The Hiring Fair

by Laura Strickland

  As if Tam would tell him any such thing. “If you ha’ business here, you can speak wi’ me.”

  Randleigh sneered, but he swung down from his mount. Ruff promptly charged the gate, and Randleigh drew his riding crop.

  “Call back that mongrel or I will beat him off.”

  Tam, the shovel still in his hand, rushed forward to stand at Ruff’s side. Now only the iron gate separated them from the factor. “I would no’ advise it.”

  Randleigh eyed Tam up and down. “Upstart. Do you think I don’t know this ‘marriage’ of yours is a sham? I have been to Oban and spoken with the priest who performed the rite. Done with unseemly haste, it was.”

  “What’s that to you?” Tam challenged.

  “Eh?”

  “You heard me. What’s it to you how my wife and I wed, or that she’s wed at all—save you had your own shameful plans for her. Aye, I ken fine what you ha’ been getting up to in the district. Your kind use threats as a weapon and wear intimidation like a second skin.”

  “My kind? What do you know of it—a ruffian from nowhere?” Randleigh pronounced it deliberately. “A nothing. She would have done better with me.”

  Tam felt the impact of those words like hurled stones. Were they true? Annie with all her talents, the wisdom in her head, her book learning, and the magic that trailed from her like scent—could he possibly be worthy of her? Nay, for in truth she had taken him only because no one else remained at the fair once she found the courage to make her request.

  Randleigh smiled slightly as if he knew he’d scored a hit. He put his hand to the gate, and Tam raised the shovel to bar his way. Ruff pressed against Tam’s side and raised the intensity of his growl; Tam could feel the dog trembling.

  “Nay,” he said. “You will no’ set foot on this place.”

  Randleigh reared indignantly. “Tell your wife I am addressing all landholders; the laird has increased his requests for rent, effective the quarter that ends the last day of this month.”

  “Demands, you mean.”

  “Eh?”

  “Demands, no’ requests.” Tam had lived all this before and knew how it went. The rents increased until the tenants could no longer pay and the factor might cite the law in order to throw them off the land.

  “Call it what you will. The laird has increased the rent by one tenth. Since your wife is his tenant, make sure she knows.”

  Tam thought furiously. “That gives us less than a fortnight to come up wi’ the increase.”

  Randleigh lifted a brow. “I may be able to arrange for more time—but I will negotiate only with your wife, mind. As I say, you are not the tenant.”

  Nearly speechless with anger, Tam croaked out, “I will be damned.”

  “No doubt. A curious thing—I supposed Mistress MacCallum so particular with her favors, until I heard the rumor she’d taken you to her bed.”

  Rage burned so hot behind Tam’s eyes it turned his vision white.

  “Get back on your horse,” he said, sounding very like Ruff, “and ride off.”

  Randleigh sniffed but turned away. Ready to remount, he looked back at Tam. “Oh, the priest at Oban—what was his name?”

  “Father Alban.”

  “That is it, yes. He states you and Mistress MacCallum had been acquainted for a time, had in fact met when she visited him previously, as you had been staying with him.”

  Tam felt a flash of surprise at the priest’s defense. “So?”

  “So a bit odd that, in such circumstances, you did not post any banns.”

  “I was no’ from that parish,” Tam said steadily. “That is why.”

  Randleigh swung up onto his horse. “Also odd that several merchants of Oban cite a rumor that a woman looking very like Mistress MacCallum went to the hiring fair and spoke out, requesting a husband rather than a hired hand. Apparently, you responded.”

  “’Twas a joke, that. The two of us were playing wi’ each other.” Tam added deliberately, “As lovers do.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  Randleigh drew his horse up with a cruel hand. “Make sure you acquaint your wife with all I have said, Sutherland. With all of it, mind.” And the factor rode off, scattering mist.

  ****

  “A fine wee lad for all your travail,” Annie pronounced and stood back in satisfaction to regard the little family. Nellie sat upright in the bed, flushed with victory and exhaustion, the new bairn in her arms. Her husband, Angus, leaned over them both, looking overjoyed.

  Annie dried her hands on a cloth. “You would ha’ done fine without me, Nell. No need to call me next time.”

  “I like having you here—it makes me feel safe,” Nellie confessed. “Bless the bairn before you go?”

  “If you wish.” Annie whispered the ancient words, made signs to the four directions and laid her fingers on the bairn’s forehead.

  “There, now,” Nell said in satisfaction. “He will be safe from all harm.”

  If only it were so easy, Annie thought.

  Someone rapped at the door of the croft house. Annie left the new family and hurried away in response, only to find Tam, looking tall and handsome but with trouble in his clear, gray eyes.

  “Tam! Why are you here? Is something amiss back on the farm?”

  “I came to walk you home.”

  “Fine, that. I am just about finished. Let me gather my things.”

  She hurried back inside, wondering. She had begun to learn her husband’s moods, and despite his calm words sensed something had upset him. But she bade the new family good bye and joined Tam with a smile.

  “Never say you missed me so?” she asked as he took her basket, and she linked her arm through his.

  He failed to return the quip, and his expression remained guarded. “Randleigh stopped by not long since.”

  Annie’s high spirits drained away like ale from a cracked cask. “He did? What did he want?”

  Tam steered her down the track and a short distance along the brae before he answered. “He said he has orders from the laird to increase rents at the end of this month.”

  “Och, nay! But folk canno’ stand to pay any more. There are those in the district who already canno’ pay what they owe. I feel guilty every time they give me a penny for a cure or a charm.”

  Tam eyed her. “And what of us? Can we stand an increase?” He shrugged his shoulders uneasily. “I ken fine I am of no use to you, no’ bringing in a wage or aught.”

  Annie rounded on him. “You are of great use to me. What would I do wi’ out you now that Jockie is gone to help Kirstie?”

  He returned her look, something unreadable in his eyes. “Just another Jockie to you, am I?”

  “Nay—”

  “I should no’ be surprised. Did you no’ go to the fair looking for naught more than a hand by another name?”

  Annie stopped walking and faced him. Behind his head the late morning sky shone gray with cloud—as gray as his eyes—streaked with bars of brightness from the struggling sun.

  What to say to the man? That aye, she had gone to the fair with the intention of hiring a husband, very little different from taking on a hand. That she had never intended to take him to her bed, never imagined involving her heart. That the thought of him walking away now made her so breathless she feared she might perish.

  Her feelings had changed. Did he not know that? Must she speak the word—love—outright?

  Och, and how could she? It gave him a power over her she’d never lent anyone—the ability to wound, to leave her heart far more maimed than ever his hand had been.

  She drew breath. “Surely you know you are much more than that to me now.”

  “Do I?” He freed himself from her clinging fingers and waved the basket wildly. “You who might have chosen any man—wealthy, educated—to be landed wi’ the worst leavings o’ the hiring fair.”

  “Fate blessed me that day.”

  “How? I possess no means to help you, save my prese
nce and my name. Any man could ha’ kept the threat of Randleigh from your bed.”

  Did he truly believe that? Could he not feel the truth when she touched him, ran her fingers over his strong shoulders, down the plane of his belly and lower still? Did he not know she delighted in his smile, loved to watch the breeze ruffle his thick brown hair? Enjoyed listening to him whistle as he worked about the yard?

  His presence had become far more than presence—her need and desire.

  “Tam,” she began.

  But he interrupted her. “Randleigh went to see Father Alban.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Did he!” Ah, and what had he discovered there? Were they undone? Did she risk losing Tam after all?

  “The priest lied for us, said I had been staying wi’ him and so we became acquainted. I told Randleigh the scene at the fair was just us playing wi’ one another—as lovers do—implying we always intended to wed.”

  As lovers do. “And did he believe you?”

  Tam shrugged. “Who can tell? On the whole, I think not.”

  Annie drew another breath. “Well, we are wed, for all that, so he canno’ take you from me.” She caught his gaze. “Tam, tell me naught can take you from me.”

  Tam turned away. “I ha’ given you my word, have I no’? And my word means something. Now, come, let us haste home.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Mistress Annie, Mistress Annie! You maun come!”

  The cry at the door had Ruff on his feet and Annie sitting upright in the bed, her heart pounding. Darkness still filled the house, the embers of the fire a mere glow in the hearth. A dream? For an instant, she almost thought so.

  But nay, for all the animals now stirred; both dogs had their heads up, and Sol rustled his wings in agitation. And Annie’s husband, who slept beside her? Last night had been the first in many they had not made love. Instead, he had turned away from her in the big bed. She needed to get to the bottom of that—

  Pounding resumed at the front door. No dream, then. She stirred and started to rise, but Tam, not asleep after all, caught her arm.

  “I will go.”

  He arose and struggled into his trousers; she could see him but dimly. Failing to follow his implied directions, she swiftly arose and followed him, pausing at his shoulder when he swung wide the door.

  Kirstie, breathless and weeping, tumbled in and reached for Annie with desperate hands.

  “Mistress, och, ’tis so terrible, too terrible! He came back—he returned this night, bent on…on…”

  “Randleigh?”

  The lass nodded, so winded and choked by tears she could barely speak.

  Annie’s heart fell violently, but she said, “Take a moment, Kirstie. Here, sit.”

  Tam, silent, struck a light. By its radiance Annie could see Kirstie’s frantic expression and tense fingers clutching at one another.

  “You maun come,” she said again when she could speak. “He is hurt awful bad.”

  “Who? Randleigh?”

  “Na, na!” Kirstie shook her head. “Jockie. He tried to get between the factor and me. Och, he was so brave!”

  Annie’s stomach turned. “What happened?”

  “Randleigh beat him with that crop he carries—you ken the one.” Kirstie held out her hands so they could see her wrists, now crisscrossed with welts. “I tried to stop him.”

  Tam cursed. Annie clasped the lass’s hands. “And did Randleigh then leave? List to me, lass—he did no’ violate you again?”

  “Nay.” Kirstie shook her head. “But he would ha’ done, if Jockie were no’ there. Och, Jockie is such a hero! But sore hurt…”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Bad. You maun come and help him.”

  Annie looked at Tam helplessly.

  “You will no’ go alone,” he said in a grim voice. “I am coming along wi’ you.”

  “But we canno’ leave Sonsie here alone,” Annie began.

  The girl, having come down from the loft and heard all, spoke up. “Yon beast will no’ want to try me—no’ with this face.” She gestured to her harelip. “You go to Jockie, miss, and hurry.”

  “Aye. Let me gather some supplies.”

  Sonsie tried to comfort Kirstie while Annie hastily collected what she needed, her hands shaking almost too badly to serve. Tam, suddenly at her side, took the supplies from her, his one good hand steadier than her two.

  “Here, let me.”

  “This is all my fault,” she lamented in a voice pitched for his ears alone. “I never should ha’ let him go there.”

  “Would it ha’ been better to let Randleigh have his way wi’ that lass again?”

  “Och, nay.”

  “Besides, you said yoursel’, Jockie is grown. You could no’ hold him.”

  “But Ned Randleigh has always hated him, treated him like naught but an animal. I should ha’ known he would be terrible harsh—even more so than usual—if Jockie got in his way.”

  Tam caught her shoulders between his hands and turned her toward him. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Annie, you maun let Jockie be a man. ’Tis for him to choose.”

  “Aye, right. You are right. I think I ha’ what I need. Let us haste.”

  She went to Sonsie. “Bar the door behind us, mind. And do no’ open it to anyone.”

  ****

  The moon kept pace with them as they went over the brae, Kirstie leading the way at a hectic pace. Ground mist swirled about Tam’s knees, and he kept one eye on his wife—whom he’d never seen so distraught—and the other cocked for signs of Randleigh on his big, black horse.

  Yet the world seemed unnaturally quiet, like something in a dream.

  Kirstie’s croft proved a wee bit of a place, barren even in the dark. The girl ran on ahead, saying over her shoulder, “I had to leave the door unbarred. Granny canno’ get up from her bed to let me in, and Jockie—” Her throat worked, and she desisted.

  “All right, so. We are here now,” Annie said breathlessly.

  Inside, poverty showed everywhere. A single lamp burned, illuminating the poor furnishings and the bed in the corner where the old grandmother lay. Sweeping the room with his eyes, Tam focused on a figure lying beside the hearth, even as Kirstie hurried forward.

  “Jockie! Jockie, lad, can you hear me?”

  Clearly senseless, Jockie made no response. Both women hunkered down, one on either side of him, and Tam stationed himself at the door, silently vowing no one else should enter.

  He watched as Annie touched the lad with gentle hands. “Senseless,” she confirmed. “Likely a mercy. By all that is holy!”

  Tam narrowed his gaze. Even in the poor light he could see the extent of Jockie’s injuries. In fact, apart from his familiar clothing, Tam might not have recognized the lad; his features could barely be discerned for blood. Annie’s hands faltered before reaching out with now-familiar compassion. Tam could almost feel her thinking. Where to touch? How best to help?

  “What is it? Wha’ is happening?” the old woman cried piteously from the bed.

  “Hush, Granny. Mistress Annie, I told you it was bad. Is he dead?”

  “Dead? Nay, lass—still breathing. Bring me some water. Let us sponge this blood away and see how dire it is.”

  Kirstie hurried to obey, and Annie opened her parcel, murmuring to Jockie all the while.

  “There, now, lad—I hear you ha’ been a hero. Did I no’ always say you had it in you? Can you open your eyes for me?”

  “Let him lie.” Even from where he stood, Tam could see Randleigh must have gone mad with rage when he attacked the lad. Blood covered not only Jockie’s face but his hands, which he no doubt had raised in an effort to defend himself. His shirt lay in shreds.

  “Here.” Kirstie plopped down a basin, the water slopping over. “Och, miss, please help him. I could no’ bear it if he perished on my account.”

  Annie said nothing but began to sponge away the blood slowly and carefully, revealing the horrific wounds beneath. Forgetting his po
st, Tam stepped forward to see.

  He had never before beheld Jockie at rest. Indeed, with his usual facial contortions eased, he appeared almost ordinary—save for the new, livid wounds. They marked his wide forehead, bisected his nose, and scored his cheeks. Even his eyes had collected pools of blood.

  Kirstie began to weep again. “He was so brave. You should ha’ seen him, miss. He put himself in harm’s way for me.”

  “Aye,” Annie murmured, “and I could no’ be more proud of him, not if he were my own brother. Bring another wee bowl of water, Kirstie, so we can stir in these herbs. And let us get this shirt off him.”

  “Let me help.” Tam hunkered down beside Annie and lifted the lad so Kirstie could peel away the bloodied shirt. When she finished, he said, “Get a rug to put beneath his head.”

  The lass leaped to respond.

  “Who are you?” the grandmother asked Tam querulously from the bed. “Are you the man who hurt my granddaughter?”

  “Nay, old mother, not I,” Tam responded. He ran his gaze over Jockie, and his stomach turned. Few would use an animal so. Hate rose within him in a violent wave. Randleigh needed answering for this.

  “Will he be all right?” Still weeping, Kirstie sank to her knees at Jockie’s side.

  “I pray so. I canno’ say.” Tam had never seen his wife’s expression so grim. “Poor lad.”

  Poor, indeed—Jockie had never been a beauty; now he might bear scars, as well.

  “Why does he no’ wake?”

  Annie felt carefully around the lad’s skull. “I think he hit his head when he went down. Did he fall hard?”

  “Yon beast of a man beat him down. He fought to stand but had no weapon.”

  “Aye, well,” Tam breathed, “we will correct that lack.”

  Kirstie looked at Tam wonderingly but went on, “Randleigh kept striking him even after he fell. I screamed and screamed at him.”

  “Screamed,” the grandmother confirmed spectrally from the bed.

  “But what shall I do?” Kirstie continued to weep. “I still ha’ no money to pay the rent, and Master Randleigh says there is to be an increase.”

  “Do no’ fret over that now. Help me wash these wounds and get them bound. Gently, mind.”

  Tam returned to the door, opened it, and peeked outside. Dawn grayed the sky, lending the barren yard a bleak, ghostly air. No sign of Randleigh—barely a sign of anything save a few scrawny hens.