The Hiring Fair

by Laura Strickland

  “Lies,” Randleigh spat. “Will you believe such a ruffian as this? I say again, there is no proof.”

  “Oh,” Annie said softly, “but there is.”

  She stepped to the door and pushed it open. Belfour cocked his head curiously as a low conversation took place. An instant later, Kirstie and Jockie stepped into the room.

  Tam, staring in amazement, could not decide which of them looked more daunted. Jockie came with his customary hesitant gait and the livid welts still clearly visible on his face. Kirstie, hands folded, shot a wild look at Belfour and the physician before fixing her stare on Ned Randleigh and shrinking toward Jockie’s side.

  To Tam’s surpise, Jockie reached out and seized her hand.

  “What is this?” Belfour asked.

  “This woman is Kirstie MacLachlan, a tenant living on her croft wi’ but her aged grandmother. Master Randleigh forced her, just as I ha’ said. The lad is my own farmhand, Jock, who tried to defend her when the factor returned for more. You can see how Master Randleigh dealt wi’ him.”

  Tam experienced a rush of combined hope and dismay. How courageous of these two to come here for his sake, and Annie’s. Poor Kirstie, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment, could not meet the magistrate’s gaze, but Jockie stared at Randleigh with unflagging hatred.

  “An outrageous charge!” Randleigh declared swiftly. “And unfounded. The boy, as you can see, is a halfwit.”

  “He is not,” Annie refuted. “He may have difficulty speaking, but his wits, Master Belfour, are as clear as yours or mine.”

  Belfour leaned forward and eyed Jockie with interest. “Young man—Jock, is it? What is the nature of your affliction?”

  Jock considered the question and shrugged. His face twisted with effort as he said, “Do no’ rightly ken, sir.”

  “The dolt cannot even speak,” Randleigh decried. “Master Belfour, you cannot accept his testimony.”

  “I think I may,” Belfour mused. “Do you, Jock, understand who I am? I serve here as magistrate and an authority for justice. Do you swear to speak true at peril of your soul?”

  Jockie nodded.

  “Who caused these wounds I see upon you?”

  Jockie nodded at Ned Randleigh, the gesture rendering words unnecessary.

  “For what reason?” Belfour persisted.

  “Let me say for him.” Clearly terrified, her voice shaking, Kirstie spoke up. “I was there.” She turned her eyes, full of horror and dread, on Randleigh. “This man did come to my door one night and say he would toss both me and my grandmother from our home. Sir, my grandmother is ill, bedridden. I felt I had no choice but to pay the price he asked to let us stay.”

  “What price is this?” Belfour asked, even as Ned Randleigh bristled.

  Kirstie bowed her head and began to weep.

  “No matter,” Belfour looked uncomfortable. “I believe I understand.”

  “Sir!” Randleigh barked. “This is a false accusation. The foolish cow lies in an effort to blacken my reputation.”

  “Why should she wish to blacken your reputation, Master Randleigh?”

  “She is behind on her rent. I have been more than lenient.”

  “Have you?”

  “Curious that,” Tam spoke, “how he only shows such leniency to women living on their own.”

  “Kirstie MacLachlan tells the truth,” Annie stated starkly. “She came to me the next day because he used her so harshly—”

  Jockie mewled with vehemence.

  “That is when Jockie—my farmhand—went to stay wi’ her,” Annie continued, “in an effort to protect her should the factor return.”

  “Which he did more than once,” Tam took it up. “On the second occasion, I arrived and attempted to get between them. Randleigh then ordered his men to seize me.”

  “Lies!” Randleigh howled. “Master Belfour, whom will you believe—this lot of ruffians, or me?”

  All eyes moved to Belfour, including those of Camden, who looked particularly interested.

  “Why would Mistress Kirstie and young Jock lie?” Belfour asked Randleigh.

  “These peasants are wont to close ranks, sir, as you would know if you were in my position. They are deceitful and lie for one another like breathing.”

  “Then tell me, Master Randleigh, who or what inflicted the injuries I see upon young Jock, here?”

  “How can I say if I was not there? All I know is this man, Tam Sutherland, attacked me. My own men will attest to that. You must find him dangerous and at the very least assign a sentence of deportation.”

  “So that you may then get at my wife?” Tam challenged. “When she, like Kirstie, is alone and defenseless?”

  “That witch, defenseless?” Randleigh sneered. “She should be put on trial for the use of dark arts.”

  “Enough!” Belfour slapped the table with his palm. “Master Randleigh, you say I must find this man, Tam Sutherland, dangerous. Do you think to tell me my duty?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No. Young woman…” Belfour turned to Kirstie and asked not unkindly, “do you swear on your immortal soul that what you have told me here today is truth?”

  Kirstie, still in tears and clutching Jockie’s hand, gulped and nodded.

  “Then”—Belfour paused weightily—“I have no proof otherwise. Just as I have no proof Tam Sutherland attacked Ned Randleigh in anything but self-defense or that Master Randleigh broke Sutherland’s hand. I find, Ned Randleigh, you have no cause, either, to hold him. He must be released.”

  Annie gasped, and her face lit with joy. But Randleigh glowered.

  “This is an outrage. Master Mowatt, the magistrate assigned to this district, would not—”

  Swiftly Belfour interrupted, “Ah, but Master Mowatt is suffering from a severe case of gout and cannot travel. Hence I have been appointed to cover for him. Would you, sir, question my fitness?”

  Clearly Randleigh did, but he muttered, “No, sir.”

  “Then let this matter be done and over. I order the release of Tam Sutherland.” He turned to Kirstie. “You, young woman, have shown great courage in coming forward.”

  Jockie put his arm around the shaking girl.

  Belfour returned his gaze to Ned Randleigh. “Let me hear no more of such incidents, sir, on your patch.”

  “Thank you, Master Belfour.” Annie stepped past Randleigh and took Tam’s good hand.

  As she did, Tam heard Randleigh say to her in a dangerous undertone, “Well played, mistress. But you shall most certainly pay for this.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Night had come; the rain still fell outside, as it had all through their journey home and during the celebratory meal Sonsie prepared after. Now night settled softly around the stone cottage. Jock and Kirstie had gone home, Kirstie citing duty to her grandmother. The animals all tended, Sonsie had cleared the dishes and climbed to her bed in the loft. At long last, Tam and his wife were alone.

  Annie barred the door and turned to Tam softly, a host of emotions in her eyes. Hunger rose within him, hard and fierce, that had little to do with food. Suddenly the pain and grief he’d harbored these past days eased, leaving but one desire: to take her in his arms, taste her lips, and experience again the sense of completeness that only seemed to find him in her company.

  She reached for him blindly, and he felt her tremble. “Och, how I feared for you,” she said.

  He drew her closer. “And I for you.”

  “And I missed you.”

  “Did you, so?” He should not question it. Only look what she’d gone through to succor him and pry him loose from Randleigh’s hold. Yet the doubts the factor planted in his mind while yet she was away had put down barbed roots and burrowed deep.

  “Surely you do no’ doubt me?” She leaned up and kissed him tenderly. Their lips melded together, and desire leaped bright as fire. Annie sagged against him.

  Into his mouth she gasped, “Tam, please.”

  He caught her face between his
hands, the one splinted and curled against her cheek, and gazed into her eyes. “Annie, are you sure ’tis me you want?”

  “Whom else?”

  “A hundred other men, a thousand better suited to you, and more deserving. Yon Randleigh is right in what he says about me.”

  “I care naught for Ned Randleigh. Shall I prove it to you?” She kissed his lips once more before moving on to his chin, his throat, and the skin at the open neck of his shirt. Her nimble fingers went to work on the buttons of the garment.

  “Annie, nay.” He drew away from her. “I am filthy from my confinement.”

  “Then let me wash you, tend you as I ha’ ached to do.” Her gaze met his, unstinting and honest, hiding nothing. “You just stand there,” she bade and bustled off to pour hot water into a basin. When she came back with a soft cloth and soap, she set the basin at his feet.

  “Annie, you need not tend me.”

  “I want to.” Gently she stripped off his shirt, easing it over his bad hand. She began to wash him with a tenderness that stopped Tam’s throat, stroked his shoulders, arms and chest. When she sponged his injured hand she once more lifted it to her lips and blessed it with a kiss.

  She reached next for the laces on his trousers. His eyes, soothed more than half shut, flew open.

  “Annie…”

  “Hush. Will you deny me the very pleasure I ha’ craved?”

  Tam exhaled.

  Gently yet she stripped the trousers from him and without hesitation the trews beneath.

  “Annie, wife—”

  “Hush,” she bade again. Tam began to tremble.

  “Annie,” he said for the third time.

  She shed the cloth and dropped to her knees, cupping him in her hands. He felt her tongue caress him in a soft, lingering stroke an instant before she took him into her mouth.

  The sweetness of it, tangled so closely with desire, nearly took Tam down where he stood. But he could not fall, not while Annie worshipped him with such pure devotion. Instead he buried his fingers—good and bad alike—in the glossy wealth of her hair and stood like a king while she devoured him, knowing no man could be higher than he, so favored by the wee magical crow, Annie.

  Enchantment seemed to flow from her touch, inflaming Tam and sweeping away every doubt. Wracking desire coiled and flared inside him, and all too soon he gave himself up to her completely, erupting in wave after wave of scorching pleasure.

  Avidly she accepted what he bestowed, linked with him flesh to flesh and soul to soul.

  “Lass, lass, lass…” He breathed the words in humble gratification and lifted her up into his arms, where he strained her against him so tightly they might as well be one. He ached to tell her how he loved her but had no words. Instead he swept her up and carried her to the bed. “Sweet lass, you ha’ made me feel the finest man alive.”

  “So you are, to me.” She ran her hands over his chest, tracing the muscles there and tangling with the hair. “Do you no’ ken how it delights me to touch you?”

  Tam could tell.

  “I ached so terribly when you were apart from me.”

  He whispered, “Then let me ease that ache.”

  Her dark eyes followed his every movement as he began to remove her clothes. Curious, how clearly he could feel her emotions—almost as if they were his own, as if her pleasure was also his and they did indeed share one flesh. Man and wife.

  Annie, his wife.

  He told her huskily, “I want to taste you—everywhere. Will you let me worship you even as you did me?”

  She lay back on the bed with a sigh, obedient as a child, a wordless invitation. Tam saw nothing childlike, though, in the way she looked at him or how she visibly took flame when he uncovered her breasts. Her nipples stood in stiff peaks that wooed his fingers, and he reared up for her as hard as if she had not already eased him.

  He knew what he wanted—what she wanted—but he took a moment to admire her and implant the image she made in his mind. For he had learned one thing in life: things treasured must be remembered, lest they be snatched away never to come again.

  And aye, what a picture she made pinned against the sheets, spread for him like a willing sacrifice—arms thrown wide, legs flung apart, hair fanned out around her, and her gaze hanging on his as if he breathed for her. If he could not tell her of his love in words, he would show her here, now, this night.

  “Annie,” he murmured, and bent his head.

  This must be what she meant, he thought a bit wildly, when she said what a person put out into the world came back times three, for he’d meant only to provide her pleasure, yet a storm of ecstasy found him. The intimacy of kissing her in the most private of places, of entering her with his tongue and claiming the hot core of her womanhood engulfed him in a storm that mingled exultation with tenderness.

  And she? He felt her pleasure spear through her with every movement of his lips as she arched herself into him, an act of total offering. And he experienced the fullness of her wracking pleasure when she came apart in his hands.

  “Tam!” Fiercely, she drew him up into her arms even while she still rode the crest of her passion, held him so tight they might again be of one flesh. He breathed into her neck, and she clasped him as if she might never let him go.

  Still hard, he nestled himself between her thighs. As soon as she felt him there she drew his head up and gazed into his eyes.

  “Tam, please.”

  He made love to her slowly, luxuriantly, and when their joining became complete he supposed his heart might burst. They lay as one, breathless, and he groped for words to tell her what she meant to him.

  But she spoke first, pressing wet kisses to his cheek. “Promise me something.”

  “Anything.”

  “Say you will never leave me. For I think I could bear aught else before losing you for any reason.”

  “I will never, never leave you, Annie Sutherland,” he vowed readily.

  Pray he could keep the promise.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Mistress?”

  Annie looked up when she heard Jockie’s voice and found him hovering in her doorway outlined in morning sunlight.

  Four days had passed since Tam’s release, since the night they had made such consuming—and binding—love. They’d lain together so each night since, and the feelings she now harbored for her husband terrified her. How dangerous to love and need another person so much! How helpless she was to resist.

  Still she had not found words to tell Tam what he meant to her—she doubted such words existed. Yet she had only to look at him, catch a hint of desire in his clear, gray eyes, watch him at work, or receive his smile to feel like a woman reborn, just as if her world had stopped in his arms and begun turning anew.

  And it seemed she saw everyone else anew, as well. Jock, for instance, surely held himself with more confidence, his hunch less pronounced and his pale blue gaze clear when it met hers.

  “Good morn to you, Jockie. Is all well at Kirstie’s place?”

  He nodded, and a curious smile twitched his lips, as if he could not help but respond to the sound of Kirstie’s name.

  Annie knew how he felt.

  “Mistress, I ha’ come about you.”

  Even after living so long with Jockie, Annie had to listen hard in order to glean the words from his speech.

  “Oh?” She straightened from the table where she’d been sorting herbs. Tomorrow being market day, she expected a large number of visitors.

  “Aye.”

  “Well, come awa’ in. You are no stranger here. Will you take a bit of breakfast?”

  He shook his head but shuffled in and shut the door behind him.

  “How are Kirstie and her grandmother?”

  “T’auld woman is dyin’.” Jockie spat the words out with determination.

  “Eh?” Startled, Annie gazed at him. She knew Kirstie’s grandmother for a stubborn creature set on staying in her home and her bed, content to have others wait upon
her—perhaps far too ornery to die.

  But Jockie nodded insistently. “She does no’ like that Kirstie has taken up wi’ me and says she will p-perish before she accepts it.”

  “I see. And,” Annie asked frankly, “has Kirstie taken up wi’ you, then?”

  “Aye.” Jockie lifted his head proudly. “We are friends. And I ha’ spent each night in her bed.”

  Annie tried to conceal her shock. Why should Jockie, with his warm, generous heart, not find a measure of happiness even as she, Annie, did with Tam? And bless Kirstie for seeing past the cage in which the lad was trapped to the shining soul beneath.

  Softly she said, “I am that happy for you.”

  “When t’auld woman dies, we mean to leave here.”

  “Leave?”

  “Go across the water to Canada.”

  Dismay speared through Annie in the wake of the happiness. She sank into a seat at the table. And so was she to lose Jockie from her life? Aye, and had she not just been thinking about how the circle now spun in a new direction? Jock had a right to his happiness if he could seize it.

  “Och, and I will miss you.” Tears filled Annie’s eyes.

  Jockie nodded somberly. “You should think o’ leaving, too—you and your man.”

  Her man. Was Tam that? Och, aye, if she had aught to say about it.

  But she shook her head. “I canno’ leave here, Jock. I ha’ too many people depending on me.”

  “Aye, but Kirstie was all about t’district these last days, selling her wares.” Kirstie made soaps and sold them to raise a few extra pennies. “She has heard naught but talk o’ you.”

  “Me?”

  “’Tis why I came—to warn you, just.” Jockie’s pale eyes flooded with dismay. “Everywhere she went, she heard the same: someone is goin’ about spreadin’ word you be a witch.”

  “What?” Annie stiffened.

  Jockie gazed at her in dismay. “’Tis a gey dangerous thing, mistress.”

  Alarm speared through Annie, and dread followed after. Not that. True, the danger had always lurked for her and her mother both, but they had been so careful to avoid any taint of darkness.