She approached the filly, holding out her hand, and was delighted when the horse leaned forward to be pet.
“Oh,” Cicilia said, her heart melting. “Oh, ye’re beautiful, are ye nae? Ye an’ yer brother, both.”
The horse let out a little huffing sound that Cicilia took as agreement, and she smiled. She had no doubt the creature could understand her. Not only were they hard workers, but they were intelligent, too, especially when well trained.
Perhaps that’s why I feel such an affinity with them.
She laughed slightly at the thought, petting the horse’s nose some more. “Do ye have a name, me lassie?” she asked. The horse huffed again, and Cicilia grinned.
“Right,” she said. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to ask yer master later. Let’s get ye both cleaned up, aye?”
Both horses, as well as her own, seemed mighty pleased by the idea. She smiled, setting to work, and continuing her song as she did so.
“If the ifs an’ the an’s were the pots an’ the pans, it’d leave nae work for the tinker’s hands.”
Cicilia always found herself smiling at that line. She’d once asked her father why he always kept so busy. The farmer had considered it for a moment, then told her, “Ye must keep busy lest the devil finds ye idle.”
She’d been too young to understand it, then, but she realized now. The devil lived in one’s mind, and to keep going, to stay at work, was the only way she had avoided succumbing to grief when her father died.
Someone needs to tend the farm. May as well enjoy it while I do.
Alexander wandered through the grounds, exchanging short pleasantries with the farmhands. He was looking for Cicilia, trying to follow up on some things from that morning that simply hadn’t made any sense. It was about an hour after the noon bells now, and nobody seemed to have any idea where she was.
He passed Nathair, who was still chatting with young Jeanie, and wondered how long this flirtation would take to turn into another love-struck disaster. The twins were nowhere in sight.
I just hope they are nae fetchin’ their demon pig again.
Alexander had been searching for over an hour when he decided he might as well give up and simply go spend time with his horses instead. He hadn’t checked on Aibreann and Ailill last night, and, if he was honest, he did not fully trust someone else’s stable boy to care for them properly.
“Aibreann! Ailill!” he called as he entered the stable. “How are ye, me sweets? Are ye findin’ this strange place as difficult as I am?”
“Ye’re findin’ it difficult, Laird? I’m right sorry to hear that,” said a voice behind him.
Alexander whirled around and looked down to see Cicilia standing there at the gate to one of the stalls. She must have been mucking out one of the stalls when he entered, and he’d entirely walked past her.
If she doesn’ae move like a haunted spirit!
“Miss Cicilia,” he said, surprised. “I dinnae expect to find ye here.”
“Same to yerself,” Cicilia told him. She wiped her hands on her shirt and walked forward into the light.
Getting a look at her made Alexander recoil. She was covered in filth from head to toe, her clothes and hair covered in mud and hay, and God only knew what else. “Are ye takin’ care o’ the horses alone? Where’s the stable boy?”
Cicilia laughed. “I am the stable boy, Laird,” she replied. “I love the horses, an’ I’m good at it. Me faither’s been havin’ me muck out the stables since I was a bairn. Why would we hire somebody else when I can do it by meself just as well?”
She took a step closer to him as she spoke, and Alexander moved back, appalled. Yes, she was a farmer’s daughter and not a noble, but the O’Donnels had money. Servants. And she was a woman!
Bizarrely, the image of Ilene popped into his head once more. He tried to picture her mucking out stables or even wearing such filthy clothes. The thought was so alien that he couldn’t even hold on to it.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said with a frown. “Ye should nae be takin’ on such a burden yerself. Ye’re what, five-an’-twenty?”
Cicilia’s smile turned into a matching frown. “What did ye say? Did nae body ever tell ye it’s rude to ask the age o’ a woman? But aye, that’s exactly me age, if it’s any business o’ yers.”
“Everythin’ in the Gallagher lands is me business,” Alexander told her, a trifle annoyed at her defiant tone. Did she not know with whom she spoke? “I’m the Laird, if ye recall.”
She huffed, the breath blowing hair from her face as she folded her arms across her chest.
He couldn’t help but notice as she did how her chest swelled under them, her generous breasts almost a cushion for her arms. It made him swallow despite himself. Perhaps it wasn’t proper to stare, but God above, her body was appealing for all of her strangeness.
“Aye, so ye’ve mentioned a thousan’ times since ye and Nathair turned up at me door,” Cicilia said, snapping him out of these thoughts. “What ye’ve nae explained is what exactly ye want from me.”
“I want to talk to yer faither. It’s nay business for a lass like yerself,” he told her sharply. “Dinnae yer Mither ever teach ye respect?”
Cicilia’s eyes flashed. “Aye, she taught me to respect where it was earned. She nor me faither have ever thought me lesser for me gender!”
Alexander sighed, really feeling his irritation building now, like an itch just under his skin. “It is nae about bein’ lesser than men!” he snapped. “Why do ye types always assume that’s what I’m tryin’ to say?”
“Oh, me type? And pray tell, what would that be?” she fired back.
He snorted angrily. “Women in grand positions who refuse to act like a lady rather than a maid or a filthy stable boy! Yer faither might have thought ye behavin’ this way just grand when ye were a bairn, but here ye are, five-an’-twenty, unwed, an’ covered in muck! If I was yer faither, I’d be ashamed!”
Alexander saw when her expression changed from mildly annoyed to blackly furious, but he couldn’t be sure entirely what he’d said that had triggered it. Despite her diminutive height, the woman suddenly struck him as a threat as dangerous as any soldier.
“Well,” she said coldly, her voice like cracking ice on a loch in the winter. “I’m right sorry that we cannae all be as proper as ye.”
“Yer faither—” he started.
It surprised him when she pushed him because her strength was, unexpectedly, more than enough to topple him to the ground. He yelled as he fell, landing in the straw and muck for the second time in two days.
“Dinnae talk about me faither!” Cicilia snarled.
Alexander saw red. He tried to pull himself to his feet and once again slipped in the mud. He saw Cicilia’s lips twitch into a cold laugh at his plight, and his temper flared even more.
He scrambled to his feet, his thoughts all a haze, the mud clinging to him, making his thoughts scream like a white buzzing, his anger making things even less clear. Alexander launched himself at her, tackling her to the ground before she could hurt him again. His manners were suddenly forgotten.
The world froze as they fell. Cicilia let out a squeal, putting out her hands to steady herself. The only thing she could grab was Alexander, and as he hit against her waist, her arms went around his shoulders.
Her back hit the ground right in a pile of wet, dirty hay. All of a sudden, Alexander was straddled on top of her, his knees in the muck on either side of her legs. Her arms were around his neck, pulling him inadvertently closer, and their faces were close enough that their breath was all that separated them.
God above, I’ve nae been this close tae a woman since…
Cicilia blinked up at him in astonishment with those strange eyes, then she started to giggle. It was a much lighter sound than he’d come to expect of her, wiping away the hardness he’d seen and showing her relative youth. “Look at the state o’ ye!” she laughed.
Her laughter was moving her body in interesting ways
under his, making her lovely curves rub against his body. Despite himself, he found a smile working its way onto his face, too.
“At me?” he asked. “Have ye seen what ye look like? I think me knockin’ ye o’er actually made ye cleaner.”
“Och, hark at the mighty Laird,” she said, but the anger had evaporated, and her expression was sparkling. “It’s nice to ken ye can have a bit o’ fun sometimes.”
Her lips were full and so close, and for one second, one long, drawn-out second, he wondered what it would feel like if he just closed that tiny gap between them. It had been a long time since he’d kissed a girl, and strange as this one was, there was no denying something desirable in the way she held herself, and in the way her chest and hips curved…
Cicilia’s pretty mouth turned upwards into a coy smile, her strange eyes staring up into his. “Are ye gonnae kiss me, Laird? Sounds like a laugh, but hardly the kind o’ appropriate behavior ye were just chastisin’ me about.”
It was as though someone had poured ice down his spine. He jumped up as though shocked, glaring heavily at Cicilia as he did, taking a few steps backward.
What is this woman? What did she do to me?
Embarrassment—no, sheer mortification, of the sort he hadn’t felt since he was a teenaged boy—flushed through him. His mouth worked without sound for a few seconds.
Cicilia pulled herself to her feet, still looking amused, apparently unperturbed by the mess in which they both found themselves. She dusted off her trews, which only served to make them even dirtier.
“Nae answer?” she asked. “Well, if ye dinnae mind, then, I’ve got work to do.”
She turned her back on him, and the words came rushing out at once. “How dare ye act this way around yer Laird!” Alexander snapped. “Ye attacked me! I could have ye arrested for such a thing!”
Never mind yer improper, preposterous suggestion!
Cicilia didn’t even look back to him. “An’ ye attacked me back. We’re perfectly even,” she said nonchalantly. “I’m gonnae have the grace to forget that ye insulted me and me faither, but I’d like ye to leave me to me work.”
“Ye’re an impossible lass!” he growled at her. “I’m gonnae bathe. Again.”
He turned on his heel and stormed away, dark clouds forming in his head, but apparently, Cicilia couldn’t let him go without a parting shot.
“Be sure to enjoy yerself,” she trilled.
Filled with a deep black fury, he stormed towards the main house. He passed a bewildered Nathair as he did.
“Sandy, were ye yelling?” the Man-at-arms asked, looking up from his conversation with the girl. “We thought we heard laughter, but look at ye!”
Look at him, indeed. Laughter, indeed! It made his belly clench, thinking that anyone might even guess at the ridiculous scene that had just occurred in the stables. Bad enough that a woman of Cicilia’s age and stature should behave in such a way, but he? A Laird?
It didn’t bear thinking about.
His head was still awash with anger and embarrassment and a strange mix of hatred and desire. That just embarrassed him further. He detested the girl’s behavior and her peculiar appearance. That he’d almost let his base instincts overtake him was beyond humiliating.
An’ she keeps makin’ me think o’ Ilene, even though they’re nothin’ alike. That’s infuriatin’, as well. I dinnae want to think of Ilene.
“Sandy?” Nathair called again. “What’s happenin’? Are ye all right? Is Cicilia?”
Alexander completely ignored him, stalking onwards and inside.
Once I’m clean, I can think again. The muck and the girl both are makin’ me lose me heid.
And that…well, that simply wouldn’t do. Not at all.
Gather yer wits, Alexander. Before it’s too late.
But now even his own thoughts were confusing him. Too late for what?
Not knowing the answer was what really worried him most.
Chapter 8
Quaere
To Seek
Angry and embarrassed still, Alexander did not leave his room again for the rest of the afternoon. The maid who had wakened him tried to coax him out for a noon meal, but he stayed firmly where he was, reveling in his own dark thoughts.
Nathair brought some food to him and passed it in the door, telling him to pull himself together, but Alexander wasn’t sure how to do that. Everything was wrong, and it was filling him with the kind of uncertainty that would have brought tears could he have afforded such a luxury.
Now he lay on his borrowed bed, staring at the low ceiling of the attic room as if squinting at it in the right way would somehow bring out all the answers which he sought.
I dinnae understand this farm. Somethin’ is nae right here, and it starts wi’ that lassie.
Cicilia O’Donnel. She was an enigma, that much was certain, just like this bizarre farm. The more he thought about her story, the less sense it made. She said her father was on a trip and would not be back for weeks, but whenever he pressed, her details got very vague.
Is it likely that a reputable farmer such as Cameron O’Donnel would vanish an’ leave his unwed daughter and two young children alone for such a length of time? Nay.
And why was she unwed? He had thought it already, but it seemed strange, especially for the daughter of a farmer. Yes, some peasant daughters married closer to thirty than twenty, but that was hardly the situation here. After all, Cicilia’s family was only separated from the gentry by name. Alexander was confident that the O’Donnels had more money than some minor Lairds.
He’d heard from Ilene back when the wedding was approaching that four-and-twenty was the usual age by which women were wed across all social classes. Of course, most preferred to marry at ten-and-seven or one-and-twenty, for luck. But Cicilia was older than even the usual by a year.
It’s nae that she’s unattractive. Aye, she’s got those strange eyes an’ the freckles an’ the mismatched hair, but she’s pretty enough.
Actually, he had to admit, if it wasn’t for her imperfections, he’d find her rather attractive. The way her body moved and curved, the easiness of her laugh, the intelligence in her eyes…it was hard to believe that such a woman had not received courtship from someone matching or even above her station by now.
It makes nae sense. I cannae stand things that make nae sense.
And so, at last, Alexander slipped out of bed and fixed his clothing. He had some people to question, and he would not rest until he had found the answers.
That day, he took a tour of the farm, careful to avoid Cicilia as much as he could. After questioning some of the farmhands and house servants, and having a quick look around for anything suspicious, he told Nathair that it was high time they visited the local village.
“Why?” Nathair asked, even as he helped Alexander prepare the horses. “Ye bored already?”
“I wish I was bored,” Alexander grumbled. “But nay. I’ve got some questions to ask o’ the locals.”
It only took about twenty minutes by horse to reach the village of Wauton, named for its position between the border of the farm and the border of the clan. It was smaller than many of the Gallagher land’s other villages, but all the essentials were there.
They had a blacksmith, a tavern, the market stall run by Cicilia’s friend Jeanie. They had a butcher, a baker, and a tiny kirk—in short, more than Alexander would have ever pictured could fit into such a small place.
Nathair let out a low whistle as they walked around. “I dinnae ken any o’ the villages out this way had this sort o’ money,” he commented.
Alexander narrowed his eyes as they passed the provisioners with farm-fresh fruit on display. “Aye. More worryingly, nor did I. I think Farmer O’Donnel has been sharin’ his illicit wealth more than we thought.”
“But ye’ve got nae proof o’ him doin’ anything illegal,” Nathair reminded him. “I ken it’s annoyin’ ye, Sandy, but dinnae let it get to yer heid.”
“When have
I ever let anythin’ get to me heid?” Alexander asked, a little ironically. “Right. Where do we start?”
But Nathair’s eyes were suddenly focused elsewhere, and Alexander didn’t even need to wait to know what was coming next.
“Well,” said Nathair. “I think ye should go an’ check out the blacksmith. Meanwhile, I’m gonnae go along to yonder market stall an’ ask some questions.”
Alexander glanced over to where a familiar brown-haired girl was selling some trinket or the other to a merchant and snorted. “Aye. Right good o’ ye,” he said sarcastically, but it was with the smile of a tease rather than irritation.
A Hellion for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 6