In spite of the chill, she made herself rise and dress quickly. She set out oatcakes and hurried outside to milk the goat, pulling on both her coat and the shawl. Even with the fire in the hearth, the cottage was cold. She hoped she’d warm herself by moving.
She and Jamie ate a hasty breakfast and loaded the skeps into the small handcart. The bees would be much calmer in the cool morning hours. But that wasn’t the only reason she wanted to hurry. She’d prefer to deliver the hives to the orchard and move on before Sergeant Stewart awoke.
’Twasn’t that she didn’t want to see Conall again but perhaps not so soon, not until she gave herself time to think and come to a better understanding of why she’d allowed herself to be so vulnerable in the man’s presence.
She’d contemplated the question as they’d walked home from the bonfire and late into the night as she lay on her pallet, trying to slow her thoughts so she could sleep.
The conclusion she’d arrived at was two-fold. ’Twas a magical night, Beltane, a night when the rules of etiquette were relaxed and the earth celebrated life and hope. In all her years, she’d never attended the festival with a man. She must have let the situation go to her head. The other reason she’d come up with was that it had been a relief to speak to someone who understood how she felt: the nightmares, the panic-filled memories. Sergeant Stewart had experienced horrific things as well. Since Mrs. Campbell believed that dwelling on the past only prevented a person from moving forward, Aileen hadn’t told anyone about her terrors. The feeling of being able to share it with another person . . . it had felt like a weight lifting from her shoulders.
But the answers seemed lacking, and she didn’t like the uncertainty of it all. The truth of the matter was, in her desire for empathy, she’d said things she’d promised herself never to speak of, and to a person she hardly knew. Sergeant Conall Stewart had a way of making her wish to confide in him. She felt as if he took her words seriously and would never betray her trust, but she couldn’t risk speaking to him of her past, no matter how compassionate he seemed, not with Jamie’s safety in the balance. Avoidance of the man seemed the surest way to be certain she’d not reveal any more.
Her memory traveled back to that night in the cold kirkyard: blood in the snow, the smell of their homes burning, a baby’s cries, and Sorcha’s face growing pale as she became too weak to even hold Aileen’s hand. “Don’ let Balfour find the lad.” Her voice had been little more than a scratchy whisper. “Promise me.”
She swallowed past a tight throat as she remembered giving a promise, holding the small body against her own to keep the infant warm, and watching her dearest friend lay back her head into the snow, never to raise it again.
Jamie walked around the handcart and took his usual place, hand on the handle’s T-shaped crossbar, ready to pull when she joined him. He rubbed his eyes and gave a sleepy grin, white teeth interspersed with gaps.
Aileen remembered the day when he’d lost the first of his young teeth. They’d carefully rolled the tooth in paper lined with salt, then after a bit of searching, they’d found a mouse hole in a glen near the village.
Jamie had knelt on the ground, peering inside the opening. “Did ye hide yer wee teeth in a mouse hole when ye were a lass, Mam?”
“Och, aye. Yer grandmother wouldna ha’ had it any other way.”
He squished his tongue into the space where the tooth had come out, wrinkling his freckled nose. “And yer sure a big, strong tooth will come in?”
She’d nodded, kneeling beside him. “I’m sure.”
He set bundle into the damp cavity, pushing it far inside with his short finger, then stood before her. His tongue explored the space again, then his face brightened, and he put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m glad ye did it, Mam. Yer smile is verra bonny.”
At the memory, a surge of affection swelled inside Aileen. She scooted around the cart and pulled him into an embrace, bending down to kiss his cheek, but Jamie squirmed out of her hold. “Mam, I told ye I’m a man now. I’m too old for kissin’,” he protested.
“Aye, ye told me.” She tried not to let her hurt show. He was too old, she supposed, but the knowin’ didn’t make it easier. Grabbing the other end of the crossbar, she motioned toward the road. Her fingers ached where she clasped the wood, her legs felt sluggish, and the headache hadn’t eased. She thought again of all the scrubbing and cleaning she’d done the day before. She must have worked herself harder than she’d realized.
Jamie pulled beside her through the morning mists, neither of them tugging too quickly— ’twouldn’t do to jostle the bees. They kept to the most worn parts of the road, making sure the ride was as smooth as possible for the hives full of wee passengers.
The lad put a hand in front of his mouth as he yawned. “Och, but I’m tired, Mam,” he muttered.
She nodded. “I know it, love.” If there weren’t hives to deliver, she’d not have minded a nice lie-in this morning herself. Over the green hills and craggy rocks, the fog hung low, keeping the sunlight dim, and gray clouds filled the sky. Likely, the afternoon would bring rain. She hoped they’d get the hives sheltered before then.
Jamie walked with a scowl pulling his brow low over his eyes. The expression was the only one that reminded Aileen of the boy’s father. She’d not seen Balfour MacTavish but a few times, even though he and Sorcha had lived only a mile away from the cottage Aileen had grown up in. He didn’t accompany his wife to kirk, and Aileen’s father wouldn’t allow her to visit Sorcha when Balfour was there. She supposed her da knew more about Balfour’s character than he’d told her. All she remembered of her friend’s husband was that he was dark and handsome with a scar across his nose and cheek and eyes that seemed always to be calculating. Whether ’twas because of her father’s warnings, Sorcha’s plea, or her mind making him into a villain over the years, she couldn’t be sure, but the thought of Balfour MacTavish terrified her.
Rumors suggested that Balfour had been involved in dealings of an illegal nature. Smuggling, Aileen thought, though she didn’t know for certain. The man’s business took him from home for months at a time. She remembered once hearing that he was imprisoned in the English garrison in Inverness, but it could have been speculation. She’d been too young to know what was true and what was gossip.
Balfour had been away when the Duchess of Sutherland conscripted men to the Highland Regiment, and again when her factor, Patrick Sellar, brought British soldiers to drive the people of her township from their homes.
She didn’t know why Sorcha had begged her to hide the child from Balfour, but the fear in her friend’s eyes was all the motivation she’d needed to agree to the course of action. In her opinion, the man’s failure to do his duty for his country and clan and his failure to care for his wife and unborn child were enough reason to keep the boy from him.
The pair pulled the cart up the path and then around the side of the manor house, using the same route they’d taken the day before. But this time, they steered clear of the animal pens and continued into the orchard.
Aileen inhaled the damp air and smiled at the smell of apple blossoms. Some had bloomed, but the majority were still buds, nearly ready to open. Then would come the plum blossoms, and if she was not mistaken, she’d noticed a few pear trees. In a few days, this orchard would be fragrant and heavenly. ’Twould make the bees happy, and the honey fruity—tha’ would make her customers happy.
Jamie guided her along a path that followed a rock wall, chasing away wisps of fog on the cold ground, then he stopped, pointing to a stone structure with a sod roof. They carefully pulled the cart from the path and led it closer.
The apiary had been built by someone who knew what he was doing. ’Twas nicely situated with the open side facing southeast, Aileen saw to her approval. Perfect for warming the bees in the morning. The roof overhung the shelves to keep the skeps dry, giving the bees shelter and sunshine. She laid her hand on the stone shelf. Still a bit cool but not too cold, she judged. She glanced ove
r the structure, noting how clean the apiary and the area surrounding it were. “Ye did this yerself, Jamie?”
Jamie’s wee chest puffed out. “Aye, I fixed the stones and cleaned the shelves. And Sergeant Stewart showed me how to use clay beneath the sod to repair the roof, just like I did at home.”
“I couldna have done better myself.” She smiled at his obvious pride in the task. “And is there water nearby?”
Jamie pointed. “Aye, a stream on the other side of the wall, near those trees there.”
She put fists on her hips, turning in a slow circle to survey the spot. The water was near but not too near. And the land sloped slightly away from the apiary. ’Twould keep the lower shelf dry in a storm. A well-chosen location indeed. She could find nothin’ to complain about. “Shall we be introducin’ the hives to their new home then?”
The two put on protective gloves, tying strips of cloth around the openings of their sleeves. The insects seemed to find the gaps and wrinkles in clothing irresistible, and once they were trapped inside, they panicked and stung the wearer. At home, she’d tucked her underclothing into long socks and now made sure Jamie’s trousers covered the tops of his boots. Kneeling, she bound his leg openings with strips of cloth as well as the tops of her own boots.
Hearing the whinny of a horse, she looked toward the direction of the sound, squinting into the fog.
Jamie waved his arms, calling out, “Sergeant Stewart! Good mornin’ to ye!”
Even with the hazy sun behind him and wisps of fog before, she’d have recognized the man’s broad shoulders as he sat atop his horse. The sergeant changed direction, riding toward them through the haze. “I’d not expected to discover fae in my orchard this mornin’,” he called.
The sergeant’s face was hard to make out, but Aileen could still hear a smile in his words. She rose and curtseyed. “Good mornin’, Sergeant.”
He reined in on the other side of the low wall and dismounted, Nellie’s breath puffing out in white clouds. He bowed. “So early, Mrs. Leslie?”
“Aye, ’tis best for the bees. And we’ve more hives to be deliverin’ today.” She’d intended to avoid the sergeant and felt frustrated that he’d found them. And she felt even more frustrated at being pleased that he’d found them. She shook her head, thinking herself a foolish lass, and the motion made her head slosh like it was filled with thickened.
She set to work unpacking the supplies from the cart and stole a careful glance to see Sergeant Stewart looking with a furrowed brow at the buzzing skeps. Was he afraid of the bees? The thought made her smirk to herself. The broad-shouldered military veteran with his medals and dangerous library full o’ weapons was wary o’ wee insects.
Jamie was striking flint into the smoker to light the pine needles.
“Ye might want to be movin’ Nellie away,” Aileen said, slipping a wide-brimmed hat over her head, leaving the mesh veil up for the time being. “Bees don’t care for the smell o’ horses.”
She took the smoker from Jamie and gave the bellows a trial squeeze, sending billows of gray smoke out through the nozzle. “Well done,” she said then handed the boy a hat similar to her own.
“Jamie lad, would ye mind returnin’ Nellie to her corral? Ye can take her for a bit of a ride first if ye care to.” Conall glanced at Aileen. “That is, if yer ma can spare ye.”
The boy’s face shone with anticipation. “Could I, Mam? I’ll not be gone long.”
She felt hesitant, not only out of worry for Jamie’s safety, but she liked working with him, liked having him beside her. The sergeant’s offer was so enticing to him, however, and she felt ashamed of the jealousy turning her stomach bitter. She pursed her lips. “Will he be quite safe with yer horse, Sergeant?”
“Aye. Jamie and Nellie rub together splendidly. Nothin’ to worry about. He knows what he’s doin’.”
Aileen would have to have a heart of stone to say no to Jamie’s freckles and hopeful eyes. “Then off with ye, lad. I’ll finish here and fetch ye at the corral.”
Jamie grinned. He pulled off the gloves, untied cloth strips, then scrambled over the wall and allowed Sergeant Stewart to help him into the saddle. He pulled on the reins and kicked his heels into Nellie’s sides. The horse moved and Aileen gasped. Jamie looked so small atop the animal. She watched, tensed as Nellie turned, bobbed her head, and walked down the path toward the house.
“Nay to fear, lass. I’d not allow it if I had even a wee bit o’ concern.”
She started when she realized Conall had moved to stand beside her on the other side of the wall. He tapped her hand, and when she looked down, she saw the smoker clenched tightly in her fingers, the bellows compressed. She forced her hands to relax and gazed back at the horse, noting how Jamie sat tall in the saddle. He was in control of the animal and not afraid in the least.
The sadness she’d felt earlier returned, along with a fair amount of resentment toward one Color Sergeant Conall Stewart. Why was he able to make her son happy and confident? The resentment grew. As did the guilt. She should feel grateful to him. And part of her did. He made Jamie happy. She glanced to the side and saw that he was watching Jamie as well. Aileen put a hand to her aching head, frustrated with herself. The man planned to leave Dunaid soon enough, but instead of pleasure that she’d have Jamie to herself again, she felt anger. Jamie would be devastated, and she . . . She rubbed her forehead.
She was a bit dizzy from being so tired, and the confusing mixture of thoughts and the ensuing emotions—most of them in direct opposition to each other—threatened to make her headache unbearable.
She moved away from the low wall and turned to her work, setting out shallow dishes and opening a burlap sack to reveal the sweet fondant inside. She sliced chunks off the thick, white slab and set one into each dish.
“And what’s this then?” Conall asked, pointing to the dishes.
“Bee candy.” She brought the dishes to the apiary, placing them on the stone shelves.
“I didna’ realize ye’d have to be feedin’ the bees.” He remained in the same spot, craning his neck to watch instead of venturing closer, she noticed with amusement.
“The food tides them over until the blossoms are in bloom.” She lifted a dish, pointing to the three pegged feet on the bottom. “These here are to keep the wee builders from stickin’ the dish to the shelf with wax.” Aileen wasn’t sure why the man remained. Did he think that as a woman, she was incapable of tending the bees? Well, she had nothing to prove to him. Let him watch or not. ’Twas no concern of hers. Perhaps he’d become bored and leave.
She pulled down the veil, covering her face and neck, then squeezed the bellows, sending a cloud of smoke over one of the wicker skeps. When she figured the bees were sedated, she hefted it carefully from the cart and carried it to the apiary. She set it on the dirt ground and turned it over, blowing more smoke over it as she worked. A gauze cloth was pinned to the straw to keep the bees inside as they were being transported while still allowing the air to circulate.
Unpinning the cloth, she pulled it off and set it aside. She glanced up and saw the sergeant take a step back when she opened the hive. She pressed her lips together to hide her smirk, though she thought the man couldn’t see it beneath the veil anyway. “See here, Sergeant Stewart, the new comb built beneath the darker, older comb?” She tipped the skep’s open bottom toward him.
He had to take a step forward for a look. His eyes were tight, and the sides of his mouth pulled in a grimace. “Aye.”
“This hive’s got a good queen, ye see. She’ll be layin’ eggs in the new comb, and storin’ honey in the old.” Aileen turned the skep back over, moving it to the shelf and resting it over the dish.
She returned to the cart and offered the other veiled hat to the sergeant. “If ye’d care for a closer look . . .”
He shook his head, leaning back against the wall. “I’ve a fine view from here. Thank ye, Mrs. Leslie.”
“Just as well, and ye smelling o’ the horse.” Sh
e felt a bit wicked, knowing he was nervous but, she had to admit, also rather vindicated. She continued to work, unloading the other skeps, inspecting the combs, and making occasional comments. The task took longer than it should have, thanks to her achin’ joints and head, but finally, each of the eight hives was in place in the apiary, and she pulled out the grass she’d stuffed into the openings. “Off ye go now, explore yer new home,” she muttered then stepped back to watch—not just because she loved observing the bees and their orderly ways, but she was also very tired, and the thought of pulling the cart back to fetch another batch of hives was discouraging to say the least.
At least she’d have Jamie’s help.
She turned toward the cart but must have moved too quickly. The motion made her unsteady for a moment, and she swayed, reaching out a hand to clutch the apiary shelf.
“Mrs. Leslie.” Conall hurried to her side, putting a hand on her arm. “Are ye unwell?”
“Excuse me.” She touched her forehead. “I’m just a bit dizzy.”
Conall didn’t release her arm but held on tighter, just above her elbow. He led her toward the cart. Once they reached it, she shook off his grasp. She removed the hat and put it into the cart then put on her bonnet, fumbling as she tied the bow. “Thank you, sir, but I can manage.” She took hold of the cart handle. “I’ve more hives to deliver today.” She tried to remember which farms had requested hives. Only three. Or was it four? She blinked, frowning at the confusion.
He didn’t speak but grasped the other end of the cart’s handle and pulled alongside her.
Though she wouldn’t admit it, she wasn’t certain she’d have been able to do it alone. Even with the skeps out of the cart, it was heavy. She certainly needed to rest once she reached her cottage.
“Mrs. Leslie, I can’t help but wonder if yer feelin’ well. Perhaps the hives can wait until another day.”
Miss Leslie's Secret Page 8
