What did she think?
Her eyelids fluttered just before she sank against him, collapsing into his arms.
“Och, lass,” he muttered, holding up her weight with ease. She hardly weighed a thing.
Donnan laughed. “Och, it seems we found something the lass swoons over,” he observed. “Poor lamb. I suppose her English father never allowed her on the hunt.”
“I suppose nae,” Boyd observed, wishing he would not speak so of the man. No, she could not hear him in her state, but he’d already upset her earlier in the day.
Though why he should bother himself with the concerns of an English lady he could not say.
He lifted her in his arms, carrying her across them before draping her over her saddle. Undignified, to be sure, but he had the horses to consider as well. He could hardly ride, lead her mare and hold her upright before him in the saddle all at once.
“I shall take her back,” he announced. “And I will send lads down to help ye bring the buck to the house.”
“Aye, do that,” Donnan called out, already in the saddle and eager to examine his kill.
Boyd studied the lass’s face, so still and pale. He brushed back a strand of hair which had fallen from her braid, taking note of the way it seemed to turn to fire in the sun. “Och, lass,” he groaned again. “Ye have a talent for making a man take an interest in ye.”
Just when he’d sworn he would never take an interest in any woman again, for any reason, for as long as he lived. Part of the reason he’d set out to ride across the entire country, or so it seemed, was to get a certain woman out of his head and his heart.
Even now, the mere thought of Innis MacDonald turned his blood to fire which threatened to consume him. No longer the fire of passion, however, but rather an angry, wounded fire toward a woman who had played him false.
And what did he find while turning to ride north for home? An Englishwoman who caused him no small bit of inconvenience, yet who managed to make him pity and fear for her.
He chuckled, leading the pair of horses back to the keep. “Aye, and ye would just as likely throw my words back in my face if I were to confess I felt sorry for ye,” he told her.
She bounced gently against the mare, unaware of his words.
“Ye are an English lady, the daughter of an earl, and a filthy Highlander thinks it a pity that ye were sent off to live with strangers just to keep ye away from skirmishes and the like. The men your father sent along with ye were not man enough to fight for ye when the time came, and they all but ran like frightened hares when given a chance. If there be justice in the world, they were caught and run through before they reached English soil.”
But he knew better, for there was little justice in the world. Men who would abandon a woman before their mission was finished. Men who cared more for their own necks than for the honor of an unarmed woman. Who might fight to the death for their country but could not be bothered to dismount their palfreys when it came time to fight for a single person in need of their protection.
Cowards and fools, and this Earl of Carlisle was double the fool if he’d believed his daughter safe with them. Two guards? While crossing into Scottish lands? What was he on about?
Yet here she was, alive and somewhat well, thanks to Boyd. “If I had half the brain I ought to, lass, I would send word to your father and demand payment for your protection. I suspect he takes care of those men of his, well-fed and sleek as they were.”
But he did not have much of a brain, or so it would seem. For he could not so much as force himself to stop thinking of the lass and her difficult situation.
5
“Please. Allow me to be of help to you.”
Ann bore the look of a woman who did not know whether to be grateful or to bemoan her unhappy fate. She ran her hands over her apron, which was already wet thanks to much splashing in the stream, and appeared to make her mind up.
“All right. Just this once,” she added, holding up a single finger. “I will not have ye behaving as one of the household workers. If it were not for young Bridget breaking her ankle, even I would not be bothering myself with this.”
Olivia knew not who this Bridget was nor why no one else could tend to the washing. She only knew that she would finally feel useful, and she had longed to be useful for much of her life.
She studied the way Ann had rolled up her long, bell-shaped sleeves, tucking them around her arm first before rolling the fabric up over her elbows. A clever method, to be certain, though it took Olivia several tries before her own cream-colored sleeves were secure.
She then took pains to gather up the skirt of her kirtle beneath her knees, making something of a cushion for her to kneel on while she dunked and beat the soiled linens in the stream which cut through MacNair land.
The stream at which that magnificent buck had fallen.
Her stomach still turned at the memory of what had taken place the day before. She’d spent the rest of that first day in bed, both weak and embarrassed by her weakness.
Perhaps she should have warned the men that she had never been on a hunt before. But Donnan had seemed so eager for her to join them, and she had not wished for him to believe her angry or hurt over his rather coarse words.
They had not been for her ears, and she knew it. Just as she knew he had not been speaking of her father, not specifically.
Still, it had pained her greatly, knowing herself to be guest in a house where the English were so hated.
“Here ye are,” Ann announced once she’d readied herself. “Ye can start with this.”
A mere pillow covering. She supposed this was wise, as it was small and would help her learn to properly wash linens without getting herself tangled in heavy, sodden fabric.
She watched Ann dunk a sheet repeatedly in the cold water, slapping it against a rock before dunking it again. She repeated this process, grunting a bit with each sharp thwack against the rock. It struck her as being quite amusing.
She could pretend she was beating certain people, for one.
Olivia dunked the soiled pillowcase and did as Ann did, causing water to splash back up into her face. She sputtered and nearly dropped the linen into the fast-rushing stream, but caught it before the current carried it off.
“I suspect yer mam did not involve ye in such doings,” Ann observed before slapping the sheet against the rock again.
“No. I was brought up to run the house. Though I was still quite young when she…” Olivia slapped the poor, defenseless pillowcase against the rock with a resounding crack.
“Aye, I ken,” Ann murmured. “I suppose ye must have been taught to be a wife to a nobleman, then. As she was.”
Yes, though she was supposed to marry a Scottish nobleman. Not an Englishman. “How did it happen that they were wed?” Olivia whispered, as though it were a scandal she was not permitted to know of. “I have always wondered, though no one saw fit to tell me.”
Ann paused in her work, stretching with one fist against her lower back. “Och, I suppose it was the same as what happens for so many young people. There was a fair near the border. Her da, my uncle, didna wish for her to go. Too much chance of meeting with the wrong people, ye ken.”
“The English,” Olivia guessed.
Ann cringed but did not disagree. “And other types. Those who wish to take advantage of lassies with a bit of coin in their purse. Lassies out in the world without the protection of a father or brother.”
“I see. Such as the brothers I met on the road.”
“Aye,” Ann grunted as she wrung a great deal of water from a sheet. “But yer mam was not one who would be told what to do. She had a mind of her own. And as ever, she made me agree to go with her. Not that it took much doing, mind ye,” she chuckled. “I wished to go, as well. My uncle made me promise to look after her. Och, she was his treasure, indeed.”
Ann paused in her work, sitting back on her heels and staring off into the towering spruce trees ahead of them. “She saw him there, and
he saw her. I could barely turn her away from him. He followed us at a distance. I knew there was little to be done after a time. And he was a handsome man. Is he handsome still?”
“Very,” Olivia murmured, though it was difficult to imagine him being young and in love at the first sight of a woman. “A bit of grey at the temples.”
“Och, dinna we all have a bit of it?” Ann laughed, touching wet fingers to her own grey-streaked raven hair. It was striking, drawing the eye the way Olivia’s gold-streaked auburn locks tended to do. “There was nothing I could do. He was daft over her, and she over him. It was a terrible row with her da, and I have to tell ye it pains my heart a bit to think on it now, so many years later.” She cleared her throat, managing a faint smile before returning to her labor. “But she was happy, or so she told me in her few letters.”
“I remember her seeming very happy. Always singing to me. And she made him happy, as well. I remember many times when he was in a dark mood, brooding over something or another. She entered the room, and it was as if the sun began to shine again. He would be smiling in a moment.”
“That is good to hear,” Ann sighed. “Truly. To know they were pleased with each other until the end.”
Olivia sighed, too, though it was not the happy sort of contended sigh she’d heard from Ann. Yes, her parents had adored each other until the moment of her mother’s death, and she suspected her father’s feelings had not lessened in the least since then.
If she were still a girl, still unaware of the way of the world, she might find comfort in this. Or if she were an old, married woman such as Ann. She might smile softly at the sweetness of it, and at the memory of young, fresh, desperate love that would not be denied.
She smacked the pillowcase against the rock until her arm ached, until finally, Ann stopped her.
“What is it, lass?” she asked, concern darkening her grey eyes. Olivia had not noticed until then that they shared the same color, just as her mother had. One more link between them.
And looking into those familiar-yet-unfamiliar eyes, she could consider unburdening herself. Yes, it seemed only natural to do so. This was a friend, someone in whom she could confide.
“I suppose I was feeling sorry for my lot in life,” she admitted, eyes downcast and shame-filled. “I have no reason to complain, truly. He is a decent man, so I’ve been told. From what I recall, he is not terribly bad looking. He might be pleasing after a time.”
Ann touched her shoulder, then took a chance and cupped her cheek in one hand. “My dear. Ye have been promised in marriage, then?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “As I said, I know my lot could be worse. Much, much worse. I have nothing to complain about. Only…”
Ann grunted, frowning deeply. “Yer father said nothing of this in his messages. He might have told us.”
“I suppose he did not consider it. Nor should he have. My intended has nothing to do with my being here. We are not to be wed until he takes his father’s title. The man in is ill health, so it could happen at any time. I suppose. I try not to think much of it.”
“It makes ye unhappy.”
Olivia wished she still had a pillowcase to thwack. Unhappy? Tearing her favorite kirtle made her unhappy. Several days of uninterrupted rain made her unhappy. This…
“I try not to think of it,” she said again, this time with a shrug. “This is how it is meant to be. Marriage is arranged. I do not need to love him now. I might love him later. Or not. So long as he treats me decently—and from what I know of him, he is not a bore nor a coarse, crude man—I suppose life will go on as it has. I will simply live in a new home, with new maids and such, and I will do my best to be a good wife as I have done all I could to be a good daughter.”
How she detested the pity with which Ann studied her. How she wished she had never spoken of it.
“Ye have met the man, then?”
“Yes. And that is not always the case, you know—”
“Ye need not defend yourself to me, my dear,” Ann assured her with a tender smile. “Truly. I ken. Now, when ye met this…”
“George Ainsworth.”
“George. When ye met him, did he stir anything in ye?”
“Stir?” When Ann’s eyebrows moved up and down in a somewhat suggestive nature, Olivia’s cheeks reddened so, she splashed cold stream water on them to cool off. “Heavens, no!”
Ann’s laughter rang out. “Ye need not be embarrassed, dear!”
Embarrassed? This was worse than embarrassment. Yet it was clear the woman was not about to let go of the subject, so Olivia composed herself as best she could before responding. “It was nothing like that. We spoke, we dined together. Nothing more.”
“Did ye wish for there to be more? Ye must know what I mean. Did ye wish for a moment alone with him? Did ye imagine him taking yer hand?”
“No, not at all.” She sighed deeply, as Ann’s questions brought life to what had already existed in the dark corners of her mind. The questions of whether she ought to feel something more for the man she was destined to wed, questions she had never dared voice. “That is simply not how it is done. My father’s responsibility is to find a good husband for me, someone who will see to my comfort and security.”
“But ye suspected there ought to be more, am I right? Come, dear,” Ann coaxed. “Ye can tell me. I feel as though yer mam would wish for ye to have an older woman to speak with on these matters.”
She shook her head, shame rising in her throat and threatening to choke her in another moment or two. “There is nothing to speak of. Truly. He is my intended. I am the daughter of an earl. I must wed the man chosen for me. That is the way of it.”
Ann was not so easily convinced. While Olivia was not practiced in the language of her mother’s people, she could discern from the tone of Ann’s voice and the snarl with which she delivered the words she spat that she was not speaking favorably.
“He ought to know better,” she finished, gathering the last of the wrung-out linens into her basket, which Olivia was quick to take one handle of that they might share the weight between them on the way to the keep.
“He only wishes to see to my safety,” Olivia reminded her. “He is a wonderful father, and has denied me nothing. Do you believe he ought to send me to a fair and take a chance that I meet and fall in love with the man destined to be my husband?”
“It would be a sight better than selling—” She cut herself off when Olivia winced, and it was now her turn to blush. “Forgive me, my dear. I speak too freely. I did not agree with the match set for your mam when she was a lass, either. But as ye say, that is the way of it.”
“And George Ainsworth is a decent man.” Why she felt the need to defend him, she could not say. Perhaps it was a means of defending her dear father, who had not sold her to anyone. No matter what Ann or anyone else thought.
“Yer da is a decent man, so I see no reason why he would not choose a man like himself for his only daughter.” They arrived at the lines over which the clean linen would be draped to dry in the sun, setting their basket down. “I suppose ye can only hope to become fond of the man.”
“I am certain I will.” Olivia resolved to do just this as she lifted a heavy sheet from the basket and shook it out with Ann’s help. It was a great deal of effort, straining the muscles of her back and shoulders. Was this what the maids went through all the time? She could hardly imagine it.
“Even so.” Ann caught her eye, a wicked smile flashing across her lined, kindly face. “Ye might meet a man who stirs ye as I said before. Who ye wish would take yer hand and speak sweet words to ye.”
“I could not!” Olivia hid her face in the sheets, embarrassed anew.
“Why not? Ye are a bonny lass, no doubt, and ye must attract attention from the lads ye meet.”
“I do not meet many people,” she admitted.
“But when ye do, I am certain ye catch their eye, do ye not?”
She did, and she knew it, but it did not matter. She merely
shrugged. “What of it? I could hardly marry any man I meet. I must wed someone suitable.”
“Ye canna wed a common man, then?”
“Heavens, no!” she laughed, for the very notion was unthinkable. “An earl’s daughter, marrying a common man? Never! And who would I meet out here, do you think? Hardly the sort of man my father has in mind, I can tell you that.”
Ann was not laughing. In fact, she appeared quite stricken as she stared over Olivia’s shoulder.
Olivia turned to find Boyd standing there, his face a stony mask. “Oh,” she breathed, unable to find her voice.
He would not look at her. “Donnan asked me to find ye,” he grunted to Ann before storming off, clenched fists swinging at his sides.
The desire to call out an apology behind him struck Olivia as strange and unnecessary, but there it was. She had injured him somehow. She’d laughed at the notion of a common man being a fitting match for a nobleman’s daughter, and he had taken that as an insult to himself.
Just as she had taken Donnan’s sharp words as an insult to her father.
“Och, lass,” Ann whispered. “A man’s pride is a dreadful thing to wound.”
That much, she knew without having to be told.
6
What did it matter?
He asked himself this very question time and again as he marched through the gates to the keep, through the courtyard, to the stables.
Just why he had chosen the stables, he could not say. Perhaps it was the many times he’d escaped to his father’s stables as a lad in need of an understanding ear. No one had ever understood him as well as the horses.
He was far too old to be troubling the beasts with his tormented thoughts. Just why they were so troubled was perhaps what troubled him most. Why did he care one way or another what an English lass thought of the Scots?
It was not a secret that women such as herself thought little of men like him. When they thought of them at all, which he would wager was rare indeed. Though that went both ways, as he did what he could to avoid thinking of the English.
The Highlander’s Lady: Highlands Forever Page 4