The Hiring Fair

by Laura Strickland

  “Much good that does the lass he forced. And you ken full well ’tis what he did, even if she spoke agreement in her straits.”

  “I ken, Tam. But you maun trust.”

  “In justice?” He shook his head, and his lips twisted. “After what I ha’ seen, and endured?”

  “If no’ in justice, then trust me.” Her eyes beseeched him. “Can you do that? Here, let us see what the leaves say about your future.” She freed her hands from his and turned the cup upright.

  They both saw it at the same instant—the shape outlined in tiny leaves. A heart it was, nearly perfect save for the jagged line that divided it clear across.

  “Love,” Annie said, sounding nearly breathless.

  “Aye.” Even Tam could have figured that. Had he suffered so much and traveled so far only to find a place in this woman’s warm, giving heart? Had fate directed him after all?

  He pointed with his finger. “But what of that line there? What does it mean?”

  Sounding reluctant she said, “Sundering. Parting. A division—”

  “Nay.” He set the cup down and turned to her. “Annie, I will no’ have it.” He kissed her, putting all his emotions into it—fear, protest, and raw desire. She opened to him like a flower to the sun, her need leaping to meet his.

  He broke the kiss to tell her raggedly, “I do no’ want to see the future after all. I do no’ want to part from you.”

  “Husband.” She caught his face between her hands and gazed into his eyes. “Husband, have hope. The line exists, aye. But you see the heart is still whole.”

  ****

  Annie lay abed in the darkened, quiet house and let her eyes range about the dim room. She could see the outlines of all her familiar furnishings and Sol’s silhouette where he sat in front of the window. The fire popped as it died and logs shifted. Beside her, having just satisfied her full well, her husband slept.

  She wished she might rest, also—curl into the warmth of his body and release the thoughts that dogged her. But it seemed she had no more chance of that than of flying to the moon. Instead, she wriggled closer to Tam and wondered about love. Did she love this man at her side, still little more than a stranger despite the intimacies they’d shared? Or did she merely want him? No question she felt desire whenever he came near her, and sometimes even when he did not. He had only to look at her to set her alight.

  Aye, and what a complication that made. She’d gone into this scheme with but one intention, keeping the wolf—Randleigh—from her door. She’d anticipated her “husband” would be nothing more than a hired man in all but name. She’d failed markedly to keep to that plan.

  But did she love him? Ah, surely not. Fancying she loved him must be a mere product of her body’s craving for his. Of course, that did not explain why she relished their quiet conversations, enjoyed watching the light flood his gray eyes when he smiled, or admired how his muscles rippled when he removed his shirt and came to their bed.

  Well, and aye—perhaps the lust did account for that last.

  And what of the heart in the cup? Pierced by a line or not, it denoted love. No arguing with the leaves, as her ma used to say.

  But what was she to do with these feelings? He had come as a hireling, secured by a vow. That did not mean he would stay once all this trouble was over. Her heart protested that truth and the urge to keep hold of him made her snuggle closer still.

  She threw a possessive arm over him and inhaled the beguiling scent of warm male, his alone. Bless the trouble, she thought, that brought him to me. And at last she closed her eyes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Speak slowly, Jockie. Take your time. Now what is amiss?”

  Tam, hearing his wife’s voice, left the house and entered the yard to find Annie engaged with the young man. Jockie, obviously greatly distressed, stood huddled before her, face working with the effort to speak and fingers tangled in his own white-blond hair. Even as Tam joined them he saw the lad yank at his locks in frustration.

  Tam remembered Annie telling him he could communicate with Jockie if he chose, speak to and understand him. To Tam, the lad’s speech sounded garbled at the best of times, and he was now clearly overset.

  Jock made the mewling sound that frequently preceded his attempts at speech. His pale blue eyes moved to Tam where he stood and away again; his slightly misshapen face worked anew.

  “Miss.”

  Tam blinked. A word!

  Sonsie appeared from the house and Ruff came to press against Jockie’s side. The lad, seeming to take comfort in the lurcher’s presence, straightened his spine and produced another word.

  “Afraid.”

  Annie’s face brightened with comprehension. “Are you speaking of Miss Kirstie?”

  Jockie nodded violently and pulled his hair still harder.

  “S-stayed.”

  “You saw her home as I asked and stayed the night? Jockie, is she all right? Did the factor, Master Randleigh, return?”

  Another shake of the head. “Nay, but afraid.”

  “Miss Kirstie is very much afraid, aye. I ken. I tried to persuade her to come here and stay, but her grandmother will no’ budge.”

  Jockie’s eyes narrowed intently on Annie’s face, and a spate of words ensued, none of them comprehensible to Tam.

  Yet somehow Annie understood. She asked, “And has Miss Kirstie agreed to this?”

  Jockie shrugged, spoke some more, and made a gesture toward Tam.

  Annie nodded. “Well, so. And ’tis your choice, lad. You do no’ need to ask my permission. Gather your things and go as you will.”

  Sonsie turned and slipped away back into the house. Annie stepped forward, drew the lad’s fingers from his hair, and kissed his forehead.

  “That for luck and blessing, Jockie. My love goes with you.”

  Tears filled the lad’s eyes before he ducked his head and limped away toward the byre, Ruff at his heels.

  Tam stepped up to Annie. “What was that about? Is he leaving?”

  She looked at Tam. Tears stood in her eyes also, bright as jewels. “For a time. He says that now you are here to protect me, he need not stay. He wishes to go watch over Kirstie because he’s seen how very frightened she is there alone.”

  Tam gazed away toward the byre in wonder. “How does Kirstie feel about that?”

  “I gather Jock does not care. He will bed down in an outbuilding as he did last night.”

  “Does he understand what happened to Kirstie?”

  “Och, aye—he is not stupid, whatever you suppose.”

  “I am not sure what to suppose about him,” Tam admitted, “save you ha’ raised him to be as compassionate as you are.”

  Annie smiled sadly. “I did no’ raise him. He is but a few years younger than me. That is my mother’s hand you see. If aught, he is more like my brother than my child.”

  She wrapped her arms about herself, and Tam urged, “Come inside for breakfast. You are cold.”

  She nodded, and they went in to find Sonsie laying the table, her expression grim.

  “I do no’ like it when things change,” Sonsie declared, shooting Tam a dark look. “We were fine before he came.”

  “Nay,” Annie objected, “we were no’ fine. The truth is, Sonsie, we stood very nearly where poor Kirstie does now. In fact, I canno’ keep from wondering—if I had no’ found a way to keep Randleigh at bay, would he have approached that poor lass at all?”

  Sonsie’s expression eased, and she relented. “You canno’ blame yoursel’. That man is a monster. Miss, you canno’ protect everyone.”

  “I should ha’ tried harder, as Jockie does even now. Och, but I fear for the lad. If Randleigh returns while he is there, what will happen? Randleigh will take pleasure in flogging the lad or hurting him any way he may.” She scrubbed at the tears trickling down her cheeks. “But I canno’ hold Jock back, can I, nor keep him from doing as his heart bids.”

  “Here, sit down.” Tam guided Annie to a bench at the table.
“Sonsie, please get your mistress some tea.”

  “There is very little left after yesterday,” Sonsie grumbled but hurried to obey.

  Tam sat at Annie’s side. “Something must be done about this man Randleigh—beyond the valiancy of that young lad.”

  “Perhaps I should write to the laird once more.”

  Sonsie sniffed. “He ignored your last letter.”

  “There is a chance it did no’ reach him. I must try again—remind him of his friendship wi’ my uncle, ask for mercy on behalf of the folk here.”

  “Or go to see him,” Tam suggested.

  Her eyes widened. “To Edinburgh?”

  “Aye but write him first, and ask him to come see how things lie here.”

  “I can but try.”

  Sonsie placed a cup in front of Annie and went out into the yard.

  Tam leaned toward his wife. “Tell me more about Jockie. You said your uncle rescued him from travelers. How long ago was that?”

  “It must ha’ been all of ten years ago, and he was about seven when we got him. That would make him seventeen now.”

  The lad looked younger, but as Tam acknowledged, that might be due to his crooked spine and hunched stature.

  “His body ne’er grew right,” Annie went on softly, “one side different from the other, as you see. And ’tis gey difficult for him to speak and be understood, mainly because his words trip over one another so fast. But there is naught wrong wi’ his wits. My ma used to say, ‘Only think how it must be, such a keen mind trapped in that body.’ I wish you might ha’ met her.”

  Tam stroked Annie’s hair gently with his good hand. “I believe I can see much of what she was like, in you.”

  Annie met his gaze. “And what do you see?”

  “She must ha’ been unco’ warm, wise…merciful. Wonderful.” He leaned in and kissed her very softly.

  She sighed, and her eyes filled again with ready tears. “’Tis no’ easy trying to fill the place she left. She never seemed to second guess herself.”

  “And you do?”

  “All the time. Like now—should I let Jockie go? What if he risks himself and is hurt terribly?”

  “As you ha’ said, ’tis his choice to make.”

  Once more she gazed into Tam’s eyes. “It’s not just Jockie; there’s you. What would she think of me taking you to my bed?”

  Tam’s heart seized for an instant. “You are no’ regretting that, are you?” Because if she turned him away, if she withdrew her warmth that had already penetrated clear through to his heart, he did not know how he would go on.

  But she gave him a wobbly smile. “I feel many things for you, Tam Sutherland. No regret.”

  ****

  A week passed, seven nights of Tam Sutherland sharing Annie’s bed, each more beguiling than the last. Even through her worry and the endless work of her days, Annie found herself looking forward to nightfall, when Sonsie retreated to the loft and all the creatures settled, leaving her and Tam free to explore one another.

  And explore Annie did. She now knew Tam Sutherland’s body as well as her own, how he tasted everywhere, and how to win from him the most wondrous response. She believed a little magic surrounded them when they lay together in the big, warm bed.

  Aye, she had learned much about her husband. He scarcely ever raised his voice or lost his temper; he had a wicked, dry sense of humor that sparked hers. And even when they were out in the yard going about their various, separate chores he could heat her blood with a single look.

  Who would have thought? She, who’d believed herself impervious to the vulnerabilities that so often proved to be the downfall of other women—she now shivered just imagining this man’s touch.

  She strove to keep her mind on the matters at hand, wrote another letter to Laird Ardaugh, and sent it east on the mail coach. She walked to Kirstie’s place twice out of worry for both the lass and Jockie, only to find them rubbing along well enough and not yet inflicted with the presence of the factor.

  On the second visit, Tam insisted on walking with her, and they came home afterwards with his good hand holding hers. By the time she reached the farm, she could scarcely wait for Sonsie to go to bed.

  Now on this sunny afternoon that felt more like spring than winter, she worked in her herb garden while Tam mucked out the byre—usually one of Jockie’s chores.

  She was trying to decide whether the rue had survived the winter when she heard his voice at her ear. “Just look at this!”

  She turned to him in surprise. Bits of straw threaded his hair, but his eyes gleamed with excitement. Before she could speak, he raised his bad hand before her face. Slowly and with great concentration, he closed the fingers one by one about the handle of the pitchfork held under his other arm.

  “I could no’ do that before. Aye, sure, the fingers are still crooked, but I can bend them, and there’s some strength there, real strength.”

  Annie parted her lips in astonishment. “And the pain?”

  “Far less than usual.”

  “’Tis wondrous, that!”

  “It is all down to you.” He caught her up in one arm and swung her off her feet. “’Tis your loving makes the difference—I am convinced of it.”

  “Well, I canno’ say…”

  “I can.” He dove for her mouth and imparted a searing kiss. Annie’s bones promptly melted.

  Tam drew away far enough to say, “’Tis like a magic spell when I come to you. And there be magic in your fingers when you soothe my hand. I need more. And more. And more.” He presented each request with a kiss, making Annie’s head spin.

  She laughed breathlessly. “I can certainly massage your hand throughout the day. In the morning—”

  “Och, aye, in the morning. Afternoon as well, but I am no’ talking about the hand.”

  Annie blushed crimson. “We canno’! Sonsie…”

  “What of Sonsie? Send her on an errand. Or better yet, come to the byre wi’ me. I ha’ just laid clean straw.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.” He kissed her again, and her toes curled. “I am that hungry for the taste of you, I just may perish. And are you no’ sworn to keep all from harm?”

  “I suppose I am, at that.”

  “Then I do no’ see how you can refuse me.”

  Annie giggled with delight as he carried her to the byre, a trail of animals following. First came Ruff with a disapproving look on his narrow, scruffy face, and Ella close behind, with both goats, Fiona the doe, and a cat bringing up the rear.

  Tam ignored them all. Leaving the byre door open, he carried Annie to a freshly cleared stall, where they caught the attention of Old Rake and the two resident cows.

  He deposited her in the sweet-smelling straw even as Rake craned his neck to stare before Tam joined her in the makeshift bed.

  “There, now, merciful lady. Begin wi’ your healing.”

  She gazed into his eyes, her laughter suddenly flown. All at once her whole life seemed to focus in this moment, the warmth of Tam Sutherland, and the light in his silvery eyes. What did she see reflected there? Desire, aye. The humor she loved from him, and a measure of teasing. And more…

  The word love still had not been spoken between them, not for all their physical joining. It would be better if she did not come to love him, for in that direction lay fear and potential loss. In the past so many she loved—human and animal alike—had been taken from her. If she lost this man, she just might not survive.

  Better, far better, to take what he offered—this warmth more precious than gold, the feeling of safety, and the laughter, the boundless waves of pleasure—and ask for nothing more.

  Another of her mother’s lessons came to mind: life gave what it gave. Best to live in the moment, and this moment was oh, so beautiful.

  “Why do you look at me so?” Tam asked.

  “How do I look at you?”

  One side of his mouth curled. “As if I ha’ grown an extra head.”

  “The one
you have is more than sufficient. Have I ever told you, Tam Sutherland, that I find you unco’ handsome?”

  “Do you, now?”

  “Och, aye. Even when I first saw you at the hiring fair, I thought so.”

  “Before you saw my ruined hand.”

  “Let me see that hand.” She captured it in both hers, raised it to her lips, and kissed the palm. “Bless it.”

  “Again,” he demanded.

  “Eh?”

  “Bless it again.” His eyes danced. “And my lips, bless them also. My throat needs a blessing. Here, let me tak’ off this shirt so you may bless my chest, and och, I am in sore need of blessing further down.”

  Annie laughed helplessly. “Are you, then?”

  “As you shall soon see.”

  And for a goodly time, Annie forgot about the world outside the byre.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Where is your wife?” The harsh words cut across the mist that filled the yard and halted Tam in his tracks even as a low growl issued from the throat of Ruff, who lay beside the house door. The lurcher got to his feet, hackles raised.

  With good reason. Ned Randleigh sat his horse at the gate, glowering at Tam in the weak morning sun.

  Tam shifted his grip on the shovel he carried in his good hand, and hatred poured through him, scorching hot. It surprised him how ugly that felt—shocked him to realize that in Annie’s company he must have laid aside at least part of the dark emotions that had accompanied him since the terrible night his hand was crushed.

  But now, so readily, the ugliness surged back.

  “Not here,” he said shortly. Annie had been summoned from their bed during the night to attend a lying-in.

  “’Tis Nellie’s first,” she’d explained even as she dressed hastily. “’Twill reassure her if I am there.”

  Randleigh examined him from sharp eyes set far too close together in his narrow face. The man had the look of a rat, Tam thought. But nay, he should no’ insult any rat with such a comparison.

  “I can see that. I asked you where she’s gone. I need a word with her.”