by Stobie Piel
Miren sighed happily. "Romantic, isn't it?"
Nathan rose to his feet and placed his hand on her shoulder. "It reminds me of our first meeting."
Simon issued a long groan of pure disapproval. "Animals, that's in your blood, boy."
Nathan turned his dark gaze on Simon. "Yes, but it works with women, doesn't it?"
Miren shook her head. "Behave." She paused. "Have you two always treated each other this way?"
"The boy gave me grief every time I saw him. Monstrous little savage, and no mistake. He was worse than the other Indian boys by far. And sneaky enough to get past his mama."
"My mother understood that boys are supposed to be active."
"Active! Ha! You were a hell-bound whirlwind of trouble. And poor David being such a mild, respectful lad." Simon issued a series of tongue clucks to indicate the shame of it all.
Miren decided that Simon's dislike of Nathan wasn't as deep as he pretended. It was possible he even enjoyed their banter. "But you still called on him when you needed him, didn't you?"
Simon glowered. "Didn't have no one else."
"You're both seamen."
"I was a sailor. He's nothing but a pirate."
"He has his own ship." Miren's voice took on a sing-song quality. Irritating Simon was proving enjoyable, too.
Molly crouched before Flip, inviting him to play. Her tail wagged vigorously, and she barked in small, happy tones. Flip looked embarrassed. Miren endured a pang of self-consciousness on Molly's behalf.
"I'm afraid he likes work better than play, Molly." Miren sighed. "That'll do, Flip."
Flip took off and darted across the field, then poised himself in watch over the sheep. The ewes looked nervous, as ifthey sensed that something was up. Blossom in particular appeared peeved. Huntley was old, and probably deaf, so he kept grazing without noticing their new guard.
"We'll start the shearing tomorrow, girl. It's an all-day procedure, if I'm remembering correctly. Figuring it won't get in the way of Lady MacCallum's party."
Molly hedged back and forth between following Flip and remaining with Miren. She ambled casually after Flip, and Miren beamed. "What party?"
Nathan nodded, as if the event had slipped his mind and proved a tiresome bother now that he remembered. "Ah, yes. Lady MacCallum is hosting a garden party for the Duke of Argyll and his mother-in-law."
Miren's mouth opened, shut, and opened again with a gasp. "His mother-in-law? Nathan! The duke's mother-in-law is Queen Victoria!"
Chapter Six
Flip is the most tedious animal alive. Molly sat on her haunches as Flip oversaw the flock. He liked to keep them in a bunch. If one drifted away, he circled it and edged it back with the rest. He was obsessed. No question.
Flip would make a lousy house pet. He paid no attention to people. Just sheep. He didn't even have the sense to notice other dogs. Herself included. Molly contemplated leaving him to his dreary task. But he was a dog, and she occasionally enjoyed the company of other dogs. He smelled good. He was tedious, but he was well-built.
He never relaxed, which probably explained his strength and agility. He was a mature dog, well beyond puppyhood. Which meant he wasn't interested in play. Molly reverted her attention to Miren. Nathan had gone with Simon back to the manor, and Miren was staring after him.
They were well on their way to a mating. The boisterous Simon got in their way, but Molly felt confident that all progressed admirably according to plan. She glanced back atFlip. There was no real hurry to ascend into the manor. Muffin was still there, after all.
Muffin. Molly's ears pricked. Maybe she, alone, wasn't a match for the little rodent. But with Flip at her side, she stood more than a fighting chance.
"Shearing starts at dawn, lass!"
Miren snapped up in her bed, eyes shocked and wide. She eyed the window and saw only a trickle of light. Molly popped up, too, yawned, then flopped back down by Miren's feet.
Simon rapped on the front door. Miren groaned. "I'm . . . getting dressed."
"Move along, girl!"
Miren slid from her bed and considered what to wear. Not the dresses Nathan had sent for herthey were too clean. Her blue dress was dirty, but it might tear during the shearing procedure. She chose her old sackcloth garment, found her shoes, and tied her worn Lindsay tartan around her waist.
Molly sat on the bed, refusing to move.
"We've got work to do today, Molly."
Molly eased back into the pillow.
"Flip will be there."
Molly's head rose. One ear twitched. She hopped down from the bed and positioned herself by the door. Miren repressed laughter. She'd invited Flip into the cottage for the night, but he preferred to spend the night in the byre, near the sheep. He seemed uncomfortable in human dwellings. Unlike Molly.
Miren opened the door and found Simon and Flip waiting. The ewes spread across the morning field, picking dew-covered grass, their breath visible in the cool air. Miren sighed. The loch surrendered to low tide, birds picked for shellfish. It was a beautiful, peaceful morning.
"A good day for shearing."
Miren peered casually around, but Nathan hadn't accompanied Simon. She'd dreamt of him all night. Of his kisses, of his ship, of the stories he'd told. She'd even dreamt of the distant pastof Highlanders charging their English foes, of bagpipes echoing between the snow-covered hills. The Highlanders in her dreams turned to Indian warriors, black-haired and wild, defending their ancient home against European invaders.
''They're not so different from us, are they?"
Simon fingered his beard. "The sheep?"
"Indians."
Simon snorted. "Sheep be more our kind than those, lassie."
"I don't know . . . The Saxons came to Britain, and they drove our people back. But they didn't destroy uswe're still here. They formed their kingdom, but we wouldn't give up our independence or our clans. So they said we were part of England, and they took our land anyway. But it didn't matter. We're still Scottish."
Simon's chest filled as Miren spoke. He looked proud. "True words, lass."
"Well, isn't that what happened to the American Indians? Isn't it happening now?"
Simon's chin squashed upward in a vigorous frown. "No. Not at all. The Highlander, he is honorable. The Indian, he's just stubborn."
Miren angled a brow and waited for Simon to cave to the obvious. He shifted his weight and cleared his throat twice.
"Nathan says you were friendly with his grandsire, the Seneca chieftain. Was he 'stubborn,' too?"
Simon didn't answer at once. "The old chieftain, he dealt like an honorable man. I figured Glenna, she'd be safe among his people." Simon glowered in a dark frown. "Didn't take his son into account, though."
"Nathan's father?"
Simon's eyes narrowed to slits. "That miserable savage wore almost no clothes, and he did it a' purpose."
A vision of Nathan without clothes popped into Miren's mind. She drew a quick breath, but her cheeks warmed. Simon glared in disgust. Miren forced a weak smile. "I understand they were very happy."
Simon just huffed. "We got work to do, girl. And don't you be casting your eyes up to the manor, because he ain't coming."
Miren tried not to look disappointed, but the day seemed a little more bleak than she first imagined.
"Lady MacCallum's got her first on him today, lass. She wants him presentable to Duke and their English queen. He's got a ruse to maintain, after all. It wouldn't look right if he backed out, and headed on down here." Simon's voice gentled as he spoke, as if he understood her disappointment.
Miren met his eyes and she didn't see an enemy. She saw a Scottish man who knew what it felt like to long for something beyond his reach. "It's good to be Scottish. Because we endure, and we are free, no matter what happens on the outside."
Simon held Miren's gaze for a long moment. A slow smile formed on his bearded lips, and he nodded. "Fate, lass, isn't decided by the circumstances you get tossed into, not the good n
or the foul." He tapped his chest, and his blue eyes burned. "Fate is decided within."
Shearing wasn't easy. Flip did his best, but the ewes weren't accustomed to anyone directing their activities. Three hours passed as Flip drove them into a corner, Blossom broke free, Flip went after her, and the other ewes scattered.
Flip looked depressed. Simon was furious. Miren sat cross-legged on the grass and cried. Molly chased a squirrel.
Huntley grazed thoughtfully by the stone wall. Miren dried her cheeks and sniffed. "We could catch Huntley."
Simon glared. "A wee bairn could catch Huntley, lass. He ain't worth shearing. His coat's thin as a spider web."
"Yes, but it might reassure the ewes that shearing won't kill them."
Simon rolled his eyes. "They ain't thinking creatures, girl. They ain't reasoning the situation out."
Obviously, Simon didn't know Blossom. Miren struggled to her feet, determined to succeed. Simon drew an exaggerated breath, positioned his whistle, and summoned Flip. Miren had no idea what the whistle blasts signified, but Flip's ears perked, and he took off after poor Huntley.
Huntley didn't notice. He just stood grazing innocently. Miren endured a pang of intense guilt. Cathching Huntley had been her scheme, after all.
Flip cornered Huntley. Huntley finally took note of his attacker. He bumped into the stone wall, then tried to reunite with his ewes. Flip darted back and forth, pinning Huntley close to the wall as Simon moved in.
"I'll be needing your help, lass!"
Simon sounded enthused, despite his assessment of Huntley's wool. Miren rose to her feet and hurried across the field. Molly followed from a safe distance.
Simon seized Huntley by the wool and flipped him onto his side. Miren cringed. "Be careful! Huntley is old."
Simon huffed and extracted his shears. Miren sat by Huntley's head and spoke in a soothing voice. "You'll feel much better when we're done here, Huntley. I'm sure all this wool keeps you so hot. You'll feel like a young ram again, I promise."
Simon muttered and cursed under his breath as he clipped Huntley's wool. "When a man's experienced, he gets the whole fleece off in one layer." A portion fell off from the rest, and he grumbled. "That's if the sheep's got real wool, of course."
One side completed, Simon rolled Huntley over. Miren watched as Huntley's other side was bared of wool. "He's a bit thin, isn't he?"
"He's all right. Just old." Simon released Huntley, who just lay stunned. "Up, lad!"
Huntley struggled to his feet, gaped, then backed against the stone wall. Miren tried to smile. Huntley looked more pathetic sheared than ever he had with wool. "You're quite a ram," Simon scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You'll feel much better now, Huntley. My, what magnificent wool!"
Miren picked up Huntley's wool. It hung limp and frail, rather than tight and full. Molly sniffed the wool doubtfully, then cocked one ear. Flip turned his attention to the ewes.
The ewes had watched the procedure from a safe distance. They took one look at Huntley, and Miren knew his death would have been preferable. They scattered, and spread across the field.
"This, missy, is going to be a long day."
Three more hours passed, and not one ewe had been secured and sheared. Flip managed to get pockets of them into corners, but the ewes weren't particularly afraid of dogs, having known Molly, and they broke free every time Simon drew near.
The sun grew hot, and Miren wondered if surrendering to tears again might be her best option. Flip looked tired. Simon stood like a statue, whistle silent in his mouth.
Several coaches proceeded along the road to the manor. Miren brushed her hair from her forehead and watched. Simon shook his head as each one passed. Seven passed by, one large and ornate and glorious. "Must be the old lady."
"Simon! That's the queen."
"Bet she's wearing plaid. Old woman has an affection for Highlanders. Shows it in the silliest way."
"Yes, but the sales of woolen plaid have taken a good turn up."
"Practical little thing, you are."
Miren watched the coaches assemble in front of the manor. "Shouldn't there be a pavilion for the queen?"
"Och, she wanted it 'simple'. Just a pleasant visit between neighbors. Lady MacCallum's been setting this up for months. Word around Inveraray is that the queen is after seeing young Nathan. Word's passed around that he's a bracing lad. They're treating him as if he's some Highlander warrior come up from the grave."
Miren sighed. "That sounds fitting."
"It'll go to his head and no mistake. But the queen's bringing enough young eligibles with her to start twenty weddings."
Miren's heart took an odd twist. "Do you mean she's bringing women for him to meet?"
"That's what I've heard."
Miren tried to appear unconcerned. "He doesn't want a wife."
Simon laid his broad hand on Miren's back. "Is that what he told you? Lass, he don't want a peasant wife. Never known that boy to think of anyone beyond himself. If he gets propositioned by a lady, one who'll give him everything he lacks, he'll take her. He's tossed more than one aside who didn't come up to his standards."
"I don't believe you."
"Ask him."
"He's doing this for his nephew, not himself."
"And if he can set himself up as a nobleman in the process, do you think he's going to turn it down?"
"Yes." Miren felt odd inside. Cold and deflated. I have nothing to offer him, it's true. I don't know why I thought I did. Miren turned away from the manor and forced her attention back to her sheep. "I suppose we should try again."
"I suppose we should."
Miren watched Simon stomp after the ewes once more. His words rattled in her mind, but she knew he wasn't trying to hurt her. He was offering a genuine warning. Maybe Simon knew Nathan better than she did. At best, he'd wanted her in bed. Nothing more. He'd been honest about that. But shehadn't considered that he might be searching for another kind of wife or the life of a nobleman.
Well, he was welcome to it. Nobility was far overvalued. If he wanted to spend his nights in a pretentious woman's arms, that was his misfortune. But maybe she wouldn't be pretentious. Maybe she'd be young and sweet, shy. She would be elegant and beautiful, poised.
I have to get out of here. There was only one way. Her sheep needed to turn a profit. To do that, she needed enough money from this shearing to purchase a new ram. So Blossom would have to cooperate, one way or another.
Miren straightened her back. She banished images of Nathan and the queen's beautiful entourage. She beaded her gaze on Blossom, and she marched in.
The young mistress has lost her mind. Molly watched as Miren mirrored Flip's actions. Miren stalked the ewes from one side, and Flip came in from the other. They drove a packet of ewes into a corner. One broke free, and Miren jumped toward it. She missed, and slid onto the wet grass.
She rose again, still determined. Flip seemed to appreciate the assistance. He worked even faster than before. They cornered two more ewes, and Miren moved in, Simon just behind her. Miren seized the ewe, but it bolted. Miren held fast.
The fat ewe bounded across the pasture, dragging Miren with her. "Lass, you let go!"
Molly erupted in a fierce roar, then took off after the panicked ewe. Simon shouted, Flip raced around the far side of the flock, and the ewe hauled Miren toward the wooden gate. It stumbled, rolled, and crashed into the gate. The gate opened, and the ewe charged through.
The other ewes seized the chance to escape. Blossom led, thinking quickly as usual. Even Huntley got caught up in the stampede. Molly couldn't see Miren. The sheep careened through the gate in fat bunches, bumping off each other, issuing hoarse "baas."
Simon swore and shouted, then blew his whistle. Flip reacted, but the sheep were already pounding up the road. They didn't stop at the forked road, or head toward the stone church. They aimed directly for the manor.
"Oh no, oh no!" The last sheep made its way through the gate, and Miren sat up. Trampled, muddy,
her dress twisted to one side. Simon knelt beside her.
"Lass, are you all right?"
"I am. They jumped over me, most of them." Miren was crying. "It's my fault. I lost my temper."
"That be your Highlander blood, lass. You had a good hold on her. Might have brought her down. I should've thought to check that gate. Latch was old, that's all."
"Where . . ." Miren sniffed. "Where are they?"
Simon hesitated before answering. "Well, now"
"Oh, no!" Miren jumped to her feet. The sheep were moving in a large clump up the road, and they were headed for Lady MacCallum's garden party. "Simon . . . Did Lady MacCallum decorate with . . . potted plants?"
"Got 'em everywhere."
"Oh, no!" Miren seized Simon's arm. "We have to stop them. Blossom can't resist a potted plant!"
Miren took off up the hill. Simon blew the whistle, and Flip set off, too. Molly sat a moment. Potted plants. A queen. This . . . should prove interesting.
Molly learned that she was faster than Flip. She caught up to him without trouble. Miren ran faster than Simon, so Molly guessed the female of any species held the advantage. Blossom certainly reigned supreme over Huntley.
Elaborate coaches clogged the manor's front entrance. Molly hesitated, tempted to inspect the largest. But the sheep disliked gravel surfaces, and made their way around the manor to the short grass. Blossom stopped to bite off a red flower from a potted plant, but Flip edged up behind her, and she took off.
"Blossom, no! I'm sorry I tried to shear you. Oh, stop!"
Miren raced up behind the ewes, but it was too late. They charged around the corner of the manor, and all was lost. Someone screamed. Something yipped. And a man laughed.
"Brent, do something!"
"These are the elegant Highland Blackface, are they not?" Molly hesitated. She liked this woman's voice. It remained calm despite the clamor. "Now, where might the shepherd be?"
Miren stood at the corner of the manor. She gazed up into the sky. She turned and placed her hands on the manor's ivy-covered wall, then bent forward to rest her forehead. Simon came up, panting, and gave her a firm slap on the back. She straightened, and together they went around the corner.