With a grunt of satisfaction, she secured the dagger and dressed for the day.
Chapter 10
Above all, wolves are survivors.
They are even known to gnaw off their own limbs when caught in a trap.
He regretted their late start. They should have gotten on the road much earlier. Marcus knew that within an hour. It was colder than yesterday. The snow was coming down harder and the mule did not favor the conditions, braying loudly as though that might result in a change of circumstances. Their progress was agonizingly slow.
Alyse Bell, however, didn’t complain.
He couldn’t see much of her face. She’d burrowed inside her cloak and only her eyes peered out in thin slits at the world.
He checked on her several times, circling around in an attempt to prod her mount forward. He liked to think it helped propel them onward, but even so, it became increasingly evident that they would not be reaching the next town before nightfall. A definite dilemma. Stuck out in these conditions after dark was certain cause for alarm.
He scanned the road and surrounding countryside through the flurry of snowflakes. The quiet landscape stared back at him, snow-blanketed and sleepy, indifferent to the wet cold seeping into its bones. Mother Nature was unfeeling in that way.
As evening approached, his desperate need to find them shelter only increased. They couldn’t bed down out in the open, unprotected from the elements. He was on the verge of circling back around again and lighting a fire to that mule’s stubborn arse when he spotted the smoke above the treetops, a gray plume against the darkening sky. The sight of it lifted his spirits.
He called to her over the howling wind and gestured ahead. She gave a nod of understanding. He led them off the road and through the trees, hoping it was a dwelling ahead that they might prevail upon for shelter. He broke through the foliage and paused on a rise that overlooked a small crofter’s cottage.
He released a grateful breath, not fully realizing until that moment how worried he had been.
“There.” He nodded to the small house sitting at the base of the hill. Smoke chugged from its chimney. A slapdash structure beside the cottage hardly qualified as a stable, but it could be nothing else.
The mule rolled up beside him and stopped. “Do you know the people who live here?” she asked doubtfully.
“No, but they will board us for the night.” He said the words matter-of-factly, without looking at her.
“How can you be so certain?”
“They’re crofters. I’ll offer the proper incentive.”
She made a sound that was part snort part grunt.
He slid her a look. “Something amuses you?”
“You are so confident your money can buy anything, are you?”
“Take a look about, Miss Bell.” He gestured to the house. “They appear to be in need. Why would they not leap upon the opportunity to earn a few coins?”
Her eyes sparked with something that resembled resentment. “Money can’t get you everything,” she grumbled.
The words were scornful, but there was a stubborn refusal to them, too. As though she wanted them to be true, and yet she had her doubts.
“It got me you,” he snapped.
Her hissed breath was the only reaction she gave but it was enough. Enough to tell him that he had hit a nerve.
Feeling rather foolish, he looked away from her, his chest tight with discomfort at this sudden flash of introspection. The girl made him think about things he would rather not.
Money had given him a life of leisure, power and position others could only dream to live. He knew that, but he had never really contemplated it at length. His life was simply one of privilege. It’s all he had ever known.
And yet he was running from it. Leaving that life behind.
The place was even smaller up close. He couldn’t imagine a great many people lived under its roof. A dog barked somewhere inside the house.
The front door opened as he dismounted. A young man stepped out, clearly alerted of their arrival by the beast that charged out with him.
The mule let out a long bray of disapproval at the sight of the sheepdog.
The canine must have taken the sound as an invitation to rush forward because he lunged at the mule with several wild yips.
“Fergus! Come.”
With a whimper of longing, the dog obediently trotted back to its master, tail tucked.
With a quick pat on the dog’s head, the man reached behind him to close the door to his house. He hadn’t bothered to don a coat. Even so, he didn’t shiver as he stood in his wool shirt and suspenders, snow falling down on him. His boots scuffed over the ground as he advanced a few steps, eyeing them cautiously. The dog inched forward as well, surveying them in mutual yet restrained suspicion.
“Good eve’,” the crofter greeted, squinting through flurries.
“Good evening,” Marcus returned. “Frightful weather.”
“Aye.” The man nodded slowly and looked to the sky. “Storm coming.”
“Indeed.”
The girl muttered behind him, “You mean it’s only going to get colder?”
Ignoring her, he fixed his attention on the crofter. The man was younger than Marcus but his face was weathered and lined, testament to a hard living.
“Might we impose on your hospitality and take shelter here for the night?” Marcus reached inside his coat for his pocketbook. “I will compensate you, of course.”
“We’re a mite crowded.” The crofter paused, his gaze skipping over them, considering, taking in everything. “’Ow much?” he asked, clearly tempted despite his reserve.
Marcus glanced at the small house again. It was badly in need of repair. A new roof. Even the door needed replacing. Drafts doubtlessly slipped in through the cracks in the wood. “Enough for you to make all the repairs necessary on your home.”
The man said nothing, but his nostrils flared slightly as he continued assessing them.
Alyse muttered something more under her breath, but this time Marcus could not make out the words. He was beginning to suspect the lass had a great many things to say on all manner of subjects whether anyone wanted to hear from her or not. Even when her mouth wasn’t speaking, her eyes were. Not an ideal characteristic for a housekeeper. The role usually required deference. Nothing of this girl smacked of that particular character trait.
“Verra well,” the Scotsman replied at last. “Settle your mounts for the night.”
Marcus nodded. “Thank you.”
Before moving to the barn, he caught a flash of movement in one of the windows. A young woman peered out, a babe in her arms and two more barely out of nappies crowded beside her. Now Marcus understood what the man meant. Crowded indeed. Where did they all sleep? Where would he and Alyse sleep?
With a mental shrug, he told himself as long as they had a roof over their head it would suffice. It surpassed freezing to death on some desolate road.
“Did you have to say that?”
He faced Alyse. She glared at him, looking most aggrieved. “Say what?”
“That remark about his house needing repairs?”
He motioned to the cottage. “It’s no secret. Anyone with eyes can see that.”
“Aye, he is undoubtedly aware and didn’t require the reminder. You needn’t have humiliated him. Some people have no control over their situations.” High color crept into her cheeks and he suspected she was not merely talking about the Scotsman.
“Indeed. Situations can be out of one’s control. Which is why he needs my money.” He snatched the reins and started guiding Bucephalus to the stables. “And for the record, I don’t think I embarrassed him. He didn’t so much as blink an eye.”
“Of course he wouldn’t want to appear embarrassed. He has his pride.”
“You act like you know the man.”
“I know . . . his kind.” Again, her eyes told a greater story . . . that she was not purely talking about the man back in that cottage.
>
She entered the stables behind him, huffing a little. The walls of the building did little to shield them from the cold and he was heartily glad they didn’t have to sleep in the stables overnight. “He’s like every person I grew up with in Collie-Ben. I am his kind. Poor but proud. We don’t like our shortcomings flung in our faces, especially by the likes of you.”
“The likes of me?”
“Aye.” She nodded her head, looking him up and down as though he were some manner of vermin.
“And pray enlighten me. What am I that is so very unsavory to a poor crofter?”
“A gentleman. Someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth that has never known a day of deprivation in his life.” Her chest lifted on labored breath and there was a slight rush of pink to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold.
“That’s what he sees, is it?” he asked, pausing before adding, “Or is that what you see?”
Staring into those strange topaz eyes, he read the truth there. This was what she thought of him. She didn’t even know how true her words were. He was as blue-blooded as they came.
“Perhaps it’s what we both see.”
“Perhaps,” he allowed, feeling unaccountably angry. He wasn’t certain why. She spoke the truth. He didn’t know what it was like to go without, and since when was that a shortcoming?
Besides. Why should her opinion of him matter?
He stroked Bucephalus on his velvety nose. “And yet I offer something you both need.”
For her, it was freedom. For the crofter, an improved home.
“See here,” he began, “I don’t regret saying what I needed to in order for us to achieve shelter for the night.” He shrugged as he closed his gelding up in a stall and then guided her mule into the neighboring one. “We needed lodging. He did not look ready to agree. Forgive me if my candor hurt his feelings, but in case you didn’t notice, this isn’t the kind of weather you want to get stuck in overnight.”
That said, he turned his back on her and fetched some hay, reminding himself yet again that he shouldn’t care what his soon-to-be-housekeeper thought of him.
Without being directed, she copied him and fed her mule. She was no delicate miss. She knew work. He watched as she hefted a pitchfork that he knew was substantial in weight. She didn’t so much as grunt from the effort.
Satisfied that their animals were tended, they walked back out into the evening. The temperature had dropped in just those few minutes they were in the stables.
They crossed the yard. Just as he was about to knock on the door, the young woman he had spotted in the window pulled it open for them.
“Come in and warm yer bones,” she commanded.
They stepped inside the single-room cottage. She closed the rickety-thin door behind them.
The cottage, however ramshackle it appeared, was far warmer than outside and his body instantly sighed with relief.
The husband sat at the table, eating from a bowl. He looked up at them as they set their bags on the floor and removed their cloaks. The crofter’s wife took them and hung them on pegs.
“I’ve a stew. Can I get ye both a bowl?”
“Aye, thank you,” Alyse responded before he had a chance to say anything—almost as though she doubted his ability to be polite. He, a man raised in polite Society and schooled in the prettiest of manners.
They sank down on a bench at the rough-hewn table.
Marcus glanced around the tight space, wondering where they would sleep. The two toddlers whispered in the bed where they were tucked beneath the covers. One of them waved a rag doll above her face.
His gaze landed on a fur rug spread out before the fire. He supposed that would be better than the stables or exposed to the elements.
“Where are ye traveling?” the husband inquired.
“The Black Isle.”
“This time of year?” He tsked and shook his head. “Ye wouldna see me ’eading that far north.”
Alyse slowed the stirring of her spoon in the bowl. She looked at Marcus, an eyebrow lifted in inquiry.
He arched a brow, staring back at her. It wasn’t difficult to read her thoughts. He knew she would prefer London. She’d voiced her desire to go there already.
But he wasn’t going to change his plans for her. He was going to the Black Isle and she could bloody well like it or go her separate way.
He sipped a spoonful of broth. London was the last place he wanted to go.
Foolish or not for this time of year, he was going north.
Kilmarkie House was as close to the ends of the earth as he could get and right now that sounded just about right.
Chapter 11
The dove was sensible. She knew other doves were free of cages.
She’d heard their weeping and knew freedom did not always guarantee happiness.
That was another battle that must be won.
They ate quickly and then Alyse helped the lady of the house with the dishes. It was the least she could do. Weatherton might be paying them for their hospitality, but it wasn’t like Alyse to sit idle—especially when the young woman looked so very weary. Several strands of hair fell loose and dangled around her pale face. Her hair looked like it needed a good washing, but she imagined it was a lot of work to heat water for a bath.
“Thank you,” Alyse murmured as they dried the last bowl and put it in the cupboard.
“Of course, and ye may call me Mara. We dinna get much company ’ere. It’s nice tae see another woman’s face.” She smiled tentatively.
“Yes. It is nice,” Alyse agreed, smiling back, recognizing Mara’s loneliness.
She knew about loneliness. She’d felt it for several years under the Beard roof. Even surrounded by people, the ache had been there, gnawing deep. Sometimes it was worse when others crowded about. Worse than when she was lying alone in her narrow bed at night, imagining a future elsewhere. Strange, she supposed, that one should feel alone when surrounded by others. It shouldn’t be possible then.
“I grew up in Abderdeen.” Mara’s voice snapped her from her musings. “Have you ever been there?”
Clearly the woman was keen on conversation. “No. I have not.”
“Oh.” She looked a little disappointed. “It’s lovely. Our ’ouse was a stone’s throw from the sea. My family is still there, the whole lot of them. I’m the only one tae move away.” At this, a cloud fell over her eyes. “I’ve seven brothers and sisters and between all of us there are thirty-three nieces and nephews.”
“Goodness, you have your own army. It must be nice to have such a large family.” If Alyse had family, she wouldn’t be in this situation now. She wouldn’t have been forced to sell herself.
Mara nodded proudly. “Aye, we were always a boisterous clan. I ’aven’t seen them since Sally was born.” She nodded forlornly in the direction of where her two children slept. Alyse could only guess which child was Sally, but whatever the case, Mara had not seen her family in a number of years. “I miss them,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Alyse nodded back in sympathy. It could not be pleasant being heavy with child and no female around for company or support. She would not be the first woman to endure the labors of childbirth on her own. Especially not out in remote areas like this. Hopefully her husband would support her through it. It was hard to say what manner of man he was. He still looked sullen across the room—doubtlessly from his interaction with Weatherton.
At the thought of him, her gaze skipped to her employer. He was already looking in her direction, blue eyes deep and unreadable.
She was only a day gone from Collie-Ben but she understood the desire for a feminine voice and soft gaze. Her employer was all hardness. No softness or kind words from him. With any luck, she would find that at Kilmarkie House. Perhaps in another servant. It would be nice to have a friend. At least until she managed to get away to somewhere of her choosing. That’s what mattered the most to her. Her ability to choose. To decide where and how she would live.
Right now she would do what was necessary, but someday she would have a choice.
She would endure as always and not be so foolish as to expect softness from this man. In truth, any man. Not anymore. She was on her own. Even if she was fortunate enough to make a few friends, she would never again fully trust.
“Come. I’ll see ye both settled in fer the night. The wee ones can sleep wi’ us.” Mara crossed the small space of the main room, her gait waddling, and motioned them up the narrow ladder to the loft.
Of course they assumed she and Weatherton were husband and wife. She sighed, dread running through her. Which meant another night sharing a bed with him.
Everything inside her rebelled at this lie they were perpetrating. Even for only one night. Even if they would never see these people again. Of course, it was for the best to let Mara and her husband live under that delusion. Better that than explaining their complicated situation.
Except was it really a lie?
Alyse shoved that grating voice aside. There would be none of that. She would not entertain such thinking. They had both agreed that buying her off that auction block did not constitute a marriage in reality. The act might have served to dissolve her marriage to Mr. Beard but it did not bind her in matrimony to Weatherton. She didn’t care what some deed of sale claimed.
Mara’s husband had already moved to the bed and was scooting the children to the center to make room for the four of them. He hardly acknowledged them. After Weatherton embarrassed him he’d avoided their gazes. Understandably.
“I’m sorry we can no’ offer ye better accommodations,” Mara said.
“This is quite generous. Thank you,” Alyse quickly assured.
“Yes. Thank you,” Weatherton echoed as he motioned for Alyse to ascend the ladder.
“You first,” she insisted and she wasn’t certain why. Perhaps she wanted to be closest to the ladder, her means of escape, the one way out of the loft in case she needed to make a hasty retreat.
The Duke Buys a Bride Page 9