”

  “What’s wrong, girl? Can’t you handle a handsome man?”

  “That’s just it, Mrs. Wallace. I don’t want to.”

  The woman’s brows shot to the ceiling. “Excuse me? A pretty young girl can’t handle a handsome young man? What’s the matter with you?”

  Tears stung the back of Mary’s eyes as she bit her lower lip to keep them from falling. “Oh, don’t you see, Mrs. Wallace?”

  “See what, dear?”

  “I think I’m falling in love.”

  Chapter 9

  Patrick couldn’t understand why the squire would have him serve his dinner guests yet again. But he wasn’t going to argue the fact either. He’d been given another chance to see Mary, tease her, even do a little flirting. But tonight something had happened.

  He pondered what he might’ve done wrong as he poured one of Squire Ferguson’s guests a mug of ale. He’d not seen the man before and briefly wondered where he was from, before thoughts of Mary permeated his mind once more.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have taken her hand the way he did earlier. Was it in proper? Probably. But he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to reassure her, comfort her, let her know he was her friend …

  Who was he kidding? He wanted to be more than Mary O’Brien’s friend. Problem was, he couldn’t. The squire would never allow her to be courted by him. No matter who he was.

  He served the squire’s guests and retreated to the kitchen, noting the eyes that followed him, the stranger’s chief among them. Was this the trainer Mr. Cromwell told him about? If it was, then why wasn’t he introduced? His employer was in attendance, why was he being so quiet?

  “Would you like me to serve dinner again?” he asked Mrs. Wallace when he entered the kitchen.

  She removed some sort of roasted fowl from the oven. “If you’d like, but I’ll help you.” She set the pan on the worktable. “There, doesn’t that look nice?”

  “Yes, and it smells good too,” he commented.

  “It’s a fine bird. Pheasant is very hard to get this time of year.”

  Patrick studied the bird. The sight made his mouth water. “Did the squire get it?”

  “No, Mr. Gerber did. Fine shot the stable master. Squire Ferguson was kept busy with other things and couldn’t hunt with him.”

  Patrick noticed the blush creeping into the woman’s cheeks and tried his best to hide a smile. “I’m sure the squire and his guests will be pleased. Shall I serve it then?”

  “After I transfer it to that large serving plate on the counter and garnish it. When you carry it out, I’ll bring some of the side dishes. Mary can bring the rest.” She glanced around the kitchen. “Where is that girl?”

  Patrick felt his chest tighten. “She’s not in the dining room, is she?” He hoped not. He didn’t want her alone in a room full of men. Not after the squire’s last dinner. Thankfully, Mr. Pike wasn’t in attendance this time. Still, he didn’t know the men that were. A few he recognized from Shelburne, but hadn’t a clue as to their names.
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  Mrs. Wallace tapped her head. “Oh, mercy, I sent her to the barn with Mr. Gerber’s dinner along with the stable lad’s.” She tapped her head again and shook it. “I’m getting so forgetful. Most nights they come eat in the kitchen, but on nights the squire entertains I can’t have them underfoot.”

  “Do you want me to fetch her?”

  Mrs. Wallace looked up from her work and glanced at the dining room. “We still have a few minutes before we have to serve.”

  “Aye, we do. I’ll run get her,” Patrick said and headed for the door.

  He left the house and started for the barn. Why his heart thundered in his chest he had no idea, but there it was. Had seeing Mary again after only a short time been the cause? If so he was going to have to rethink what he was doing. But his head and his heart weren’t in sync. As if his heart wanted nothing to do with his head at the moment. On the contrary, it wanted Mary O’Brien. Now.

  He wasn’t sure when it happened. Maybe while he was looking for Mrs. Wallace earlier, or when he touched Mary’s hand. But, what did it matter? She was unreachable, at least as far as the squire was concerned. What a pity.

  But that didn’t mean he’d stop looking out for her. Nor did it mean he would push her from his heart and mind. No, there was something special about Mary, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. But the better he got to know her, the sooner he’d find out what it was. For one, she was the only woman he’d ever met that made him daydream about a wife. Children. A home.

  In short, she was perfect for him. But under the circumstances, was he willing to wait? That was the real question. Seven years was a long time. Would Squire Ferguson release her before the term of her contract ended? He’d heard of it happening before. Not with the squire, but others who kept indentured servants. Maybe the squire would cut her term short as a wedding present?

  “Mr. Mulligan! What are you doing here?”

  Patrick stopped short and just in time too. He’d almost run into Mary! “Looking for ye, lass. Mrs. Wallace and I are about to serve dinner and need ye in the kitchen.”