Molly in the Middle

by Stobie Piel

  A tiny smile grew on Miren's face. "You know their names."

  Nathan rolled his eyes, looking impatient. "What of it?"

  "When I met you, you didn't know you own horse's name. But you know my sheep."

  He glowered. "They've made an impression."

  "You know my dog."

  "All of Scotland knows your dog."

  "Not so. Most people ignore her. I'm sure Lady MacCallum doesn't know her name. She just calls her 'that vicious hound.' Simon calls her a little slackabout. Even Queen Victoria, who cares very much for dogs, kept referring to her as 'the noble collie.' She didn't know Molly's name. But you do.''

  Nathan clenched his teeth. A muscle in his jaw flexed. "There is no significance"

  "You care."

  "I care enough to know you can't stay here. And to tell you I can't offer you anything more than I've given already."

  "I haven't asked for anything."

  "Not in words, no. But you look at me, and I know you're seeing something more than a roll between your sheets. Miren, when I look at you, that's all I see. Do you understand?"

  She felt foolish. All of a sudden, she remembered who she was and where she came from. She drew a long breath, then nodded. "I understand." Miren looked up, but not at Nathan. Her gaze fixed on her small window.

  Rivulets streamed down the pane, creating a mesmerizing rhythm. The light of her lamp reflected on the wet glass, and cast reality back into her little room. The longer she stayed with him, the more it would hurt when she lost him.

  "I understand, Nathan." Her gaze shifted back to him. He waited, looking tired and tense, and still angry. "I was unwise to deny your kind offer. If you still agree, I will accept passage to America at your expense. I will leave my sheep with you as payment, although I know it's not equal to the cost of transporting me."

  Miren rose from her chair and replaced her medical gear to the basket, then closed the lid. "I have tried to be honorable in my financial dealings, but maybe I've been foolish not to seize what's offered."

  Nathan bowed his head, his face drawn and weary. "I'll contact your uncle in America to be sure you have a situation established there."

  "That's not necessary. I'll find my way once I arrive."

  Nathan glanced up at her. He looked irritated. "America isa big country, Miren. You don't just land on its shores and ask directions to Robert Lindsay's house."

  He remembered Uncle Robert's name, too, but Miren made no comment. "I'll inquire, and find him."

  "For all you know, he's dead. Miren, a week or so won't matter. I'll contact him, and your position will be safer."

  Miren puffed an annoyed breath. If she had to leave, she wanted to go now. A lot could happen in a week. She might surrender her pride, and offer what he asked for, to become his mistress for as little a time as he wanted. She might surrender everything to taste again the magic of his embrace, to find the place his lovemaking promised yet eluded her still.

  She wouldn't find it with a husband, because Miren knew no other man would fill her heart this way. She had pride, and little else. Her dreams of America faded, leaving a dull certainty that life would go on, and she would grow old alone.

  Simon told her that fate was within. Until this night, Miren had believed that with all the power of her soul. But now, looking at Nathan, seeing the distance in his brown eyes, she knew it wasn't always true. Fate resided in dreams. When they were shattered, it left little of value.

  She would learn to be content. "You are right, of course. A week or so won't matter at all."

  Flip is outside. We are safe. Molly curled up by the cottage door, knowing Flip lay on the other side, watchful. Brave. He'd done well to slow the young mistress's attacker so that Nathan could bring him down. Nothing would enter the pasture without Flip alerting them.

  Still, Molly couldn't settle into sleep. More had gone wrong than the attack warranted. Obviously, a competitor for the young mistress had arisen, and tried a flawed tactic in securing her. As should be, Nathan defended her, and laid his claim instead. But now, when they should be together, secure, the young mistress and Nathan drifted apart.

  Not in body, but in something deeper. They lay togetheron Miren's bed, both sleeping. There had been awkwardness before they set down for the night. Molly felt it as unspoken tension. Nathan couldn't leavehe had to protect her. Miren had nowhere else to sleep, so they slept together. Neither undressed.

  Their voices had changed. Rather than lean toward each other, both recoiled, as if touching might injure them in some way.

  The mansion never looked farther away.

  Molly got up and tried a different position. It wasn't merely that she felt the role of house pet slipping away. Sorrow filled the cottage, the slow beating of hearts, disappointment. All dogs were sensitive to such things, but many, like Flip, chose to focus their attention on sheep. Probably because sheep didn't hurt inside the way humans do.

  Or if they did, Molly never cared to find out. Humans hurt for reasons Molly didn't fully understand. They cried, something she found distressing in the extreme. Nathan didn't cry, but Molly had sensed his discomfort, too. It was more than his injury. His life force remained strong despite the smell of blood. He would recover.

  If she understood what separated them, she could work to settle the matter. Not knowingthat was hard.

  Molly tried lying on her side. She tried lying on her back, with her feet up. That was generally her favored posture. It didn't work. Her own body seemed changed. Her smell altered, her senses became more acute. She felt restless. Something was coming, and she didn't know what it was. She felt like running, searching . . . or at least checking on what Flip was doing.

  Molly sniffed at the door. Flip was resting, a light sleep. She whined, very softly, careful not to wake the humans. After a moment's silence, Flip whined back. He understood. He was there. He wouldn't leave, and she was safe for the night. Molly rested her nose on her front paws and went to sleep.

  "Boy, you've got explaining to do!" Simon shouted through the window, then banged loudly. Molly barked, hopping up and down in excitement.

  Miren opened one eye and groaned. She'd spent the night in restless dreams, tossed between sweet promises and bitter loss. She didn't want to wake. She wanted to forget. Nathan lay beside her, still sleeping despite Simon's racket. She'd woken several times to check on him, but his breathing remained steady, and his color had improved by morning.

  Simon rapped again, and the window rattled on the verge of shattering. Miren crawled out of bed, pulled her tartan blanket over her shoulders, and went to the door. "Come in, Simon."

  Molly darted outside to join Flip, and Miren sat at her small table, her head in her hands. Simon took one horrified look at Nathan, puffed his chest, and issued a loud moan. "What did you let that black-hearted"

  Miren held up her hand. "Please, not so loud, Simon. Nathan is sleeping."

  "Is he?" Simon's voice boomed even louder. "I'll be waking him right enough!" Simon stomped to the bedside and yanked off Nathan's cover, exposing his bloodied shirt. Nathan opened his eyes, groaned, and pulled his covers back over his body.

  Simon looked between them as if he'd walked into a situation he'd never seen before. "What did you two do to each other?" He sounded squeamish and eased back toward the door. "Not that I'm wanting the full story here."

  Miren couldn't resist a smile. "It's not what you think, Simon."

  "I'm hoping that's true. But, lass, as for what I thinkmy imagination don't stretch that far."

  "A man attacked me last night. Nathan stopped him, but got knifed in the process. He's not terribly injured."

  "What?" Simon's voice radiated through the cottage. "Attacked?"

  Nathan sat up in bed. He raked his long fingers through his dark hair, then looked at Simon as if it pained him. "You are so loud. You belong at sea, MacTavish."

  "What're you doing in this child's bed?"

  Nathan rose reluctantly from the bed and seated himself b
eside Miren. "She's not a child, and as for why I'm in her bed . . . Sleeping, until you barged in. Someone attacked her last night. I stayed with her so he would not succeed on a second attempt."

  "Noble." Simon sneered, though his face softened as he studied Nathan's bandaged arm. "Suppose you're too laid up to do much damage."

  Simon seated himself across from Miren, looking back and forth between them like an eager puppy. "So, what happened? Who was it as came after you?"

  Miren tried to elevate her spirits, to engage in conversation. She felt empty, as if nothing really mattered. Nathan hadn't touched her all night. She hadn't expected him to, but it still disappointed her. He just lay down beside her and went to sleep. And the ache inside her grew until it hurt.

  "We don't know who the man was, Simon. It was dark and raining, and he wore a cloth over his face."

  "What'd he want?"

  "I'm not sure about that, either. He wanted me to go with him. He was trying to put me on his horse when Nathan arrived."

  "Then he weren't after killing you. Just trying to make off with you."

  Nathan looked around, then found Miren's pitcher of water. "Where's a glass, Miren? I've got a thirst like death."

  Miren eyed her tin cup, filled with bluebells and lilies. Tears started in her eyes. She snatched up the cup and tossed the flowers out the door. She turned back to see Nathan watching her, his expression strange. He looked . . . sorry. Pity was intolerable. "They were old."

  Simon's brow puckered. "Looked fresh to me."

  Miren's gaze remained fixed on Nathan. "They were old."

  He didn't argue. He knew the flowers were fresh, but he wouldn't challenge her now. His zest for teasing had left last night. Miren's pulse slowed until it seemed a struggle to go on. She sank into her seat and closed her eyes.

  "Girl, you're needing sleep. I'll check the flock for you, and keep an eye on your door. And you, Nathaniel, ought to be seeing a doctor."

  "There's no need. The cut isn't deep."

  Simon nodded thoughtfully. "Knifed you, did he? Get a look at the weapon?"

  Nathan looked under Miren's table, bent, and retrieved a long, thin knife. "This is it. He gave it up during our struggle."

  "Can't have been a strapping fellow, then."

  "He wasn't particularly strong, no. Probably as tall as I am, but small-boned."

  Simon took the knife and examined it thoroughly. "Any chance it was Brent?"

  "I can't say for sure. It could have been. But it could have been almost any man under fifty."

  "Aye, but it's a bit suspicious, young Brent being off 'hunting' the very night trouble starts brewing."

  Miren studied the knife in Simon's hand. "Can I see that, please?"

  Simon cocked a brow. "What for?"

  "Please."

  He set it on the table, and Miren turned it from one side to the other. She positioned it to lie straight, then angled the handle up. She stood up to view it from another angle, then nodded triumphantly. "I was right. My assailant was, in fact, an Englishman."

  Simon and Nathan exchanged doubtful glances. Nathan cleared his throat. "You can tell that an Englishman wielded this blade just by looking at it?"

  Miren met his patronizing gaze evenly. "Yes, I can. Because, you see, this is the knife missing from the cutlery merchant's chest."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I have a perfect memory for shapes. Also for words written on a page and for pictures I have seen . . . and eye color, of course. This knife is the same shape as the pattern left by the knife he'd sold that very morning"Miren paused, allowing the moment to build"to an English gentleman."

  Neither Simon nor Nathan had a response. Miren felt smug. Simon shifted his weight from foot to foot. "You don't say?"

  "I do." Miren waited for Nathan's response. He looked uncomfortable.

  "You're observant, Miss Lindsay. I'm impressed."

  He didn't meet her eyes. He'd only looked at her oncewhen he realized she'd picked flowers for his arrival. Her pride deflated toward the dull ache again. "I suppose that points further still toward Brent."

  "So it seems." Nathan picked up the knife. It glinted in the morning light, but dark blood stained its point. Nathan's blood. "It shouldn't be hard to verify. We'll locate the merchant, ask him a few questions. If necessary, we'll invite him to the manor and let him get a firsthand look at Brent."

  Simon smacked his hand on Miren's table. The tin cup overturned, spilling Nathan's water. "Good going, lass! Finally we're onto something! I'll trot myself up to the manor, catch a slab of breakfast with the old hag, and find out when her mealy-mouthed lad is expected back."

  Simon didn't wait for approval. He stormed from the cottage, disrupting the sheep and startling Molly, who barked. Miren watched him go, then shook her head. "I thought he was going to stand guard." She felt uncomfortable alone with Nathan, especially since he didn't speak right away to ease the situation.

  "I'm sorry, Miren."

  She grit her teeth, forced herself to smile formally, and faced him. "Sorry? About what?"

  "Those flowers . . . You picked them for me."

  Miren closed her eyes, fighting not embarrassment but pure fury. He had to mention it. Couldn't leave it alone. Oh, no . . . he had to rub salt in the wound. Pry until she fell apart. "I picked them to decorate my room."

  "What have I done to you?" Startled by his quiet words, Miren wondered if his wound was worse than it appeared. "Changing is so much harder than I thought."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "When my father was driven from his land, I vowed to take better care of my family. So I sent my army salary to my mother and sisters, and I thought it was enough. When the war was over, I took to the sea, and I forgot my vow. We went to the Caribbean, to South America. I never thought of them, Miren. I enjoyed myself, made myself rich buying and selling exotic wares, and I never looked back."

  Miren fidgeted. Pain echoed in Nathan's voice, deep pain. "I see nothing wrong with thatall men assume careers. Yours sounds rather enjoyable. There's no shame in that."

  "Isn't there?" His gaze held hers, but she saw self-loathing in the black depths. A loathing that chilled her blood. "While I 'enjoyed myself,' my brother suffered in poverty. His wife died in childbirth, a dry summer left him with no harvest. He needed me, and I wasn't there. Because of that, he's dead. His son is fatherless, and I haven't done a thing to secure his inheritance."

  "You're here."

  "And what have I done? I've spent my energy trying to seduce a pretty girl. And I found out too late that the pretty girl has a heart, and hope, and all the things I lack. Miren, I found out that you matter, far more than I'm worth. I've placed you in danger, because I thought you might please me in bed. I vowed when my brother died to protect those who needed me. Instead . . ."

  Nathan rose to his feet and went to her door. "I'm sorry."

  She wanted to go to him, to tell him he wasn't responsiblefor her fate. But such pain filled his eyes that she couldn't speak.

  "Miren, I'm not sure what good my word is today, but I swear to you now, I'll never hurt you again. I will protect you, and see that you're safe with your family in America. No matter what happens, no matter what threatens you, I will find a way to save you."

  Nathan didn't wait for her response. He turned and left the cottage. Miren watched him through the window. He took a position at the far end of the field, standing guard in place of Simon.

  She hadn't fully understood his demons, how deeply he blamed himself for his brother's death. He carried his father's loss as bitterly, and cursed himself for what he couldn't change. He had a child's life to secure. And now he considered himself responsible for her, too.

  But you're wrong, my friend. I'll protect myself from now on, and you'll see. When you need me, I'll be there. And one day, I may be the one to save you.

  Chapter Eleven

  Even the best-laid plans can go astray. I was so close. I could feel the comfortable carpe
t beneath my paws. Almost recline on my new, soft cushion. Taste the specially prepared table offerings. But no. Everything is going in the most peculiar direction. And not in favor of a house pet.

  Nathan, who was supposed to be my hero, has fallen on hard times. At this moment, he is doing the worst task imaginable. He isand it strains me to admit thisguarding sheep. My worst fears are realized. Rather than ensconce the young mistress and her house pet in the manor, Nathan has turned to herding sheep.

  Who would have thought? A fine young man, well dressed, clean. A man with his own coach, a servant. He hasn't moved all morning. He just stares at the sheep. I don't know what he thinks they're going to do. Rampage the manor again, perhaps.

  From what I've seen so far, Earnest isn't likely to rampage anything. I'd hoped at least for a good battle between therams. Pawing the earth, charging each other, head-butting. But old Huntley wasn't up for it. I don't think he's even noticed his usurper's arrival.

  Not only am I depressed, but bored. Bored enough to find myself tagging along after Flip. He doesn't do much. He likes to keep the ewes away from the gate, remembering how they broke free the last time. Flip seems bored, too. He's paying more attention to me than usual. Seems to find my enhanced smell intriguing.

  Which is convenient, since I'm beginning to find him intriguing, too.

  Sheep are the most boring creatures in all existence. Nathan began to understand Molly's reluctance to obey her age-old instincts. No wonder she favored following Miren. Nathan sat on a flat rock, staring across the pasture. The sheep barely moved. Every head was down, grazing. Beyond the pasture, the loch was still.

  He was a man of action. Not tedium. But maybe it was the price paid for the havoc he had wreaked. Penalty. In hell. In Scotland. His honorable intentions didn't lessen the sexual pressure wrought from hours of desire. He ached. He'd spent a night in bed beside the woman he wanted most, and hadn't touched her.

  The temptation had been strong. Nearly intolerable. She sighed in her sleep. She rolled over, and her leg brushed his. She rolled again, and her small, firm bottom touched his hip. Agony. Even the pain in his arm didn't diminish desire's force.