“I think you are very kind. And it must be a terrible hard job”—he nodded at Ruff beside her feet—“protecting them all.”
Funny him understanding that, how difficult it had been for Annie to pick up the burdens her mother had seemed to carry so effortlessly. Annie sighed.
“What about Jockie?” Tam asked.
“Och, his tale is even worse. Some travelers came through the village many years ago now; they made their way by showing off curiosities. They kept Jockie in a cage and called him the Beast Lad.”
“I am thinking your mother won him away?”
“Aye, with my uncle’s help. My uncle was a man of some influence and a good friend of the laird, as well as Father Alban. Over the years since his death that influence has waned. And wi’ the laird moved away—”
“Your situation has become perilous.”
“Aye.” She gazed at him. “You can see that I need a man here.”
He glanced at his ruined hand ruefully. “And the best you could do was me.”
“Nay.” She longed to reach for his hand, to cradle it between hers, but did not dare. “I believe, given time, your presence will prove a good thing indeed.”
A wonderful good thing.
Chapter Eight
Tam turned from banking the fire and caught his new wife combing out her hair, a sight that struck him like a blow to the chest. Aye, and what a picture she made, seated on the edge of the bed in the corner just in reach of the firelight, with the tresses flowing down her shoulders and back gleaming warm chestnut.
Unaccountably, Tam’s heartbeat quickened. She wore a white nightdress, having changed while he tended to his needs at the wee house out back. She looked up from her task when he turned from the fire, her dark eyes glittering.
On his perch, the owl shifted. And from his place at Annie’s side, Ruff glared at Tam. Should he make one wrong move, the two of them would likely rend him.
Aye and what move, wrong or otherwise, did he contemplate? Tempting a picture as she made, he could scarcely go and take her in his arms. She’d made it clear ’twas not that sort of marriage. She merely needed him as another fixture of this place.
So then what should he make of this feeling that rushed through him whenever he looked at her, the heat that started low down and flowed upward to his head?
“I shall just settle down here beside the fire, shall I?” he asked.
She stared at him, arrested. He felt her gaze move over his body as if she traced that trail of heat. She shook her head.
“Nay, I think it best if you share the bed with me.”
“Eh?”
She cleared her throat. “’Tis big enough, this bed. ’Twas my uncle’s, and he was a big man.”
That might be so but, Tam felt, was scarcely the point.
Before he could speak, Annie went on, “How will it seem if my new husband does no’ share my bed?”
“Who will know?”
“The women who come to see me will question Sonsie. She is no’ good at keeping secrets.”
Tam edged closer to where she sat. “Will she no’ let it be known you paid the priest a fee to join us?”
“Aye, but a donation to the kirk is no great thing.” Annie laid her comb aside and clambered across the bed to the wall.
Tam swallowed hard.
“Best to take off your shirt and trousers,” Annie bade.
“But—” That would leave him standing in nothing but his trews.
She smiled. “Blow out the light, if you are feeling shy.”
Shy? It was not a description Tam usually applied to himself. He doused the light and shucked the clothing without glancing in her direction. The room still held a fair amount of radiance lent by the fire, all leaping shadows and brightness. Tam moved to the bed, and the owl ruffled his feathers; Ruff gave a growl that sounded like a grumble.
“Hush, Ruff,” Annie said.
Ah, then, and did she want him right in under the covers with her? Cursed if he could tell, but he slid in anyway. She’d been right; the bed afforded enough room so that he could lie without touching her.
Ruff, still complaining, laid himself down at the foot of the bed. Ella jumped up on it, circled twice, and curled onto Tam’s chest.
Annie laughed softly. “Do you mind?”
“Nay, I once had a dog, Gyp, who…” He paused abruptly as rage and hate suffused him. Because she listened, he choked the emotions back and concluded, “who would often sleep wi’ me.”
“Well, then.”
She said no more, and peace settled around them even as the comfort of the bed stole in. Tam could scarcely remember when he’d last known such ease—or anything beyond anger, grief and despair. Who would have thought it would find him now, here, with this woman?
Such a curious woman she was. He recalled again seeing her yesterday morning for the first time, circulating through the crowd with the feather in her hat bobbing, and looking at him as if measuring his soul.
His eyes began to close; he’d nearly succumbed to sleep when she asked, “Does it hurt?”
“What?”
“Your hand.”
It did, constantly—usually a dull ache that moved to sharp pain when he attempted to use the fingers.
“Aye.”
“Here, let me see.”
Before he could react, she slid closer in the bed and plucked his bad hand from his chest where it lay curled around Ella’s small, warm body. Tam’s breath caught as her fingers moved gently over his, soothing and stroking.
“Tell me what happened to you.”
Her head now lay very near his on the pillow; her voice made barely a whisper in his ear. He could smell her scent, warm and beguiling, and her touch on his fingers both enflamed him and, strangely, deepened the sense of comfort.
“I…” His throat worked for a moment. He’d promised himself he would not speak of that night, did not even wish to remember it. The night he had failed those who loved and relied on him.
The irony of that struck him once again—for this woman thought to rely on him also. He should warn her, tell her she’d made a bad bargain. He should leave here before she invested more in him than just her mother’s ring.
Leave, aye, come morning. For to save his life he did not think he could rise from this bed at this moment.
Meanwhile he should tell her how it had happened, how he’d failed. Give her fair warning.
“They had been threatening for months to clear us, you ken. The factor let it be known we could leave of our own will or be tossed out—our choice. But there was no real choice in it, for we had nowhere else to go.
“My da—my da had been born on that land; ’twas in his blood. He often said he’d sooner die than leave.” Tam smiled grimly into the near darkness. “He had his wish after that. He’d been ill ever since autumn, see, wi’ a cold in his chest. When they came, when it happened, they gave us no time to gather our belongings. He and my ma were both thrown out into the snow.”
“But, your hand?”
She still massaged it, her touch a balm. Slowly she caressed and strove to straighten each of the bent fingers in turn.
“I tried to fight the men who came, but there were five of them—the factor and four of his men. When they broke the door in, I snatched up a cudgel, all I had within reach. They punished me for it, after.”
“How?”
Tam narrowed his eyes. Despite trying to push it away from him, he had relived that scene a hundred times. What might he have done different? There must have been something.
“They dragged me outside. My parents were already there ahead of me, Da fighting for his breath and my ma scrambling in the snow. She was always such a proper lady, even if a crofter’s wife. It hurt to see her treated like so much trash. Three of them wrestled the cudgel from me and held me down while the factor and his fourth man used their team to bring down the stones of the lintel so we could no’ go back inside. My dog, Gyp, tried to defend me, but they clubbed h
im down with my own stick—dead.” He swallowed convulsively, his throat suddenly too dry. “They set the inside of the croft house alight, everything we owned, while they held me down, and I could do naught to prevent it. Then they—”
Abruptly, he faltered before sucking in a deep breath and forcing the words from him. “They spread my hand on one of the stones and used another to crush it.”
“By the powers!” Her fingers stilled on his, and he felt horror crawl through her.
“After they rode away,” he resumed unsteadily, “I ha’ no time to think about mysel’. I helped my parents away up into the hills, looking for shelter.”
“Could you no’ go to a neighbor?”
Tam shook his head. “The factor—Cauldam was his name—let it be known that whatever household offered aid to those dispossessed would be next for clearing.”
“Ah.” She began stroking his fingers again, her touch tender. “And no doubt they all wound up being cleared anyway.”
“Aye, eventually. It took some time. By any road, the long and short of it was my hand had no chance to heal properly.”
“You saw no physician?”
He laughed incredulously in answer.
“Aye, well,” she went on in a voice he imagined she used speaking to injured animals, “I may be able to do somewhat for it.”
“You?” He turned his head on the pillow, seeking her eyes.
“Aye, I ha’ the healing touch. Can you no’ tell?”
“I can tell.”
“I do no’ ken that I can do much to make these fingers work again, but I should be able to ease the pain.”
“How?”
“A massage just like this every day—”
Or every night?
“Perhaps twice a day, in the beginning. Do you feel any difference yet?”
“I do.”
“Tam Sutherland, I am that sorry for the sorrow and grief you ha’ suffered.” Unexpectedly, she raised his mangled hand to her lips. He felt her mouth soft against his palm, blessing it with a kiss. “There, now, better get some sleep.”
Damned if he could.
Chapter Nine
Tam awoke to find someone staring at him—several someones. The wee lass, Sonsie, stood not three feet away, glowering with open disapproval, her look mirrored almost perfectly by the owl on his perch. Neither of them blinked, and Tam could not decide which glare was the fiercer.
And the small white dog, Ella, stood on his chest regarding him also. Her expression, by contrast, denoted adoration.
Of his wife, though, he saw no sign; the bed beside him stretched empty and cold. He wondered if he had dreamed that conversation last night and the way she’d touched his hand.
He brought the offending member out of the blankets and scrutinized it. Still crooked and ugly, but it seemed to ache a mite less.
Ella licked his chin, and he shifted her gently so he could peer around her. He found Annie nowhere in the room.
“Where is your mistress?” he asked the scowling lass.
She sniffed. “Arisen long since and out about the chores of this place. ’Tis no’ everyone can lie abed half the day.”
No sooner had she spoken than the door crashed open and Jockie came limping in. Tam had noted last night how the lad rarely raised his head; now he did so, and Tam caught a good look at his expression, one of terror and dismay.
His crooked mouth opened and sounds issued forth, a series of mewling cries and a word. “Randleigh—”
“Sweet mercy forefend!” Sonsie exclaimed with equal horror. “And, foolish lad, did ye leave our mistress out there alone?”
Jockie spoke again. “Ruff.”
“Ruff is with her? Well, that is something.” She turned on Tam. “Get up! Make yoursel’ useful.”
“What—?” he began to inquire.
“’Tis the factor, Randleigh—the very reason you are here, as I ken full well.”
Factor. The word caused a flood of anger to race through Tam’s body. He shoved the bedclothes aside and got up all in one movement.
“What would the factor want here?” he wondered aloud.
Sonsie retorted, “You maun ken what he wants. Or did my mistress no’ tell you whilst you were cuddling last night?”
Tam shook his head even as he seized his trousers and struggled into them. The honest fear in Sonsie’s face belied her waspish tone. Barefoot as he was, he charged across the room and out the door, aware that both Jockie and Ella followed him.
He heard voices even before he emerged—one he did not recognize, along with Annie’s strident crow-squawk, so different from her soft tones in bed last night. He saw her at once, standing in front of the yard gate as if she barred the way to the man who sat his horse beyond.
Regarding the man, Tam felt a chill chase up his spine following hard on the instinctive rage. Factors in the Highlands were not known for their soft natures. Neither were they usually men of the land they managed, too often brought in from England or the lowlands. Arrogance commonly marked them, but this man’s countenance betrayed something that went beyond mere arrogance. His thin face looked greedy, his mouth cruel, and his hooded eyes were those of a predator.
“…expect me to believe…” he was saying to Annie when Tam appeared. The narrowed eyes switched from Annie to Tam, and the mouth, like a cut from an axe, slanted down.
“Here is my husband now.” Annie’s voice trembled, the only thing to betray her distress. For she stood foursquare, wrapped in her shawl, her hair still streaming loose down her back and Ruff at attention beside her.
A surge of protectiveness carried Tam forward across the yard to her side. When he reached her he heard the deep growl rolling low in Ruff’s throat. He saw too that the factor came armed, a pistol at his side and a crop laid across his saddle. In his mind he could almost see the man felling the dog should Ruff decide to lunge.
For that reason, if no other, he nudged the dog aside and took his place at Annie’s side.
She pressed close, and her hand snaked up his naked back; all a show for the factor’s benefit, no doubt, but her action caused Tam’s initial protective instinct to flare still more brightly.
He glared at the factor. “What is this?”
“This man is Laird Ardaugh’s factor, Ned Randleigh. Master Randleigh, my husband, Tammas Sutherland.”
Randleigh’s nostrils pinched. “You did not tell me you intended to wed, mistress.”
Annie’s chin came up a notch. “I was no’ aware I needed your permission.”
“A bit sudden, this marriage, is it not?” The man’s clipped voice betrayed him as English.
“Not at all. We were waiting only for the winter weather to break and so allow Tam to travel.”
Randleigh eyed Tam up and down, for the moment not noticing his mangled hand which pressed into Annie’s side.
Tam took an aggressive step forward. “And why should my wife’s intentions be any business o’ yours? She needed help on the place, and I ha’ come. Henceforth, you will deal wi’ me.”
“Your wife,” Randleigh emphasized, “knows full well that much of this district is slated for clearing—just as she knew the price of being passed over. I tell you as I tell her, that price still stands. Good day to you.”
He drew up his horse with a vicious hand and turned from the gate. In a moment he had ridden off into the chilly mist that still clothed the hills and the trail.
The growl in Ruff’s throat died.
Tam turned on Annie. “What does he mean? What price is this of which he speaks?”
She looked nearly overset with dismay. Her eyes, full of emotion, searched his, and a hectic flush rose to her face. “We canno’ speak of it here. Come inside.”
Tam refused to move. “Nay. You will tell me first.”
Jockie, mewling in distress, approached them waving his hands.
“You are upsetting Jockie; he canno’ abide raised voices.”
“I ha’ no’ raised my voice,” Tam poi
nted out. Perhaps, though, the lad sensed his ire, aimed at the man who had just ridden away.
He seized Annie by the shoulders and asked more softly, “What did he mean?”
She seemed to sag between his hands. “Come inside and I will tell you all.”
****
Annie sat with her gaze fixed on her folded hands—much easier than looking at Tam, who sat opposite her. Their human companions had made themselves scarce, Jockie gone out to the byre to care for the beasts and Sonsie to the yard to feed the hens. At least some of the animal occupants remained. Sol still occupied his perch, watching over everything like a patriarch, and Ruff sat pressed to Annie’s side.
She flicked one careful look at Tam’s face, worried and stern.
When she did not speak, he urged, “Tell me about this man Randleigh.”
“I already did. At least, I did say there was a factor.”
“There always is.” Tam twitched in his seat, and she thought of what he’d confided before they fell asleep last night. She shuddered inwardly with sympathy. Would he have come here, accepted the place she offered, wedded her, if he knew he strode straight into another such battle?
“He hails from England and was hired no’ by our laird, a MacCallum true born, but his agents in Glasgow. He came here wi’ a reputation as a hard man, but we had no idea at the outset what he truly was. So far he has cleared only a few—folks so behind in their rent none could say he had no’ a legitimate reason. But he holds the threat of clearance over the rest o’ us like a big stick.”
“Where is the laird?”
“Gone to Edinburgh. They say he fell into debt and was forced to retire to a lesser holding in the city. To be sure, the big house stands empty now, save for Randleigh himself and a few servants.” She gave a thin smile. “Sometimes I think Randleigh fancies himself the laird.” She lifted her eyes to meet Tam’s at last. “With a laird’s privileges.”
Tam cocked an inquiring eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“He has set prices for holding off on a clearing. From a family it might be coin—little enough per quarter, just what they can barely stand. But it makes the want in the district that much greater. There are children who did no’ have enough to eat this past winter because of him.”
The Hiring Fair Page 5
