The Hiring Fair

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by Laura Strickland


  Tam’s face went still. She stole yet another look at him. How handsome he looked with the rough beard cleared away—despite all the nicks. He possessed a typically Scots face with lean cheeks and stark cheekbones, a noble forehead and strong chin. His well-proportioned nose put her own sharp beak to shame and his brows lay level over those clear eyes.

  Yet the countenance revealed little enough of what he thought, save when she surprised him. She did so now by touching his arm.

  “Have a mind for the animals.”

  Upon the words, a flurry of barking broke out, and Ruff flew up the track toward them, with Ella struggling behind. In the back of the cart, Jockie set to mewling. He let himself over the side and shuffled ahead to greet the dogs in mid path.

  Old Rake halted and stood blowing as if he’d just run a race. For him, the five-mile journey likely seemed one.

  “What—?” Sutherland began to speak before astonishment silenced him; she watched those handsome eyebrows soar.

  Fiona, the hind, came prancing down the trail, placing her three remaining hooves carefully. The two goats, Ban and Dubh, followed her as usual, and Annie imagined Mairi the fox watched from somewhere close by, if hidden.

  Sutherland stared from the trail, where both dogs leaped about Jockie happily, to the approaching menagerie to Annie’s face.

  “What is this, then?”

  “They live here, all of them, with me. Most found their own way or were brought here, injured. There were others I could no’ save. We have the usual farm beasts, as well, mostly in the byre.”

  Tam blinked as the doe picked her way carefully around Jockie and the two dogs to press her delicate nose into Annie’s lap. Annie stroked her soft head before leaning out to bestow similar caresses on each goat so they would not feel slighted.

  “Are they all damaged in some way?” Tam asked.

  “Not all, but most. Fiona, here, was caught in a snare. Both goats were abused by their last owner, as were the dogs. Ruff, as you can see, carries the scars of his beatings. He may be afraid of you for a time, until he grows used to you. He fears most men. Wee Ella had her ears cut off.” She caught her breath and turned to look full in his face. “I tell you now and true, I canno’ abide cruelty. I will tolerate many things from you. Not that.”

  He nodded slowly before his lips tightened. “You seem to collect misfits, mistress.” He held his ruined hand up in front of her. “Do you not?”

  About to answer, Annie instead warned, “Och—look out.”

  The large brown form, utterly silent, swooped at them; Tam ducked just in time to avoid a bump on the head.

  He swore and raised his arms to defend his face.

  “Nay,” Annie bade, “he will no’ hurt you. ’Tis but Sol—the owl.”

  “By God!” Tam lowered his arms and peered at the bird, which lit on the bough of a tree. Fervently he added, “By all that is holy!”

  “Aye.” Annie smiled into his face. “All here is most holy.”

  ****

  Tam decided he had been right at the outset. The woman was mad, and her dwelling twice so. The house itself, as he saw when they at last cleared the beasts from the road and prodded the old horse into moving again, proved no more than an overgrown cottage built of stone on stone, with a thatched roof that looked in need of repair, and ivy everywhere. Trees bent overhead, lending it shelter, most of them rowans and pines.

  And everywhere he looked, he saw animals: hens pecking in the yard, any number of cats, a cow grazing near the hedge, and a hare that, curiously, the cats and owl all let be.

  The owl accompanied them on their way and, to Tam’s horror, flew into the house through a side window, which stood open. To further add to the confusion, a girl came out of the house door, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “That is Sonsie,” Annie informed him even as she swung down from the cart. “She—”

  Any explanation broke off as the lass reached them; Tam gazed into her face and saw she had a hare lip, one of the worst he’d ever beheld.

  No longer able to feel surprise, he nodded to her, even though she stared at him in outrage.

  Sidling up to Annie, she cried, “You went through wi’ it, mistress? Indeed, I canno’ believe it.”

  “Aye well,” Annie returned, “believe it, for there he stands—my husband, Tam Sutherland.”

  “Wed? Sure and true?”

  “Sure; I am no’ so certain about the true.”

  The girl, for Tam supposed her no more than fourteen, lowered her voice. “You bribed the priest?”

  For answer, Annie held out her hands, revealing one of the rings missing.

  Sonsie gasped. “But, your dear mother’s ring…”

  “What was I to do?” Annie glanced about the yard. “Pay Randleigh’s price?”

  “Nay, never.” Sonsie turned a pair of shrewd hazel eyes on Tam. “What manner of man is he?”

  “That we will all learn together. Come now, it has been a long journey for poor Old Rake. Let us get him inside.”

  “I can do that.” Tam stepped forward and started unfastening the horse’s bridle. He saw Sonsie’s gaze fall on his hand. She said nothing, but he felt compelled to answer that stare all the same.

  “I am no’ so hampered I canno’ earn my keep. Wee lass, if you will be kind enough to show me his stall, I will give him a good rubdown.”

  Sonsie hesitated and looked at Annie, who nodded.

  “Come, then,” the lass said. “Mind the creatures.”

  How could he do otherwise?

  Sonsie led him away, and he saw a fine stone byre at the back with a wide-open door. Aye, the place might be better appointed than many he’d seen, yet as a working farm it appeared sorely lacking. Of course, according to what Annie told him, they had been two women alone after the death of her uncle.

  He straightened his spine. Happen he could salve his pride by proving useful.

  They rounded the house, and he asked, “Tell me, Miss Sonsie, did I truly see a wild owl?”

  “Nay, a tame one. Sol was shot by an arrow, and Mistress Annie nursed him back to life. Now he will no’ leave her.”

  “But—he went into the house.”

  “Aye, so?”

  Tam swallowed. Back home their stock had shared the croft house in winter, penned at one end. But his ma would have fainted if a great bird like that moved in.

  “The other animals, do they come and go at will also?”

  “The dogs do, some of the hens, and the cats. Most the others sleep outside or here in the byre. ’Tis a fine, big byre, as you can see.”

  It was, and reasonably clean inside, the stalls filled with deep straw. Old Rake wandered into his box without persuasion. Sonsie pointed out the combs and left them together.

  “Well, so,” Tam addressed the big horse as he began to curry him. “Such a place I ha’ landed mysel’.”

  Old Rake rolled an eye at him, and Tam, figuring the horse liked the sound of his voice, went on. “Do only damaged creatures come to her, then?” Those like him. And so, had it been fate that directed him and Annie MacCallum together?

  Annie Sutherland now—he had to remember that.

  “And,” he went on to the horse in order to expand that thought, “were you in need o’ saving also?”

  He discovered the answer to the question as he worked, finding long, hard ridges crisscrossing the horse’s back and flanks, where someone’s whip had cut deep.

  “There now, old fellow,” he crooned, “and who would do that to you?”

  “His former owner.” The answer came from the door of the byre. Tam spun to see Annie standing there. “Parsimonious old fool took no note of Rake’s age and beat him because he would no’ work fast enough.”

  Tam slanted a look at her. “How did you come by him?”

  “The man’s wife brought him to me at the dead of night and in tears. Said she could no longer abide watching her man take out his spleen on the horse, and Rake so mild-natured. He is that too, fo
r all his size.” She went on before Tam could speak. “I like the way you do that—so gentle over his welts. Rake likes it, too. Just look at him.”

  “Easier than shaving, this.” Tam smiled. “Sometimes the hand serves.” He glanced about. “Will you wish me to sleep here? I do no’ mind—’tis far better than where I ha’ been laying my head.”

  She straightened. “Now, how would that look, my new husband sleeping in the byre?”

  “How do ye want for it to look?”

  “Right and proper—as if we are in love.” Slowly she approached; when she drew near enough, she raised a hand to Rake’s nose. “Do you think, Tam Sutherland, you can manage to pretend?”

  “Pretend?” he repeated with a note of teasing in his voice. “Do you mean, like this?” He leaned in and kissed her, a far more chaste kiss than they had shared before the priest. But her eyes went wide. He smiled at her surprise and finished, “Why no’ let me try and see?”

  Chapter Seven

  Night drew down with a chill wind that chased about the stones of the yard. Annie had spent the last of the afternoon showing Tam Sutherland about the farm with Jockie in tow. Tam’s guarded expression revealed little of what he thought, but she did not suppose he approved of the creeping neglect that plagued the place.

  He spoke only once, when they surveyed the back fields. “But what do you grow?”

  “Turnips there, potatoes, and usually some barley. Beets also and, of course, kale.”

  “Does it pay your way?”

  Annie smiled at that, the continual refrain of the true crofter. “You are a farmer,” she guessed.

  “Used to be, before—” He turned his head and looked square into Annie’s eyes. “We were cleared, up north. My parents did no’ survive the eviction.”

  “Och, I am that sorry. Was that when you injured your hand?”

  “Aye.” For an instant, agony stared at her from his eyes, but he buttoned his lip and said no more.

  Now she felt glad to be at her fireside with everyone for whom she cared gathered near—Sonsie, stirring the stew she had made, Jockie come in for his dinner before going to the byre where he preferred to sleep, both dogs, and Glen, the house cat. And of course Sol, perched on the branch Annie had fitted for him.

  And Tam. Well, no—she did not care for him. Yet. Despite that kiss in the byre.

  Would she, ultimately?

  A terrifying question, that. When she’d conceived this idea of procuring a hand who might also fill the role of husband and so act as a buffer for her, the prospect of affection had not come into it. She’d imagined someone sturdy and most likely taciturn—utility in two boots.

  She should have known better, she thought now, eyeing Tam by the firelight. She should have understood herself better, for she grew attached to everything, from wounded rabbits to ailing badgers, no matter how difficult they proved.

  And, she had to admit, Tam Sutherland had not proved difficult so far. Instead, with his gentle hands—even the one hampered—his wry humor, and his forbearing nature, he looked to fit into the life here as she would never have dared hope.

  Quite likely shocked by the things he’d seen today, he had not declared it. Sometimes his brows flew up; once or twice he rubbed at his chin. But if he had an opinion, he kept it to himself.

  Not a cruel man. Annie smiled a bit. The very best thing he could be.

  She watched him now as he took his place at the big scrubbed table, keeping an eye all the while on Sol, where the owl sat on his perch. Sol’s presence seemed most difficult for Sutherland to swallow. Indeed, even as Annie took the seat opposite him he leaned in and asked, “Does the bird stay indoors all night, then?”

  “Well, aye.”

  “Does he no’ go out to hunt?”

  “From time to time. He canno’ fly far, though as you saw, he can fly. The arrow damaged the muscles of his chest, and he has very little strength.”

  Tam eyed the owl, and Sol stared back at him impassively.

  Sonsie, having served everyone, sat down and stared at Annie’s hands, which rested beside her plate. “I still canno’ believe you gave away your green ring.”

  “Needs must, Sonsie,” Annie said, not wishing to discuss the matter.

  Sonsie’s small face wrinkled in distress. “But ’twas your mother’s. What would she say?”

  “I am certain my mother would understand.”

  “Well, I do no’ like it.” Sonsie glared at Tam. “Does no’ seem like a fair exchange to me.”

  “Come now.” Annie struggled for a light tone; sacrificing the ring had gone hard with her. “A bauble like that can no’ help out around the place, canno’ curry Old Rake or haul water from the well or bring in the harvest.”

  Sonsie insisted, “But ’twas part of her, and we will never see it again.”

  True, Annie acknowledged silently, pain flaring in her heart.

  Jockie mumbled words around his stew, and Tam withdrew his gaze from the owl to stare at him instead.

  “Of course, you are right,” Annie answered Jockie.

  “Eh?” Tam inquired. “What did he say?”

  Annie smiled at Jockie before she replied, “Only that my mother’s spirit lingers near us, rings or no.”

  Tam glanced about the room as if he expected to see a ghost. Aye, he would suppose them all more than mad, if this kept up.

  Sonsie sank into the gloom that had become habitual with her since the death of Annie’s mother.

  Sensing her agitation as he so often did, Sol fluttered about the room before returning to his perch, shedding several feathers in the process.

  Tam turned his gaze on Annie. “Ah, so that is where you got the feather in your hat!”

  Annie nodded. How could she hope to explain she’d worn it for luck and to keep those she loved near her?

  And had it brought her luck in her choice of husband? Too soon to tell.

  ****

  The evening meal finished, Jockie retired to the byre. Annie helped Sonsie clear away the dishes, and Tam went out to fetch a load of firewood.

  Annie observed him from the corner of her eye to see how he managed—well enough. He made a cradle of his right arm, into which he piled the logs with the left, and stacked them beside the hearth.

  Ruff also watched him, with open suspicion. But wee Ella followed him in and out, keeping so close to his feet she nearly tripped him more than once.

  Annie waited for him to lose his temper with the little dog and kick her out of the way. If that happened, she told herself, she might yet put him out despite the high price of their wedding.

  But he never did. Instead, when he finished ferrying the wood, he hunkered down and held out his good hand to the small animal.

  Ella went to him without hesitation, which made Annie raise her brows and caused Ruff, always protective, to huff anxiously. Ella, who had been hurt so terribly by men, rarely went to them voluntarily.

  She watched as Tam stroked her with the same gentleness he had offered Rake. An emotion she did not recognize stabbed her through the heart.

  Ella pressed against Tam’s knee, wriggling, and he caressed her mutilated ears. “Who would do such a thing to a bonny wee dog?”

  “There is no explanation for the cruelty of men. I do no’ ken who—or why. Ruff found her out on one of our jaunts, bound and tossed into the bracken.”

  Tam stared at her. “Bound?”

  “Paws and muzzle, her poor ears still seeping blood. Left to die.”

  Darkness invaded Tam Sutherland’s fine eyes. “Och, and sometimes I think there is naught but cruelty in this world. How can one hope to battle it?”

  “With kindness,” Annie declared. “With healing and faith.” She caught herself up hastily; likely he did not want to hear her spout her passion. She nodded to the small dog who now pawed at his knee. “Sometimes it has its reward.”

  Sonsie did not appear convinced. She shot Tam a dark look before ducking her head at Annie. “May I go to my bed, mistre
ss?”

  “Of course, lass.”

  “Only I thought you might rather I sit up to keep you company.” Sonsie shifted her eyes to Tam again.

  Annie smiled. “I shall do well enough.”

  With yet another glare for Tam, Sonsie caught the housecat up in her arms and retired to her room. Annie and Tam, alone but for the rest of the animals and the fire, which on this cold night felt like another presence, eyed one another.

  “You will have to tell me all their tales,” Tam said very softly so Sonsie might not hear.

  “The animals’ or the humans’?” Annie inquired.

  “Both.”

  Annie gestured to the settle before the hearth, and he joined her there. She leaned her head close, no more anxious than he for Sonsie to hear them speak of her. “’Twas my mother took Sonsie in. She was just a babe, born with that deformity you see. Her parents already had a passel of children, and when she came along her father would no’ have her in the house. He insisted her mother put her in the heather to die.”

  “Just like Ella.”

  “Aye, like wee Ella. The woman could no’ bear it and came to my mother, weeping. Most all the women came to my mother from time to time.” Annie smiled bleakly. “Now they come to me, but I am no’ a patch on her.”

  “What did your ma do?”

  “Took the bairn in, of course. My uncle was still alive then—you should ha’ seen him stare. But och, that poor wee mite! Uncle Dennis would no’ gainsay my mother. He rarely did, though she turned his home into…well, more or less what you see.”

  “He must ha’ been a rare sort o’ man.”

  “He was. My father’s brother, I often wondered if my father was anything like him, for I never knew my own da, not to remember, at any rate.” She hesitated and added almost delicately, “I also wondered if Uncle Dennis were no’ a bit in love wi’ my ma. Though to be sure, there was never anyone for her but my da.”

  She shook herself mentally. “But you do no’ wish to hear all that.”

  “I do.” He gazed at her gravely. “If I am to find my place here, I need to know about those here ahead of me.”

  “You must think I ha’ taken leave of my senses, hatching this scheme.”

 

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