To Bed the Bride

by Karen Ranney

  The shepherd began to whistle at his dogs.

  “You’ll be going, I’m thinking, else you’ll be missing your horse next.”

  He was right. She glanced over her shoulder to find that Maud had started walking down the road. The mare was all for finding the stable on her own.

  The rain was falling in earnest now, drenching her in minutes. She made it down the hill and to Maud’s side, realizing that she didn’t have the shepherd’s help this time to mount. Rather than fuss about it, she simply grabbed Maud’s reins and began to walk, the whole time rehearsing what she would say to the owner of the puppy when she found him. The puppy himself was curled into a tight ball in the bottom of the basket, sleeping, and sheltered from the worst of the rain.

  She hadn’t imagined Mr. Contino’s ire, but by the time she made it back home she was beyond caring. The rain had stopped by the time she reached Hearthmere, but the storm had already done its worst. Eleanor didn’t think she’d ever been as wet as she was right at the moment. Even her undergarments were drenched and she squished when she walked. Her shoes were probably ruined.

  Two stable boys rushed out to help her, but they cared more about removing Maud’s saddle and rubbing her down than anything else. She didn’t even bother explaining to the stable master what had happened as she surrendered Maud’s reins.

  The puppy, refreshed from his nap, popped up out of the basket, looking around with interest. He whined at her, which meant something, she was sure.

  “That’s a cute one he is,” one of the stable boys said.

  She nodded. “And a great deal of trouble.”

  “If you want, I’ll take him off your hands, miss.”

  The offer took her aback. So, too, did her instantaneous response. “Thank you,” she said, “but he’s my responsibility now.”

  She walked out of the stable, bemused. How odd that she’d found it impossible to turn over the puppy to the care of the stable boy. But she didn’t know the boy well. Did he have a cruel nature? How would he treat the dog?

  Like it or not, she hadn’t lied. She was responsible for the puppy, at least until she could find the mysterious shepherd and return him.

  How dare the man simply disappear, especially after he’d complicated her life.

  The puppy chose that moment to bark at her again. One solitary bark that had her stopping on the path. Placing the basket on the gravel, she opened the top, scooped the puppy out, and let him gambol on the wet grass. She would have to dry him off, but at least he might not have an accident on the rugs.

  A little while later Eleanor had changed her clothes and made the puppy a little corral in her bedroom, arranging her hat boxes, trunk, and vanity bench around an area that had been stripped of any carpet. Instead, she had Ann go to the stable for some hay, which she’d liberally sprinkled on the floor. Eleanor reasoned that it would be easier to remove the hay if the puppy soiled it than refinish the floor.

  There was only one problem. She had to feed him. It was Ann who gave her that idea.

  “Oats, miss. That’s what we always fed our dogs.”

  “Oats?”

  Ann nodded. “At least when they’re first weaned. This little mite doesn’t look to be much older than that. We always gave them a little meat and a few carrots, too, but that can wait until tomorrow.”

  Eleanor summoned oats from the kitchen, along with a bowl of water for the puppy. After he made swift work of his food, she took the puppy back out to the yard, advice Ann had given her.

  “We’ve had dogs all my life, miss,” the girl said.

  “While I never have.”

  Ann looked at her strangely, but Eleanor didn’t elaborate. She couldn’t tell the story without sounding as if she were asking for pity.

  “If you’d like, miss, I could take the puppy and keep him in my room.”

  “I doubt Mrs. Willett would approve,” Eleanor said. “No, I’ll keep him here. At least until I can give him back.”

  Once again she got a quick look from the maid, but didn’t explain.

  Seated in her reading chair by the window, she watched as the puppy twirled in circles before finally settling down in one spot on the hay. Despite the admonition she’d given herself to feel absolutely nothing for the animal, she got up, went to the bottom drawer of her dresser, and pulled out an old cotton nightgown she’d worn as a young girl. She arranged that in a little mound, then put the sleeping puppy on it. Within seconds he’d settled in again, the deep sigh he gave reassuring her that the nightgown was a bit more comfortable than the hay.

  “I have to think of something to call you,” she said. “At least until you go back. I can’t keep calling you Puppy. Or Dog. Perhaps something to remind me of your owner. Rude. Mr. Disdainful. Handsome Irritant.” The puppy sighed again. “Very well, that’s not fair, is it? After all, you haven’t done anything. Maximillian. That’s a very grand sounding name, isn’t it? Max for short.”

  The puppy opened one eye and seemed to shake his head before descending into sleep again.

  “No? Not Max?”

  How silly she was to think that he disapproved of the name.

  She tried it out. “Max.”

  The puppy put one pudgy paw over his eyes.

  “All right. Not Max. It should be a Scottish name, though, because you’re a Scottish dog. If I’m not mistaken, you’re part border collie, and they’re supposed to mind Scottish sheep.”

  The puppy didn’t respond.

  “Bruce.”

  The puppy yawned.

  “Bruce is a very Scottish name with a great heritage. I think I should call you Bruce.”

  The puppy yawned again.

  “Bruce it is, but only until I find your owner.”

  Where had the man disappeared to? After the weather cleared she’d return to the glen and have another conversation with the shepherd. Surely he knew who had minded his sheep the day before. Would he refuse to tell her and, if so, why?

  With those decisions made, she sat in the reading chair and watched the puppy for a while, telling herself the whole time that all baby animals were charming. No doubt she’d feel the same about lambs and she was sure she didn’t like sheep all that much. There was no reason whatsoever to smile about a puppy’s antics or feel protective of him.

  The shepherd had a great deal to answer for and she would make sure he knew exactly what she thought.

  As soon as she found him.

  Irritating man.

  Chapter Eight

  It was the stable boy who told her about the stranger the next day.

  “Mrs. McElwee said that he had a way about him, miss. Gave her a smile, he did, and made her think of her own young and wild days. Her words, miss, not mine.” The stable boy had ducked his head down as if that would hide his smile.

  “A stranger?”

  “Yes, miss. Keeps to himself, though, and hasn’t been seen in the village. But Mrs. McElwee saw him walking down the road toward the village.”

  “Did she?”

  Mrs. McElwee had always been the source of information about the area, ever since Eleanor was a little girl. If anything happened around Hearthmere, Mrs. McElwee was sure to know it.

  A stranger? Could he have been playing at being a shepherd the other day?

  “What else did Mrs. McElwee tell you, Robbie?”

  “That he’s been staying in the duke’s cottage, miss. The one the shepherd uses when he’s not with the sheep.”

  “Has he? Where is this cottage?”

  Robbie, thankfully, was filled with information about that, too. Once she mounted, she had the stable boy hand up the basket. Bruce was refusing to stay inside, and popped his head out to see what was happening around him. How could anyone stay angry at that face?

  Armed with directions, she set out to find the man.

  At least the afternoon was a fair one, with not a hint of clouds in the sky. The wind was little more than a breeze, brushing back the tendrils of hair from her face, making t
he puppy’s ears sit up straight.

  Bruce had kept her up the night before. At first she thought something was terribly wrong because of his plaintive whining. She had checked him carefully to ensure that he had no injuries. Finally she decided that the only reason he was crying was that he must miss his mother.

  “There is nothing I can do about that,” she told him.

  When he jumped up on her bed she was startled. However, since his whining stopped, she let him stay. It was a curious sensation, sleeping with an animal. She had never done so before. He was a very warm, soft little bundle of fur who insisted on being right next to her no matter what position she took. She kept waking when he moved.

  He had found one of her shoes this morning and had sicced himself on it like it was a bone. When she’d admonished him and taken away the damaged shoe, he hadn’t looked the least bit chagrined. He’d only gone after the other one.

  She wasn’t entirely certain that he was eating properly. She had fed him twice, once last night and then this morning, but was that enough? The puppy hadn’t come with any instructions.

  No, the shepherd simply must take Bruce back. He must miss his littermates and his mother. Poor thing, to be taken away at such a young age. How young were puppies when they were separated from their families? She didn’t know the answer to that question, either.

  Maud had a lovely gait at a modest trot. The mare seemed relieved not to have anything to do with the sheep today, too, if the toss of her head was any indication. Riding with the puppy was not as easy as Eleanor had hoped. Maud was evidently not in favor of dogs, either. The puppy, however, was becoming used to his transport in a basket. He sat with his head up, surveying everything he saw. From time to time he would bark at something that captured his attention.

  As they reached the crest of a hill, she saw the river before them as well as a cottage sitting like a mushroom on the landscape. Bruce subsided a few minutes later and curled into a sleepy ball at the bottom of the basket. Eleanor kept the cover open so she could keep an eye on the puppy.

  There was smoke coming from the chimney, which meant that someone was home.

  She really shouldn’t be feeling any type of excitement. She was simply returning Bruce, that’s all. Besides, the stranger might not be the person she sought after all.

  Once at the cottage she moved to the mounting block, leaned over, and put the basket with the sleeping puppy down, then slid off Maud’s back. She wrapped the reins around a small post located there, picked up the basket, and made her way down the gravel path to the cottage door.

  Her knock on the door was answered but she couldn’t understand the words. Was he saying to go away or come in? She pushed down the latch and opened the door slowly.

  “Hello?”

  The puppy chose that moment to bark. She glanced down to find that he had awakened and was viewing the world with his customary air of expectancy.

  Should she take him outside first?

  Suddenly she was face-to-face with the shepherd. Or the man who’d pretended to be the shepherd. If anything, he’d grown more handsome since she’d seen him last. His hair was still unruly, however, as if he had thrust his fingers through it. He stood there, attired in clothing not appreciably different from what he’d worn two days ago, but without the blood. There was an ink stain on his sleeve. One hand held the door while the other clutched a sheaf of papers.

  “Where are the sheep?” she asked.

  “They’re being tended to,” he said. “Is that what you’ve come to ask? I didn’t see you as someone who loved sheep, Miss Craig.”

  “I just thought a shepherd tended to his sheep,” she said. “Not papers.”

  “Am I to infer that you think shepherds can’t read? Or write?”

  That sounded rather priggish, didn’t it?

  “No, of course not. What you do with your time is not my business. I’m here about something that is my concern, however.”

  She thrust the basket at him. Bruce sat there, tongue lolling out, looking as happy as any creature she’d ever seen.

  When the shepherd didn’t reach out to take the basket, she pushed it against his chest.

  “How dare you give me a puppy. I don’t like dogs.”

  “You don’t like Peter and Paul, but I thought you might feel differently about a puppy.”

  “You can’t simply make choices for people you don’t know.”

  “You’re right. I can’t. Yet you reminded me of a little boy who felt the same way about dogs until his uncle gave him a puppy one day. The puppy needed a friend and so did the boy.”

  He could not charm her. She wouldn’t allow it. “I don’t need a friend.”

  “Have you so many, then?” he asked with a smile. “Can’t you use one more?”

  “I don’t like dogs,” she repeated.

  “Neither did the little boy, but he decided, after a while, that perhaps they weren’t so bad. The puppy had already decided, you see, that the boy would be his forever.”

  He put the papers down and took the basket finally, smiling at Bruce and ruffling his ears. “And he was, for many years.”

  “Are you talking about yourself?”

  “I am indeed. This little guy needed a home. I thought you might give him one.”

  “You made a great many assumptions.”

  “I agree. I did. Forgive me for that. I simply saw you as a kind person.”

  “I am a kind person,” she said, irritated that he made her sound terrible.

  “Who doesn’t like dogs.”

  “Who are you? Don’t try to tell me you’re a shepherd. I don’t believe it.”

  “Why not?”

  She stared at him. “What do you mean, why not?”

  “I think I made an adequate shepherd, Miss Craig. I moved the sheep where I was told to move them. I didn’t suffer any losses. The dogs obeyed me. Why don’t you believe I’m a shepherd?”

  “Well, are you?” she asked, frowning at him.

  “While I think the occupation is an honorable one, I am not.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “My name is Logan,” he said. “Logan McKnight. At the moment I’m a guest of Old Ned.”

  She took a step back, wishing she knew what to say in response. She should simply leave now while she had the illusion of winning this confrontation.

  “Can I offer you some tea, Miss Craig?”

  She stared at him. Tea? She should march out of here right this minute and consider herself fortunate not to have to encounter him again.

  “Yes,” she heard herself saying. “That would be lovely.”

  Had she lost her mind?

  Perhaps she wanted to solve the mystery of who, exactly, he was. He hadn’t provided that information. However, it might be considered improper for her to be alone with any man, especially in an isolated cottage. After all, she was engaged to be married.

  The thought didn’t cause her to gather up her skirt, say something cutting, and leave the cottage. Instead, all she did was step to the side so that Logan could close the door.

  They were standing in what looked like the front room, with three doors leading to other rooms, one of them the kitchen. She was surprised at how spacious the cottage was since from the outside it had looked snug and compact.

  A set of traps rested in the corner. A bookcase filled with objects rather than books was beside a sagging sofa. The floor was covered with a faded rug that clashed with the flowered curtains. Everything about the cottage was clean but threadbare.

  Logan struck her as the kind of person who would not be concerned with furnishings or clothing. However, he was elegant in a way she couldn’t explain. The cottage didn’t fit him.

  “You don’t live here, do you?” she asked, her gaze coming back to him.

  He hadn’t moved, but was still looking at her intently. “Why would you say that?” he asked, retrieving the puppy from the basket.

  After opening the cottage door, he stepped outside and
deposited the puppy on the ground, where Bruce sniffed the grass, a few rocks, and a thistle or two before finally doing what he was supposed to. Looking up at Logan, he gave a happy little bark, then followed him back into the cottage.

  “Please be seated,” Logan said, gesturing toward the sofa.

  She took the opposite chair instead, since it looked easier to get out of once seated.

  He scooped up the puppy and plunked him down in Eleanor’s lap.

  “I can’t . . .” she began, but it was too late; he had already left the room. She and Bruce looked at each other a moment before he yawned once more, circled twice, then made a tight ball of himself and fell asleep.

  There was no reason she shouldn’t put him down on the carpet. It was worn and faded, but otherwise looked comfortable. He could just as easily fall asleep there as on her lap.

  One hand went to his back, her fingers stroking through the puppy’s thick fur. He made a sound like a sigh. That was certainly no reason to feel a spike of surprise or even pleasure. She hadn’t done anything, merely placed her hand on him, but it was the first time she’d done so with affection.

  No, she was not going to feel anything for the animal. She had returned him to his rightful owner, whether he was a shepherd or not. Bruce seemed very contented, however, as if this was the spot he wanted to be above all others.

  She sat there for a number of minutes, wondering if Logan was ever coming back. Just when she had decided to put the puppy down on the carpet and seek him out, he entered the room again.

  “It’s a temperamental stove. I’ve yet to figure it out,” he said, placing a teapot and two cups down on the table in front of her. “There’s no tray, either,” he added, retreating to the kitchen and returning with a jug of cream and a sugar bowl. Both were chipped, as were the cups.

  She didn’t suppose it mattered. She’d never taken tea in a chipped cup, but she wasn’t about to say that to him. He was acting the host and even though it was obvious he didn’t live here, she wouldn’t embarrass him by being a rude guest.

  “You never answered me,” she said. “You don’t live here, do you?”

  “Nor did you answer me. Why would you say that?”