The Hiring Fair

by Laura Strickland

  Then Annie forgot all words—forgot to breathe—as she willingly opened herself to him, body and spirit all in one—denying him nothing, to the last drop of her blood.

  She knew in that moment what she felt for Tam Sutherland went far beyond the physical, to spiritual binding.

  But oh, the physical part of it! For his mouth became part of her, and the chord he struck, trembling, vibrated through her, on and on. Even then his mouth continued to play her, tasting what she yielded up so generously and coaxing a still deeper response.

  When she lay open, seared as if cast on a far shore, he worked his way back up her body, leaving kisses as he came. Only when he reached her ear did he whisper, “Does that tell you how I feel for you, Annie? Does it? I ha’ no words, but…”

  Did it? True enough, there were no words for such a joining. She didn’t attempt to find them. Instead, she caught his face between her hands and kissed him deeply before working her way down his body in turn.

  Throat hot and pulsating, chest abrading her lips with that enticing pattern of hair, taut belly that flexed beneath her tongue, and then her goal at last, pulsating also and searing her lips.

  He moaned, the sound torn from him, and trembled as her mouth accepted him. But before she could begin to glory in his intoxicating flavor he gasped, flipped her beneath him and laid claim to her mouth even as he plunged into the place that lay so perfectly readied for him.

  Light flashed once more behind Annie’s eyes, and her euphoria became complete.

  Breath ragged, they lay while he remained inside her and the spell woven over time held. Tears flooded Annie’s eyes. Now—she should tell him how she loved him. But could he not tell?

  Very slowly, as if with reluctance, he withdrew from her. The spell broke and reality crashed in.

  “Annie, do no’ go to Edinburgh.”

  “I must. I do no’ want to, but I must.” She clung to him, and the tears spilled over. “I canno’ let everyone down. They come to me in my uncle’s stead, in my mother’s. I feel if I do no’ measure up I will be letting him, and her, down as well.”

  Tam said nothing, and she confided, “At the same time I dread facing the laird and trying to persuade him. I was but a girl last I saw him. He may not even remember me.”

  Tam stirred. “Let me go wi’ you. The journey is long; I would be at your side.”

  What a comfort that would be! The strength of him beside her, the bliss of not having to part… But she shook her head.

  “I am that afraid of leaving Sonsie and the animals here on their own. Who will watch over the place, with Jockie still at Kirstie’s? Who will watch over Jockie, for all that? I trust you, Tam, to look after all I hold dear.”

  Again he did not speak, but she felt his emotions rise like a wave. As if to comfort him, she whispered, “Hold my place for me, Tam, till I return.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tam glanced for the third or fourth time down the lane that led away from Annie’s gate—as if he thought he would see her returning so soon. She had left just yesterday morning, traveling with Rory MacBain, who seemed a sturdy sort and had a cart with a good team. The journey would take many days. Unless something happened to make them turn back, he would not see her yet.

  That did not keep him from longing.

  Their parting yesterday had gone hard with him. After the intensity of their joining the night before—the sheer blistering intimacy of it—he felt seared and full of chagrin, despising himself for failing to tell her what he truly felt. But in the light of morning, the flurry of leaving, with Sonsie and MacBain present, he had no second chance.

  Even though she’d looked so beautiful it made his heart hurt, clad all in her green gown and cloak as he’d first seen her, with Sol’s feather bobbing in her hat and her black eyes snapping.

  Wee Crow, her uncle had called her, and it fit. Watching her so, all decked out and spurred by intent, made him love her all the more, even as he experienced his unworthiness. Who was he to deserve such a woman?

  But when the furor died down, once they’d parted with just a lingering touch of hands, he discovered she’d taken all the joy with her, the life—the magic from this place. He’d not realized till then how he’d been living on the strength of that magic, but he had.

  Now he felt like a petulant child, thoughts he neither wanted nor needed running through his mind. To be sure, Annie lived to serve others: Sonsie and Jockie, all her beloved creatures, her neighbors, and those who came to her for help. But what of him? Did she not consider him at all in her reckoning, how it would feel for him living without her, even if only for the span of a few days, how he needed her?

  Nay, fool, for you ha’ no’ told her. You ha’ failed to dredge up the words from your heart and present them to her ears.

  He should have done just that, should have told her last night after he’d tasted her so deeply it felt as if part of her spirit had mingled with his, when she lay shedding tears over the task ahead of her. Yet she’d wed him only to keep the wolf at bay—one particularly vicious wolf. Tam was in fact naught but the lesser of two evils. Och, she might feel some affection toward him, having healed his hand, having taken him to her bed. Annie felt affection for most everyone in her world.

  That was not love, the kind of love Tam now knew he felt for her—wide as a sea, strong as a storm wind, consuming as fire and unchanging as the rock beneath his feet.

  Aye, he should have told her. Instead he stood here whinging while he might be finishing his chores.

  Behind him, dutiful Sonsie did just that. She’d dragged out the wash kettle, and Tam had helped her haul water to fill it. Now she worked competently with the animals all around her and the house—far too silent—behind.

  Tam should busy himself mucking out the byre and at least prove his worth as the worker Annie had hired.

  Yet, just as he turned away from the gate, his eye caught a flash of movement down the lane. His heart leaped, only to fall once more an instant later. Not a cart, no, but a man on horseback, and a familiar figure at that.

  As if Tam needed confirmation, Ruff rushed forward with a growl. “Randleigh,” he muttered as if echoing the dog.

  Sonsie looked up in dismay. “Och, nay!”

  “Go inside,” Tam told her. “Take the animals.”

  But there proved no time. Sonsie had not dried her hands before Randleigh reached the gate and hauled up his mount with cruel force.

  He raked the farmyard with his gaze before asking Tam harshly, “Where is your wife? I need a word with her.”

  “Not here.” Tam buried his fingers in the fur at Ruff’s neck as the dog surged forward. Unfortunately, Ruff stood at his right side, and though those fingers now served far better than they had, he feared he might not be able to contain the animal. The hens had scattered at Randleigh’s approach, the cat had slunk away, Fiona had run for the byre, and poor wee Ella shrank to Sonsie’s side. But Ruff vibrated with defiance.

  “Where is she? Off passing her remedies to the locals? Yes”—Randleigh glowered—“I know what she gets up to.”

  “’Tis naught to you where my wife may be.”

  That snared all Randleigh’s attention and focused it on Tam. An ugly sneer distorted his features. “All high and mighty are you, thinking her standing will protect you? I tell you now, she can protect no one, including herself.”

  Tam stiffened. “How do you mean?”

  “I have no call to explain myself to you. When your wife returns home, tell her I need a word with her about some rumors that have surfaced in the district. Tell her Laird Ardaugh has standards regarding those to whom he grants favors.”

  Tam narrowed his eyes, his mind racing.

  Randleigh leaned over the gate into Tam’s face. “Mind you deliver that message like a good hired man.”

  Taking exception to the factor’s threatening movement, Ruff leaped, teeth snapping. Randleigh had his crop up at once—the same, no doubt, with which he’d thrashed Jockie.
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  “Curb that cur!” Randleigh snapped, and Ruff answered with a snarl, twisting from Tam’s grip.

  The crop came down. Sonsie screamed and Tam surged forward, putting himself between the dog and the blow. The crop took him across the face, leaving a blinding trail of pain.

  “You’ll not touch him,” he growled. “Nor my wife.”

  “Then tell your wife to change her ways. I will not tolerate her defiance.”

  In a harsh movement Randleigh pulled his horse around and rode off the way he had come.

  With a cry of dismay, Sonsie ran forward, Ella at her side.

  “Master Tam! Och, sweet heaven, are you all right?”

  Tam raised a hand to his face, far less than certain. Both dogs crowded close to him, Ruff gazing at him with almost human concern. “I do no’ ken.”

  Sonsie gaped in horror. “Och, your face! He’s near struck your eye. Here, come inside and let me clean it for you.”

  But Tam stood where he was, gazing down the path. “I wonder what he meant about Annie—what harm he means her.”

  “I do no’ ken. He is gone for now, the boogle. Come along. I will use one of Miss Annie’s remedies.”

  Remedies. The word echoed Randleigh’s, and a dark chill of foreboding flooded Tam’s heart.

  ****

  Sonsie fretted the whole time she dressed Tam’s injury, and both dogs remained close, Ella at his feet and the bigger dog with eyes fastened on the door.

  “A hero you were, Master Tam,” Sonsie declared as she pressed a cloth to his face. “Mistress Annie would ha’ been that upset to find Ruff harmed—and I ha’ no doubt that brute would have thrashed him even as he did our Jockie. Of course,” the girl reflected, a thoughtful look in her hazel eyes, “she will no’ be pleased to return and find you marked, either.”

  “How bad is it?” Tam asked. He had no looking glass but could feel the blow had taken him at an angle from his right temple to his left cheek, biting deep.

  “Well,” Sonsie scrutinized him again, “at least it caught but the corner o’ your eye and so spared your sight. Does it hurt much?”

  Tam grunted. He was used to pain. What worried him far more was his fear on Annie’s behalf. He had failed once before to protect those he loved.

  How did he suppose he might defend her now?

  The sting of both that thought and his injury kept him awake all night in Annie’s big bed, aching for her. He arose before the sun—before even Sonsie—and went out into the yard. Both dogs accompanied him, Ruff having apparently taken a place as his guardian following yesterday’s stance together. The yard still lay dark, shrouded in mist and the fleeing night. But far to the east—whence Annie had ridden—brightness bled from the horizon. It seemed symbolic, as if all the light in Tam’s world lay with the Wee Crow, all strength wrapped up in kindness and passion.

  He needed to tell her how he felt for her, how he loved her. He would, just as soon as she returned.

  Yet what danger awaited her when she did? He misliked the look in Randleigh’s eye, and the uneasiness that had accompanied him all night speared him yet.

  He went back inside to find Sonsie arisen.

  “Keep the dogs here,” he bade her. “I am going to walk to Kirstie’s and check on them.”

  “Why?” Sonsie’s eyes went wide.

  “Just a feeling I have.”

  “What if yon Randleigh comes back while you are gone?”

  “Stay inside and do no’ answer the door to him. I will return as soon as I can.”

  “What of your breakfast?”

  “Never mind that. Just keep the door barred.”

  “Take Ruff with you,” Sonsie urged, but Tam shook his head.

  He would not risk the dog; Annie loved him far too well.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dawn spread across the sky and the light strengthened as Tam went over the brae at a jog, all his senses on alert. Curious how alive he felt, as if something inside him—banked like a fire since the deaths of his parents—had awakened, returned to life. Had Annie begun to heal more than his hand?

  Longing for her filled him, pushing aside the helpless anger that had accompanied him all winter. Aye, the anger lingered, but it now had to contest for space with the love in his heart.

  Over the brae and through the dawn mist he ran, and heard the furor even before he reached Kirstie’s croft—raised voices, one of them that of a woman protesting something. He breasted the hill and beheld the scene.

  Men and horses crowded the lane outside Kirstie’s gate—Tam hastily counted four horses and as many men. Randleigh stood with his hand on the latch and the other three, all dismounted, at his back.

  Inside the yard, Jockie—looking a fright made of welts and fair hair—faced off against them all, with Kirstie doing her best to intervene. Tam saw why; Randleigh once more had his crop in hand. Like the lass, Tam doubted Jockie could endure another thrashing.

  “Randleigh!” Tam bellowed in an effort to distract the factor, even as the man raised the crop high.

  The factor and his men all spun. Who were Randleigh’s companions? Hired henchmen? Workers from the laird’s estate? And why did Randleigh suppose he needed them at his back? Surely he did not fear one lone, injured lad?

  Not lone now. Tam leaped the wall and went to stand at Jockie’s side.

  “Keep away, Sutherland. This has nothing to do with you.”

  Even as he spoke, Randleigh pushed through the gate. Jockie, who held a pitchfork before him like a staff, edged Kirstie aside, his message clear; Randleigh would have to go through him to reach the lass.

  Kirstie protested again and threw her arms around Jockie. Tam moved to put himself between the two of them and Randleigh.

  “Move aside,” the factor ordered. “Did you not have enough yesterday?”

  Consumed with rage, Tam embraced the strength of the emotion. “What goes on here?”

  “We have come to take Jock MacCallum into custody.” Randleigh nodded at his men.

  “For what?”

  “Attacking me.”

  “What? ’Twas you attacked him. Only look at the lad.”

  “I merely acted in self-defense when he went off his head and tried to throttle me. Everyone in the district knows he is mad.”

  “Would you go so far,” Tam challenged, “to get what you want? Do these men know why they are here?” Tam shot a look at the men who stood behind the factor. “He wants the lass, and Jock MacCallum is in his way.”

  “Move aside, I say, Sutherland, unless you wish to appear before the magistrate also.”

  Tam did not. In his experience, magistrates, appointed from the local gentry, tended to be in the landowners’ pockets. Yet he said, “You will no’ take him.”

  Several things happened in swift succession. Randleigh, already halfway through the gate, raised his crop. Tam snatched the pitchfork from Jockie and leaped forward. The men at Randleigh’s back surged in.

  The ensuing fray, intense and furious and punctuated by Kirstie’s cries and the sound of blows, lasted until she managed to pull Jockie away and Randleigh’s three henchmen wrestled Tam to the ground. He did not go easily and still had Randleigh’s sneering face in his sights when his back hit the dirt.

  Two of the factor’s henchmen pinned Tam’s arms, while the third knelt on his chest, all breathless.

  Randleigh, with fire in his eyes, declared, “You all witnessed this man attack me with intent to do grievous harm. He shall be taken into custody and held until the magistrate can deal with him.”

  “Nay!” Kirstie cried, but only because Jockie started forward to Tam’s aid. The girl wrapped her arms more closely about the lad and hauled him back with all her might.

  Randleigh fixed Jockie with a cold eye. “Do you want to share his prison? Then count your blessings I do not arrest you also.”

  “This is an injustice!” Tam hollered from his place on the ground. “You canno’ use the law to your own ends—”

  �
�No?” Randleigh leaned over him. “We shall see.”

  Tam spat curses, hurling his hate with the words, and Randleigh’s face twisted with ugly emotion.

  “You, Sutherland, are far too full of yourself for a landless, crippled peasant. What happened to that hand of yours, by the way? Fingers twisted—appears as if they were all broken.”

  Deliberately, Randleigh stepped across to where his man held Tam’s wrist to the ground. Tam saw his black-booted foot move and realized what he intended a moment before it descended on his hand. The factor’s weight followed, crushing Tam’s splayed fingers. Randleigh pressed deliberately and ground the hand into the hard soil.

  Tam did not want to holler—would not give the bastard the satisfaction—yet pain surged up his arm and burned a path to his brain and tore a strangled cry from his throat.

  Kirstie cried out also, her voice a sharper echo of Tam’s, and began to weep, still holding Jockie as for her life.

  Red and black dots danced before Tam’s eyes before Randleigh removed his weight.

  “Bring him,” he snapped. “The man is clearly dangerous.”

  ****

  “Thank you, Rory, for your company and all your efforts. I am sorry it did no’ give us a better result.”

  “Aye.” Rory MacBain’s craggy face looked as woeful as Annie felt. “Well, mistress, you did give it a good try. No one can say differently. Good night.”

  “The same to you.”

  Annie turned from the gate, her heart every bit as heavy as the horses’ weary feet. All day long they had traveled. Now night drew down, and with what she could only consider abject failure behind her, she had one intense longing: to see her husband and take refuge in his arms.

  She started up the walk, and a shadow emerged from the side window—Sol coming to greet her. The door flew open an instant later, and those she loved emerged in a group—Sonsie and the animals, with Ruff at the fore. Jockie, of course, would still be at Kirstie’s. But where was Tam?

  “Miss!” Sonsie cried with a strange note in her voice. “Och, I am so glad you are home.”

  “What is amiss?”

  Annie stopped where she stood, and Sonsie met her halfway. Ella, a mere ball of white in the near-dark, hurled herself at Annie’s ankles, and Ruff pressed close, trembling.