by Stobie Piel
Mrs. MacBain eyed her husband suspiciously, but he erupted in a broad smile, placating her. Simon caught Miren's eye and winked. "Mr. MacBain here is heading for a sheep station in Australia come summer, so he's selling off the bulk of his stock. Hoping we get a few good bargains."
Mr. MacBain beamed. "That you'll be doing, sir, and no mistake! Got a fine Shetland ram here. They're small, but nothing beats their wool. Romney over there. He'd do in a pinch. I'd say the Cheviot, the one in the corner, that's your best bet."
Miren studied the rams. The Shetland ram was most appealing, with heavy wool and a sweet expression. Miren pictured him faced with Blossom. "He's pretty, but he'd never stand up to Blossom."
Simon nodded. "It would be a stretch for him, attempting to get a leg up on Blossom."
"It might damage his pride."
Miren caught a glance between Simon and Nathan. They both shook their heads. Miren ignored them as she focused attention on the rams. "The Romney looks drab." She eyed the Cheviot. Its ears stuck up, it had a Roman nose, and it looked nervous. Its wool was full and white. "I suppose he's impressive."
"Hell's bells, girl. Cheviots, they're the mainstay of the wool producers. Pick him, and let's move."
Miren sighed. The Cheviot ram skittered back and forth along the farthest wall. "He doesn't look friendly."
"A sheep ain't a pet, girl."
Nathan placed his hand on her back. "Simon is right, Miren. You need something to improve your stock, not a companion. I wouldn't refer to Blossom as a pet, by any means."
"Blossom is good-natured. True, she can be willful . . ."
Both Simon and Nathan issued huffs. Miren frowned.
"But she's sensible. She's not flighty. That Cheviot ram looks flighty."
Nathan shrugged. "Then pick the Romney, and let's go."
Miren started to nod, then spotted another pen. "What's in there?"
Simon glanced at the pen. "They're the mutton rams. You said you weren't breeding for mutton."
"I'm not." Miren aimed for the mutton pen anyway. The rams all looked fat, with shorter wool than the others. None appeared enthusiastic. The ram standing in the center caught her eye. He was fat, with a stodgy face, short legs, and an earnest expression. Miren turned to the farmer.
"I'll take him."
Nathan eyed her doubtfully. "The fat one in the middle?"
Simon set his fists to his hips. "That's a Southdown, missy. They're for mutton."
The farmer nodded. "I'm selling all my mutton stock. Since we're heading off to the outback, don't see the need for meat sheep." He eyed Miren. "You look like a good, strong Scottish lass. Don't suppose you'd consider taking up employment for Mrs. MacBain? She's got something of an achy back. Figuring we need a housemaid, someone to take on the chores as put a strain on her poor back."
Miren smiled politely. "No, thank you. I have family in America." As Miren spoke, her old plans seemed thin, not as definite as they had before she spent a night in Nathan's arms. "I had a close call with Australia already. But thank you for inviting me."
Simon eyed the ram. "What're we looking at here in the way of finances?"
The farmer reverted to business, although he looked a little disappointed. "Southdown's a cull. He's throwing lambs with heavy wool, and not enough fat on their joints."
"What do you mean, 'cull'?" Miren watched the ram. He looked proud.
"Means I'll get more selling him for butchering than as a ram."
"No!" Miren seized her purse. "How much do you want for him?"
"Twenty pence. And that's a bargain."
"Twenty pence!" Simon started to argue, but Miren handed the farmer his coins.
"Thank you, sir. I will collect my ram." She paused, feeling proud. "And I will name him Earnest."
I can't believe she got another one. Earnest, indeed! First, she forgot my cushion. Then the young mistress removed my neck ornament and placed it on that pudgy, sluggish ram. Never have I been so offended.
Molly walked at Miren's side, but she wasn't happy. Earnest walked slow, nibbling bits of grass as they led him to Simon's cart. Nathan sat on the driver's seat with Simon, but Miren sat in the back with Earnest. Molly displayed her disapproval by turning her back to the ram, but Earnest didn't care. He just munched on old hay, content with his fate.
He should have been food. Yes, carved up, baked, and fed . . . to a house pet. Molly snarled.
"Molly! We must make Earnest feel welcome. Behave."
The young mistress actually seemed to mean the admonishment. Molly stuck her nose out of the cart and pretended to watch for squirrels.
She saw one squirrel poised on a branch, but it wasn't worth barking at or chasing. Too high. A rider across the field caught her eye instead. The day was hot, but the rider wore a hooded cape. Which seemed odd. He seemed to be following the cart, then eased his horse into the forest beyond.
Molly barked an alert. Miren patted her head. "Hush, Molly. It's just a squirrel. And you're disturbing Earnest."
Nathan stood in the small pasture, watching as Miren introduced Earnest to the ewes. He should have returned to themanor, to keep an eye on Brent Edgington. To ask a few more questions about Patterson. Instead, he hovered near Miren Lindsay like . . . like a lovesick boy.
Nathan's pride had taken a dim turn. He'd returned early to the manor, couldn't sleep, and instead bathed and readied himself for his next meeting with Miren. Pathetic. His only consolation was that Simon had no idea of the depths to which he'd sunk.
He planned for the evening to come. They'd pick up where they left off. On the verge of release. She had to be frustrated. Curious. She cast quick glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking. She tried to pretend that nothing had happened between them. Which only served to heighten the tension.
True, at this moment Miren was fixated on Earnest, but Nathan knew that desire still flooded her sweet body. A body which defied his previous imaginings. Taut and firm, yet soft. The result of following her flock around Argyll, perhaps.
"Nathan, do you think Huntley is troubled by Earnest's presence?"
Nathan eyed the old ram. He stood beneath a willow, his eyes half closed. "He seems to be handling the shock well enough."
"Good. I thought so, too, but I couldn't be sure. You're a man, so I thought you might know better."
"Huntley is deaf, half-blind, and aged, woman. Why would you think I might identify with him?"
"You seem threatened by Brent. He's younger than you are."
Simon chuckled. "Young Brent ain't exactly a strapping lad, but I'd guess he's got something of a way with ladies. Smooth . . ."
Miren nodded. She gazed upward thoughtfully. The most calculated effort Nathan had ever witnessed. "He's polite. And he has quite a pretty face."
She liked to torment him. What annyoed him most was that her attempt worked. He was annoyed. He couldn't help wondering if Brent's attentions pleased her, if she might respond to his overtures.
"Brent is most likely the instigator of murder. His mother mentioned this morning that Brent was almost as grieved over Patterson's death as over his stepfather's. Interesting, wouldn't you say? Afraid, perhaps, that his lackey failed . . . and he might have to do the job himself."
Miren set one hand to her slender hip as she considered Nathan's disclosure. She looked like a detective. "Brent is hiding something. That is easy to see. But I don't think it's murder."
Nathan frowned. "He's probably hiding his latest trip to Glasgow's brothels."
Miren gasped, offended. "That is a foul suggestion. Don't you agree, Simon?"
Simon hesitated, and one side of his face scrunched as he resisted agreement with Nathan. "Well now, lass, I'm not akin to gossip, but from what I've seen, young Brent's hunting expeditions don't seem too likely. I've seen him shoot. Can't hit a barn broadside. And he never comes back with anything, either. Claims to be duck hunting. Now, that takes marksmanship . . ."
Nathan nodded. "What Simon is saying is that I'm
right, and a brothel is a much more likely destination."
"You could be right, I suppose. Men have peculiar habits, I know. Spending an evening with an unwashed female seems to have appeal. Still, I can't believe Brent is hiding anything so disgusting."
"He's hiding greed, ambition, and probably murder." Nathan felt unusually stubborn. He couldn't deny that Miren had good instincts about people. Probably because she viewed them the same way she viewed her animals. Not by their breeding, but by what she actually saw in their behavior. She judged creatures not by their credentials or what they claimed, but by actions. "And he's only three years younger than I am."
Both Miren and Simon arched brows, smiled slightly . . . radiating victory. Neither said anything. They exchanged a meaningful glance, and nodded. "If you'll both excuse me, I have a croquet match scheduled . . . with the heroic Brent Edgington," Nathan said.
He headed back to the manor, fuming. Because she'd caught him. Again. It was possible that their night of thwarted passion affected himself more than Miren. She hadn't changed. He, however, was playing the role of doting fool to perfection.
He had to bed her and be done with it. Sex did strange things to a man. She had the upper hand now, because he wanted her, and his desires were strong. She didn't know how good it could be, so it hadn't weakened her to the same extent. Reasonable.
Nathan's anger faded. Tonight he would show her. By morning she would be kneeling at his feet.
Brent Edgington was slick. Five hours after Nathan left Miren's pasture, he found himself returning down the road from the manor, knowing nothing more than he knew before he'd set out.
Brent "liked and respected" Drew Patterson, but they hadn't been close. Yes, Brent had considered a career in medicine, but his mother felt strongly that the professional class was beneath his aspirations. Also, Brent disliked blood.
Brent liked croquet, and he was better at it than Nathan imagined. Nathan played croquet like lacrosse, and found himself going down to defeat because the game required control rather than aggression.
So Brent won, said how happy he was to "bear witness" to Nathan's engagement, and privately wished him well. He said his mother wouldn't tolerate him marrying a commoner, sighed, then implied that a life of free choice must be worth a lot.
Nathan walked toward Miren's cottage in more confusionthan when he left. If Brent arranged for Kenneth MacCallum's murder, he covered it up well. He seemed just as Miren said, the odd man out, eager to please and to be accepted.
Nathan met Simon coming up the road. Good. He would see Miren in private. Simon didn't look at him, he just trudged along, frowning. He reached Nathan, nearly passed him, then stopped. "Hurt that lass, boy, and you'll find yourself in a pickle."
Nathan drew an impatient breath. "That would be my concern, and hers. Not yours."
Simon looked up and met Nathan's eyes. The blue looked cold and hard, unyielding. "I'll tell you again, boy. Leave her be, let her find her own path. Or by my soul, I'll see you in the ground."
Simon didn't wait for Nathan's response. His threat shocked Nathan beyond words anyway. The old Scotsman stomped up the road without looking back. As angry as he'd been in the past, Simon's threats never seemed genuine. But this time, Nathan knew he meant every word.
The gray clouds surrendered, and rain fell as if dropped from a bucket. Nathan was drenched by the time he reached Miren's cottage. She sat on her front porch, ignoring the rain as she gazed across the loch. Molly sat in the threshold, dry but watching over her mistress.
Miren didn't look up as he approached. Nathan hesitated, then sat down beside her. "Miren?"
She looked at him, her expression gloomy. "Will it be the same when I have a real husband?"
Nathan's eyes wandered to one side. "Will what be the same?"
"Will I feel for him what I feel for you?"
Nathan began to understand her line of thinking. She wanted to know that their passion would be equaled in her future relationship. He started to nod, to maintain dignity. His head was shaking instead. "No."
Her brow furrowed. "This is assuming I eventually marry,
of course, which doesn't seem likely. But I thought I might meet someone at a later point in time, a man with interest in a permanent arrangement."
"No."
"No?"
Nathan drew a calm breath, in an effort to control himself. "I mean, of course, you'll meet someone. And I'm sure you'll marry." He controlled his voice admirably. He sounded mature, wise. "Your relationship will be . . ." He wanted to say wonderful. Fulfilling. Everything a girl could want. " . . . nothing like what we had last night."
He couldn't stop himself. He turned to face her. "Do you really think this sort of thing happens twice in a lifetime? It doesn't. You and I were drawn to each other from the moment we met."
Her brow furrowed deeper. "I thought you were handsome, true, but"
"But nothing, woman. You wanted me, I wanted you. You summoned me from jail, didn't you?"
"I didn't know anyone else."
"I'm the first person you thought of." Nathan paused, knowing his composure was shattered beyond recall. "Just who are you thinking of marrying?"
Miren smiled, tender and sympathetic. He'd reached new lows. "I wasn't thinking of marrying anyone. It occurred to me that I'll always be comparing other men to you. And they won't look very good in comparison."
She was placating his pride. "Um."
Miren watched him intently. "Simon says your people are hunters. He says you are, too."
"What of it?"
"He says you're selfish, that you hunt for what you want, take it, and move on."
Nathan frowned. He didn't like the description. But it was true. "Yes."
Miren kept her penetrating gaze fixed on his face. "He saysyou've abandoned several women before me.''
"My prior relationships have begun and ended mutually."
"An evasive answer if ever there was one. So while you expect our relationship to be the height of my romantic life, you will forget all about me."
"That doesn't seem likely."
She didn't appear convinced. Nathan took her hand and kissed it. "I've never known a woman like you, Miren. And I never will again. If it matters to you, then yes, you are special to me. I've never developed a friendship with a woman, not this way. It makes our affair inconvenient at times, but I do care."
"Then I am more than a cheap tart you intend to use and discard?"
He laughed. "Yes."
"Then are we . . . friends?" She spoke hesitantly, as if the term might be more than he could accept. Nathan kissed her hand again.
"We are."
"I see."
Nathan checked his pocket watch. "I'd forgotten. You've been requested at dinner this evening. If you'd care to don your red dress, we should go."
"I'm not sure I'll enjoy an evening with Lady MacCallum."
Nathan couldn't argue. "She requested that Mollyactually, she said 'that vicious hound'be left here."
Miren frowned. "Perhaps I shall dine here."
"Bring her some table scraps, woman."
Miren patted Molly's head. "Very well. Will we work on Brent for information about Dr. Patterson?"
"I spent the afternoon doing just that. And it got me nowhere."
"Dinner conversation always yields something. I'll help."
Nathan stood and clasped her shoulder. "Be careful, Miren. If they know what we're delving for"
"I'm not a fool, Nathan." She angled her head back, then marched into her cottage. Nathan started after her, but she shut the door. "Wait there."
"I'm delighted you could join us, Miren dear." Irene MacCallum stood by the dinner table, dressed in black. Miren considered her attire significant.
"I'm please you invited me, Lady MacCallum." Miren glanced at Nathan, who shrugged.
"Please, everyone be seated." Irene took her place at the head of the table, Brent on her right hand. Nathan sat at her left, Miren beside him. Simon stor
med around the table and sat beside Brent. He set his fists to the tabletop, and everything rattled. He didn't seem angry or distressedit was just his natural way. A ship in full sail.
"Do you ever think of going back to the sea, Simon?" Miren asked.
Lady MacCallum leaned slightly forward. "Dear Miren, since you have but recently entered society, I will excuse your lack of formal manners. But all conversation must first be directed to your hostess. Also, addressing Mr. MacTavish as Simon is quite out of the question."
"Sure, I think on it, lass. Think on it, dream on it. The open sea, that's a man's dream. Salty wind in the face, creaking of the timbers . . . She's a paradise, even in a storm. Ain't got no one telling you go this way or that. To step aside being's as it's too crowded. How to 'address' folks."
Irene braced, but Nathan chuckled. "The sea offers unlimited freedom."
Miren ignored Irene and turned to Nathan. "Were you happy there?"
"I was. Although at times I found it cramped and confining."
Brent set aside his wine goblet. "Spent time on the sea, Nathan? I understood from Simon's first report that you were a farmer."
Miren paled and held her breath, but Nathan didn't seem worried. "I tried my hand at farming, yes. A man must seize life in many places."
Brent's brow furrowed as if he considered Nathan's words prophetic. "That may be true. If you're a brave enough man to attempt it."
"From what I've learned of bravery, it comes when it's needed, and not before. It comes when you want something more than you fear its loss."
Brent straightened. "Words to consider."
Miren sat back as footmen attired in white delivered her first course. A low, wide bowl of soup. It smelled good. Simon didn't wait for the others. He dove in with his spoon, slurping with delight. "Turtle soup! Fine broth."
Miren dutifully waited for Irene to begin. "I don't suppose you have those wonderful shortbread cakes for dessert."
Nathan edged her with his elbow. "Do you mean the little pastries you devoured at the market?"
"I only sampled a bite, Nathaniel. You should have tried them. The toffee in the middle was a good touch. And the chocolate . . ."
Irene frowned in distaste. "It sounds Scottish."