The Hiring Fair

by Laura Strickland

  A groan pulled him back inside. Jockie had begun to come around. The lad’s eyes flicked open, and Annie bent over him.

  “Jockie, can you see me, lad?”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you ken what’s happened to you?”

  “Aye,” Jockie grunted again. “Randleigh.” He followed the name with a choice epithet that made Tam smile reluctantly. The lad had the factor’s measure, and no mistake.

  “A hero you are, a hero!” Kirstie told Jockie forcefully, and he gazed at her through rapidly-swelling eyelids, looking dazed.

  “Kirstie, have you any extra blankets? We will make a bed for him right here beside the fire. I do no’ think we can get him home just yet.”

  Kirstie sprang up. “Nay, but I want him to stay. I will go get him my bedding.” More softly still, she repeated, “I want him to stay.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Still another crofter squeezed through the gate into Annie’s yard, and she wondered how many more might arrive. They had been showing up all morning, some walking far to join this gathering.

  Just why it should take place in her yard, Annie could not say, save for the fact that in the past, if unable to go to the laird, these folk would have instinctively turned to her uncle. And the women so often came to her, Annie, for help and advice.

  Many women now held places in the crowd, some with their men and a few alone. Word of what had befallen Jockie had spread quickly, as had news of the increase in rents. Concern now marked the faces of those gathered, along with open fear.

  Three days had passed, and Jockie’s condition had improved; he now moved about under his own power, though Annie could only imagine his discomfort. He refused to talk about Randleigh’s attack, even when Annie got him alone.

  And Kirstie, adamant, refused to let him leave her place, though Annie would have preferred bringing him home to heal, if only for her own peace of mind, for she wanted to make sure his wounds healed clean. And she kept thinking about the chances of Randleigh returning to harass Kirstie, and Jockie trying to stand in her defense again.

  Now, if she could judge from the number of people crowding her yard, feeling in the district seemed to have reached a high pitch.

  Annie, standing by her house door with Tam at her side, couldn’t be sure whether they had come because of Jockie or the rent increase, but she heard the name “Randleigh” spoken like a curse on all sides.

  Tam glanced at her questioningly, and she gave him a half shrug. Their relationship had regained a measure of ease since they’d gone to Kirstie’s together in the night, but whatever troubled him rode him still; they had made love only once, and he had turned from her quickly, right after.

  Annie’s heart hurt just thinking of it. She’d tried to speak to him, but the words stopped in her throat when she saw the look in his eyes.

  Yet he had been there every time she needed him, insisting on accompanying her when she walked to Kirstie’s, doing a thousand small chores around the farm. And he stood firm beside her now.

  That knowledge gave her courage to lift her chin and call out, “Neighbors and friends, I expect you are all gathered here because of what our laird’s factor, Ned Randleigh, has done to Jockie MacCallum.”

  “We be here about these increases to t’ rent!” called a male voice from the rear of the crowd. “What’s to be done about it?”

  Those gathered muttered vociferously. Maggie Abernathy stepped forward. “I am here about the rents, aye. But I am also here because o’ what is happening to the women of this district. Yon factor, Randleigh, thinks he can come to an unmarried woman and demand what he wants. And I ha’ three daughters.”

  Women’s voices rose all around in support of her words.

  “Aye, so,” Annie said when the furor died down. Had she not been forced to take a husband for that very reason? She stole a look at Tam. Not that she regretted it…

  An older man stepped forward. “What’s to be done? Were your good uncle still here, lass, he would ha’ spoken to the laird on our behalf.”

  “Where is the laird?” asked another woman. “Why has he turned his back on us?”

  A new ripple spread through those gathered. When Annie could make herself heard, she said, “I have written to the laird telling him how his factor misuses us and appealing to him for intervention.”

  “Aye, and has the high-and-mighty Laird Ardaugh answered ye, lass? Has he come home to see what hardships visit his clan folk?”

  “Nay,” Annie had to admit.

  “Nay! And will no’, I’ll be bound!”

  “I ha’ heard,” someone else put forth tentatively, “the laird is ill and ’tis sore difficult for him to travel in his age.”

  “Sore difficult?” A woman fairly spat. “I will tell you what is sore difficult—raising seven weans on what little we ha’ left after the laird gets his share. And now he would steal even more from my bairns’ mouths.”

  “’Tis too easy for the laird to ignore a letter,” said another man. “Someone needs to go and see him, tell him just what ’tis like for us under the heel of his factor. Life was better when the laird lived here on the land.”

  “Aye, miss!” Several voices took it up. “You maun journey to see him on our behalf.”

  “Me?” Annie’s head spun. She could barely imagine traveling as far as Edinburgh.

  “Aye, so!” The words became a clamor.

  “Your uncle would ha’ gone.”

  True, Dennis MacCallum had been to Edinburgh, Stirling, Glasgow, Dundee—even, once, to London.

  “I am not my uncle,” she answered, “and have responsibilities here.” What might happen to Jockie and Sonsie if Annie went? What if she returned only to find Tam gone?

  A man suggested, “Your new husband can look after things here whilst you are away.”

  Annie shook her head. “Let me think on it. In the meantime, I suggest we band together in vigilance and seek to protect those among us who are women living alone.”

  “And get what Jockie got?” asked a man. “I ha’ a family of my own to look after. How am I to do that if I take a thrashing from the factor?”

  “Better,” said another man darkly, “to wait along one of the roadways, a lot of us together, and take care o’ the factor when he rides by.”

  A low rumble started among those gathered and arose fitfully.

  Annie raised her hands. “I canno’ speak to such a course of action. Punishment could come swift and hard…”

  “Aye, but where is the factor’s punishment for thrashing young Jockie or thinking he can tak’ what he wants from our daughters?” cried still another woman. “Where the justice?”

  “There is no justice for such as us,” said an older man, and the grumbling swelled again.

  Beside Annie, Tam shifted on the balls of his feet. Like her, did he feel the mood shifting to something very nearly out of control? For Annie suspected if the factor rode into her yard now—not that he could fit—he might just be beaten to death by this crowd.

  She drew a breath. How to calm them and answer their fears—to help them? For, as so often, she felt she stood in her uncle’s—her mother’s—place.

  Clearly she said, “Our situation, aye, is dire. But I would ask you to keep hope. So far, Laird Ardaugh has cleared very few from their homes, unlike in other places. That shows he does feel for us. An attack on his factor, no matter how well-deserved, might alter the laird’s attitude for the worse and solve nothing. I canno’ argue for violence in answer to violence.”

  She felt Tam quiver at that and wondered at his response. Tam Sutherland so seldom revealed his emotions. When he did, it seemed a precious gift—but one denied to her now.

  Those gathered in the yard took exception to her opinion.

  “The factor needs a thrashing like he dealt your lad.”

  “We canno’ sit still beneath his tyranny!”

  The wave of anger rose again, and once more Tam shifted. At last Annie called, “I will think o
n going to speak wi’ the laird. Until then, as I say, be vigilant on behalf of one another. Band together o’ the nights, if you can. But do naught that will cost you dear.”

  Would they accept her direction? Anne had no real authority beyond what lingered in her uncle’s wake, and many a hothead populated the crowd. They muttered and argued among themselves before they at last began to trickle away by ones and twos, as they had come. Many of the women came to Annie before they left, to ask favors—charms or wee spells for protection, mostly.

  Many began with the words, “I canno’ pay, but…”

  Annie answered their needs anyway, taking freely from her stores, urging watchfulness and caution. By the time the last of them left and the yard stood empty, she felt drained.

  “Come, mistress,” Sonsie urged then. “Sit and drink some tea.”

  “Is there any left?” Annie went inside and carefully stowed away the few pennies she’d been given.

  “I ha’ scraped some together for you.”

  “Thank you, Sonsie, dear.”

  Annie sat at the table and put her head in her hands. She felt someone touch her back in comfort. Tam? She so longed to turn to him, take refuge from this storm in his arms. But nay, it was Sonsie, setting the cup before her.

  “What am I to do?” she wondered aloud. “I ha’ no’ the ability to direct those folks. I fear I am a poor substitute for Ma and Uncle Dennis, even though I ha’ tried.” To her horror, tears flooded her eyes and stopped her throat.

  Tears solve nothing, her mother used to say. But she knew all too well she lacked her mother’s strength.

  She lifted her gaze to Tam, who stood just inside the door watching her. If only she might be sure he was with her completely, she could face anything.

  Silently, he turned his back and let himself out into the yard.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tam entered the house quietly, his step careful. Outside, the evening drew down, a red sunset bleeding through angry gray clouds. A poor omen for the morning to come, and an apt reflection of the storm in his heart.

  At the time of his father’s death, he’d believed he could feel no greater pain. Then he’d lost his mother, and the gulf in his heart grew to desperate proportions.

  With her warmth and caring, with her touch both on his ruined hand and his damaged soul, Annie had begun bringing him back from that dark and terrible place. Yet tomorrow morning she would go from him at the demand of that same compassion he so admired in her, reopening the gulf in Tam’s soul.

  He’d begged her to let him journey to Edinburgh at her side. The thought of her going without him shook him deeply, both because he feared for her safety on such a long journey and because the time apart from her defied imagining.

  He’d tried to tell her that, but words had failed him. She wanted him here looking after Sonsie and the animals, and Kirstie’s household, as well. She intended, instead, to travel with an older man called Rory MacBain, who had always found favor with the laird. Now, shutting the door on that angry sunset, Tam knew he had but one night to convince her otherwise.

  He looked up and found her dark eyes on him, deep and measuring. Her bag, all packed, stood by the wall; they had returned not long since from Kirstie’s and yet another attempt to convince that lass’s old grandmother to come stay here for the duration.

  The old woman, though, had not been swayed, declaring, “I was born here and will die here!”

  Tam, standing by and watching it all, thought to himself, aye—when yon factor tosses you out, bed and all.

  Before he and Annie left Kirstie’s, Tam had approached Jockie, now on his feet if still moving as if he hurt, and slipped him a pocket knife. Small comfort against the factor’s whip, but at least the lad would not go unarmed.

  “Come and eat,” Annie told him now. “Sonsie has made a fine supper for us.”

  Tam nodded, though he feared he might choke if he tried to swallow food. He took his seat at the table, and Ella crowded close to his legs; the wee dog, just like Ruff, sensed the discord. Even Sol ruffled his feathers uneasily.

  “Best to eat and then an early night, miss,” Sonsie urged. “You leave at dawn.”

  An early night. Desire clawed at Tam’s belly, and he looked at his wife again. They’d made love only once in the last week, when his need overcame his restraint. Would she accept him this night? Might he show her thus his feelings, for which he had no words?

  Annie often chattered throughout their meals, teased Sonsie gently, and spoke to the animals. This evening she remained very nearly silent. Sonsie, who attempted a limping conversation, at last gave it up and rose to gather the dishes.

  When Annie made as if to rise also, the girl told her, “Nay, you stay there at your ease.”

  Annie turned at last to Tam. “I must confess I feel ill prepared for this journey. My mother would ha’ taken it in stride, girded herself up, and gone off into the breech like a warrior.” She wrinkled her brow. “It becomes abundantly clear I am no’ my mother, no matter how I try.”

  He reached both hands across the table. “You are stronger than you think.” Strong enough, if she but knew it, to lend him her will, to light his life he’d believed would be forever dark.

  She took his bad hand in both of hers and began massaging it in that wondrous way she had, her very touch a balm.

  “You promise to check on Jockie whilst I am gone?”

  “Aye.”

  She hesitated, and her dark gaze searched his. She lowered her voice to ask, “And will you miss me, Tam Sutherland?”

  “You know I will.” He used her hands to draw her close across the table, and claimed her lips gently. Fire flared in his heart and lower down, as well. How could he let her go?

  Her lips responded to him avidly, as if she’d been starving for him. How might that be, when he’d come to her by a chance of fate? But surely he did not mistake the need that flooded upon him.

  When the kiss broke she whispered, “Tam…”

  He glanced at Sonsie, who busied herself beside the hearth. Would the lass never finish her tasks and go to her bed? An early night, she’d said—by heaven, it could not come early enough.

  ****

  At last all the chores were done, dishes and pots lined up on the cupboard, fire banked, and animals let out for the night. Sonsie had disappeared up the ladder to the loft. Annie and her husband were alone.

  Annie drew a breath. She doubted she mistook Tam’s intentions this night. True she—who usually found others wondrously easy to read—had difficulty divining his emotions much of the time. He kept that handsome face shuttered, the gray eyes well-guarded as if to hide the pain that lurked inside. But Annie had tasted that pain, and the desire he hid equally well.

  She longed for many things as she stood watching Sonsie disappear up the ladder—for a reprieve from this journey that loomed over her, for the courage to tell this man how she truly felt about him. To take him to her bed and love him so he might never doubt her again.

  By all that was holy, she would have one of the three—two, if she might scrape up the courage.

  Even as she wondered how to find it, Tam blew out the lamp and approached her in the light shed by the banked fire. Its radiance washed over him and showed her the intent look in his eyes as he drew her close and threaded his fingers through her hair.

  “Annie.”

  Her name on his lips, only that, yet it affected her deeply. What did he feel at this moment? She longed to know. A man of few words, Tam Sutherland—she’d learned that much. But now he gazed into her eyes and said, “I wish you did no’ have to go.”

  “And I.”

  “It will no’ be the same wi’ you gone.”

  Annie’s heart trembled and then accelerated with joy. But what of the distance that had lately existed between them? Cursed if she would remind him of that now.

  Instead she leaned in and kissed him. Their lips, mouths, tongues met and fused; heat spread all the way to Annie’s toes.
<
br />   Please, she thought at him because she would not surrender his mouth to speak.

  In answer, he reached for the laces on her bodice, his right hand fumbling only slightly over the task. She gloried as each garment fell away from her and hit the floor, all while their mouths remained melded. At last, naked, she pressed against him, trembling with need.

  You. Following the impetus of desire, she pulled at his shirt, drew it from him with lingering caresses on his neck and shoulders. Heaven lay in the way it felt when her breasts met the soft hair on his chest; the heat and weight of him lower down rendered her breathless. When she reached for the laces on his trousers, he swept her up off her feet and carried her to the bed.

  Heaven deepened like the coming night as he shed his clothes and they moved together, naked and entangled, between the blankets, the stillness broken only by the pop of the fire as it settled. If Annie had the power to seize time, draw out these moments and make them last forever, she would do so and spend eternity in this man’s arms.

  For she adored the way he tasted, the feel of his warm skin beneath her fingers, and his tangy scent. She loved the way he caressed the inside of her mouth with his tongue and the way his lean hips fit so perfectly between her thighs. She loved the feel of his wavy hair caught between her hands when he abandoned her mouth at last to seek out her breasts one after the other, his mouth hot and wet, claiming and connecting her to him—connecting him to her soul.

  And bless him, he did not stop at her breasts. Precisely as if he heard the desire screaming through her blood, he continued to caress her with that searing mouth—the soft skin of her stomach, one hip, her upper thigh, down one leg and up the other as if he had missed every inch of her and needed to taste it again. All the while she could feel the searing weight of him pressed against calf and knee, yet he refused to let her capture him between yearning hands and at last made her forget even that desire, when his questing mouth hovered between her thighs.