by Amy Jarecki
True to his word, Alexander knocked on the door—of course he was the only person she could imagine doing so. When she opened it, he held out a featherless chicken, his white teeth almost sparkling beneath his growth of coppery beard. “Killed, plucked and gutted, for yer supper as promised.”
She took the naked bird. “My thanks, but what have you done with the feathers?”
“They’re back by the wood stack where I butchered the hen. If ye’d like, I could fetch them.”
“That would be ever so kind. I’m saving the downs to make pillows.”
“I should have thought as much. May I have a lend of yer basket?”
After she’d handed it to him, Alexander was not gone but a moment when another rap resounded at the door. Jane’s heart fluttered. A completely inappropriate reaction. She clapped her hands to her cheeks and took a deep breath. He’s well enough to be on his way now.
She opened the door and he grinned, his dark eyes not only friendly, but deep, unspoken emotion lurked behind them. Sadness, perhaps? She took the basket. “Thank you. Were you able to prune all the trees?”
“Aye, at least what I could reach.” He clasped an arm around his ribs as if they were causing pain. “I didna thank ye for leaving the willow tea and scones.”
“’Twas the least I could do.” She crossed to the board and wrapped the last of the kettle scones in a cloth. “Here, take these. I wish I had coin to pay for your kindness.”
He opened the cloth and shoved a whole scone in his mouth. “My thanks. A man works up an appetite with a bit o’ labor.”
Oh heavens, if only I had more food to give him. “So, you’ll be heading back to Scotland, then?”
“I’ll no’ be heading to St. Bees, that’s for certain.” He shrugged. “Is there anything else I can do for ye, m’lady?”
Jane bristled every time he addressed her as his lady. How did he know she was nobly born? She was wearing a plain kirtle and a peasant’s wimple. “I daresay you’ve done more than enough. I am ever so grateful for your kindness.” She bowed her head. “Go with God.”
***
Outside, Alexander stared at the door while it closed. He’d harbored a modicum of hope that Mrs. Howard would invite him in. Truth be told, his ribs still hurt like hell, especially after he’d fallen off the ladder. Sure, working had helped take his mind off the pain, but setting off through the English countryside injured, without a weapon, wearing a plaid, was a surefire way to end up dead.
He stuffed the remaining scone in his mouth. He could use a bit of that chicken Mrs. Howard was fixing to crucify with her cooking. He wondered if she had a spit by her hearth. The bird would be all the more tasty if it were roasted rather than boiled.
He started toward the path when Max yipped and ran in beside him. Christ. “Ye cannot go with me.” He held his palm to the dog’s nose. “Stay.”
The dog sat and cocked his head to the side with questioning ears.
“I mean it. Stay.”
Proceeding on, Alex took note of fallen trees aplenty, and rushes that could be used to repair the roof. Mrs. Howard had everything she needed to set the farm to rights—if she knew how. If her ability at the hearth was any indication, his guess she’d been bred into nobility was spot on.
Alex made it about a mile into the forest when Max bounded after him. “I told ye to stay.” Hellfire, the thing was cute, wagging his tail. But Mrs. Howard needed the dog far more than Alex did. He pointed. “Go back.”
The blasted mutt spun in a circle and jumped on Alexander’s leg with a look that threaded itself around his heart. “Hop down. Now off with ye.”
But Max would have none of it.
“Och damn-it-all, I’ll take ye back, but ye mustn’t follow me again. Mrs. Howard is going to think me a right royal pest.”
Ever so happy with himself, Max danced in front of the door while Alexander swallowed his pride. This was the third time he’d knocked on the lady’s door this day, and she’d already sent him on his way—made it clear she didn’t want him around. But he reached up with his fist and rapped.
Footsteps pattered inside. “Who is it?” Her voice had a tremor.
“Alexander again, m’lady. Apologies, but a certain pet of the four-legged variety saw fit to follow me.”
The door whipped open. Mrs. Howard had red splotches on her face and she dabbed her nose. Had she been crying? Alexander resisted the urge to step inside and pull her into a consoling embrace. Doing so was not only improper, but it would undeniably confound the lady. She’d most likely slap him across his split lip.
She turned her attention to the dog. “Max, you mustn’t wander off.” She swiped both hands down her face. “I am sorry you had to turn back.”
He batted his hand through the air. “’Tis nothing.”
They stood there awkwardly for a moment. Alexander bit the inside of his cheek, wishing she’d invite him inside to share her meal of chicken—no matter how she’d ruined it. He hadn’t had a bite of meat in days. A few scones weren’t enough to sustain a warrior, even one who’d spent the day pruning apple trees.
She started to close the door. “Well, I must thank you yet again.”
He held his arm straight out and stopped the door’s momentum. “Look here, m’lady. I’ve no place to go and I’m in no condition to defend meself.”
She dropped her jaw as if to object, but Alex continued. “I ken ye’ve some dark secret ye do no’ want me to hear, but as clear as the nose on me face, ye need help.”
“But—”
“I’ll hunt and provide ye with meat. I’ll mend yer fences and yer roof and then I’ll be on me way with nary a question asked.”
Eyes wide, she bit her bottom lip—a sign she liked his idea.
Alexander stood firm. “I’ll not take no for an answer.”
She released her grasp on the door. “You cannot sleep in the cottage.”
“Aye, I’ll set up a pallet in the stable.”
“You…you’d best take your meals out there as well.”
Alex gaped. Lord, she drove a hard bargain. A lot of work for a wee bit of food and the prospect of enjoying it with the sheep shite out the back. “Och. Aye, I’ll eat in the stable with Max if that’s what makes ye happy.”
“Very well.” Her gaze darted to the trees, her lovely eyes narrowing as if she feared something grave beyond the forest. “But when the fencing and the roofing have been completed, you shall promise to go and never mention a word about your time here.”
“Aye, m’lady. That’s me plan as well.”
***
Jane closed the door and wrung her hands. Had she just invited the Highlander to stay? Yes, but he’d said himself he didn’t care about her secrets, and he knew no one from England, and he had no family looking for him. She looked at the pots and buckets scattered across the floor. She’d been praying for help, and now that it had arrived she worried about all the reasons she should send it away.
How much time would he need, both to heal and to make the repairs that required a strong back? A fortnight? Two? She shook her head. An entire month is far too long. I’ll give him a fortnight and then insist he go.
The sun was setting when Jane carried a bowl of chicken pottage to the stable. “Hello?” Stepping inside, the floor had been raked clean, and smelled of cut rushes and something else, something distinctly male. It made the gooseflesh rise upon her skin.
Alexander stepped out from a stall. He’d tied his shoulder-length tresses away from his face. One strand of hair hung over his eye, making him look devilishly handsome. “Hello, m’lady. I was hoping I wouldna need to rap on yer door and bother ye again.”
Her insides jumping like bacon in a fry pan, she turned away and set the bowl on the workbench. Evidently he planned to continue calling her “my lady,” and she’d best not correct him, else it lead to more questions about her past. “I brought your supper.”
“My thanks.” He grinned, causing the fluttering to flit out of cont
rol, right up through her throat. Alexander gestured to the stall. “I made a pallet of rushes and a bit o’ straw. It will be right comfortable.”
She stepped beside him and peered through the dim light. He had the pillow and the blanket neatly placed, ready for sleep. “You need a candle out here to cast some light.”
He smiled. Her insides fluttered. She must discourage his grinning.
“That would be a luxury I’d appreciate,” he said.
When Jane turned, her shoulder brushed his chest. The image of his naked and scarred torso flashed through her mind, making her cheeks burn. He seemed not to notice, and pointed to the tools. “I aim to sharpen your scythe and axe. I saw a number of fallen trees in the forest that will suit for fence posts and rails.”
“Indeed?” Jane had not been off the property since she’d arrived, and a good deal of that time, the ground had been wet or frozen. “Do you think you should give your ribs a chance to heal before you start in on the heavy labor?”
He shrugged. “A man works through the pain. Besides, the cloth ye lent me to bind them helps. The willow tea, too.”
“Would you like some more? It wouldn’t take me but a moment to brew it.”
“Nay, no’ now. I prefer something stronger with the evening meal.”
Jane clapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t thought to bring him something to drink. “I’ve watered wine in the cottage. Would you care for some?”
“My thanks, m’lady.” He reached for the bowl and sniffed the pottage, followed by a cringe.
She bit her fingernail. “Oh dear, I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook, either.”
“Yer scones are right delicious.” He took a bite. “Mm. This is no’ near as bad as the last batch.”
Her cheeks now burning clear up to her ears, Jane excused herself and headed to retrieve the wine. Merciful heavens, what country woman cannot cook? No wonder he calls me “my lady.” He probably believes me the imposter I am.
She pattered through the door. Mr. Cox brought a cask of watered wine every time he paid a visit, and fortunately it was far more than she could consume in a fortnight. She pulled the stopper and poured a tankard full for medicinal purposes—as long as he didn’t fall into his cups. She hesitated. A drunken man could turn into a monster. She carefully poured a bit back into the cask and pushed in the cork.
Now to go out there, hand him the tankard and refrain from looking him in the eye. I cannot invite friendship of any sort, and those blasted blue eyes make swarms of butterflies flit around in my belly as if I were a young maid. Jane straightened her wimple, gathered a tallow candle and a flint, picked up the tankard and headed out. She wouldn’t chat this time. She’d simply remain aloof like a proper Englishwoman and be on her way…with Max.
Alexander had finished the pottage when she stepped inside. He pointed to a rickety stool. “Would ye care to have a seat?”
She handed him the wine and set the candle on the board. “Mayhap for a moment.” There she went, disobeying her own good sense.
Alexander used the smooth side of a rasp to strike the flint. “My thanks for the candle.”
She sat a bit straighter. “I made it myself.”
His eyebrows drew together. “I would assume so, m’lady.”
Of course, Jane, you dolt. Country women make their own everything. She glanced to the candle, ever so happy the wick was burning as if she’d been making tallow candles all her life. Pushing aside her own advice to head back to the cottage, she gave in to her curiosity to discover more about him and most definitely steer the conversation away from her. “You never told me why you were sailing though the Irish Sea.”
A shadow passed over his face, as if he harbored a secret as horrible as hers. He pulled the other stool from under the workbench and sat across from her. “After I buried me wife, I couldna stay, so I tied a rope to the rudder of me birlinn and sailed down the coast.”
“You lost your wife?” She tapped her palm to her chest. “I am so sorry.”
“She was a good woman…” His voice trailed off as if he didn’t care to talk about it.
Jane understood his reluctance all too well and opted to change the subject. “Isn’t it dangerous to sail a sea vessel alone?”
“Aye, ’tis meant to be manned by six, but I was daft enough to think I could manage on me own.”
Jane tensed. “So you do have a clan? People who will be looking for you?” Heaven help her, she should not have invited him to stay.
He held up his palm and gave her the most reassuring smile she’d ever seen come from a man. “Ah, m’lady, ye are an intelligent lass, but I doubt me clan will be sending out a search party. They ken I’ll be back when I’m ready.”
“Did you tell them as much?”
“More or less.” He looked at her with those deep blue eyes—eyes that appeared to be filled with a lifetime of suffering.
The urge to reach out and offer a reassuring touch came over her. But Jane clasped her hands together and squeezed. Beyond the doorway, the day’s light had faded.
She should go.
Alexander’s skin flickered with amber in the candle light. She’d never seen a man so ruggedly handsome. And the way he looked at her stirred a yearning deep inside, similar to the feeling she’d had when she’d first started courting Roderick, but this deep yen ached far stronger.
Alexander sipped his watered wine and smiled.
Jane took in a quick gasp. How long had she been sitting there staring at him? She stood. “I’d best leave you to sleep.”
Immediately he was on his feet, as a gentleman would be. “Must you?”
He stepped so close, Jane swooned when she inhaled the spicy musk she’d noticed when first entering the stable. Except this time, the potency was intoxicating. She clapped a hand to her chest to quell the sudden aching in her breasts. “W-with spring upon us, there is much to do on the morrow.”
He grasped her hand and rubbed it between his warm palms. Her breath stuttered at his touch. Such a simple gesture, yet somehow it carried unspoken tenderness. Mesmerized by the strength of his large hands—hands that knew what it was like to carry out a day’s honest labor, Jane watched his fingers swirl. How long had it been since she’d received a kindly touch from another?
Though rough and callused, he handled her with gentleness. “Aye there is work aplenty, m’lady.” His eyes twinkled before he bowed, her palm still in his.
Jane stood dumbly while she watched him, as if she were the downiest feather floating on a breeze. Alexander’s warm breath caressed her skin. Gooseflesh spread up her arm and tingled at the back of her neck. Her heart hammered a rhythm so fierce, she could scarcely breathe.
When his gentle lips caressed the back of her hand, Jane’s own lips parted as if her body craved for him to kiss her mouth. While he straightened, she hoped he might. With long, coppery lashes, he shuttered those soulful pools of blue and glanced at her lips. She leaned toward him. Then his gaze flickered a tad lower before it snapped to her face with his white-toothed grin.
“Goodnight, m’lady.”
Chapter Six
A fortnight later, Alex rose early and headed to the paddock to resume fencing. Though his ribs still ached, breathing had become a bit easier. He’d learned as a lad that driving himself hard was the best cure for any ailment.
However, he still considered himself a wretched lout. Ever since he’d kissed Mrs. Howard’s hand, he’d regretted it. Heaven help him, the English lady constantly consumed his thoughts. He needed to assuage his feral attraction to her, but by the saints, she stirred within him a deep-seated longing he’d never before experienced.
His marriage to Ilysa had been arranged when he was but ten and seven, and he’d scarcely met the lass before they were wed. Alexander had never found Ilysa attractive, though she wasn’t overly displeasing. She simply was. They hadn’t many interests in common, either. Mostly, they kept to their own chambers and presented an air of harmony when at clan gatherings. It
seemed they were both content to live somewhat separate lives, rarely coupling. Though he’d grown to care for his wife and respect her as the mother of his bairn, he had never in his life behaved like a lovesick fool—a damned good thing, especially for a clan chieftain.
But every time Mrs. Howard came within ten feet, his male senses homed in upon her—could think of nothing else. His body craved her more than food. With the lady’s every smile, he wanted to reach out and brush his fingers over her silken cheek, or grasp her hand and run kisses all the way up her arm until he claimed her mouth for himself.
Am I seeking solace from the pain, the guilt of losing Ilysa? Most likely.
When he’d shown Mrs. Howard how to tie the rushes for the roof repairs, it had taken every bit of self-restraint not to wrap her in his arms and crush her against his body. It was a good thing the perimeter fence repairs would be done soon, because he needed to be on his way…once the roof was repaired and the sheep were shorn.
A thwack sounded in the wood. Alex grinned. One of his snares had finally caught something.
The cottage door opened and Mrs. Howard stepped out. “What was that noise?” Her voice had a tremor like a skittish bird.
He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “One of the traps, for certain.”
Her face lit up with a radiant smile. “You caught something?”
Alexander rested the post against the fence. “I’d reckon so. I’ll go check.”
“Let me fetch my cloak and I’ll join you. This I must see.”
True to Alexander’s word, a wee pig was snared by the hind leg.
Mrs. Howard clapped her hands. “A pork pottage will last a very long time indeed.”
Oh no, he wasn’t about to let her destroy this tasty bit of meat. “I beg yer pardon, but a sow this size ought to be roasted on a spit.”
Her face brightened as if she thought Alex a genius. “Oh, that does sound delicious.”