Miss Leslie's Secret

by Jennifer Moore

  Aileen glanced around the room once more, making sure everything was in place. Their sleeping pallet was rolled up tidily in the corner, and the dishes she was taking to the feast were tucked into a sack beside the door. She emptied the soapy water and hung up the washrag. Satisfied that the cottage was ready, she smoothed back her damp hair, tucked it beneath her bonnet, then repinned the lace beneath her collarbone a few more times, fussing over how the folds fell and wondering why on earth she felt so nervous. Sergeant Stewart wouldn’t notice or care one bit whether she had a new collar. He was surely annoyed at the entire arrangement.

  The sun was dropping lower, shadows from the windows lengthening over the hard-packed floor. Sergeant Stewart could arrive at any time. She decided to hurry across the road to fetch Jamie and perhaps have a glance herself in Mrs. Campbell’s looking glass.

  Aileen opened the door then gave a yelp and jumped back in surprise.

  Sergeant Stewart stood in the doorway, his hand raised to knock. He drew back, a smile spreading over his face. “I beg yer pardon.”

  Aileen had only seen the sergeant smile a few times, and she didn’t think the expression had ever been directed at her. She liked the way lines creased merrily from the corners of his eyes and how the left side of his mouth rose before the right. A quiver moved through her stomach, and she looked away to hide her blush. She was behavin’ like a fool, acting as if he were here on a social call.

  Sergeant Stewart wore a plaid kilt and leather sporran, traditional attire for the festival. The plaid at his shoulder was fastened with a brooch shaped like a leaping stag.

  He looked very handsome indeed. Aileen directed her eyes to the ground, reminding herself that he wasn’t actually here on his own preference. “Welcome, Sergeant,” she said, stepping outside. She motioned with her chin toward the house across the road. “I was just on my way to fetch Jamie from Mrs. Campbell’s.” The thought of her neighbor and the woman’s interference this morning made Aileen’s neck heat again, and she made a point not to meet the sergeant’s crinkling eyes as she passed.

  When Aileen lifted her gaze, she saw Dores carrying a wooden bowl across the street with Jamie in tow.

  Jamie grinned at Sergeant Stewart, and Dores appraised the man from head to toe in a manner that, even in a rural Highland village, was scandalous. She winked at Aileen, her left brow bouncing up and down.

  Aileen had a sudden urge to run back into the cottage and hide until Samhain, at least.

  “Good evenin’, Mam.” Jamie put his hand over his heart and bowed. “Ye look verra bonny.”

  “Thank you,” Aileen said.

  “That she does, lad,” Sergeant Stewart said. “An ye look a true gentleman yerself.”

  Jamie grinned and straightened his vest.

  “An’ yer all ready to go then.” Dores held out the bowl of milk.

  Aileen took it then handed it to Jamie, grateful for something to look at besides her shameful neighbor or reluctant escort.

  Dores pointed and waved her finger toward a spot beside the door. “Go on, lad, put it just there. The Fair Folk will be out in force t’night, returned from their winter hideaways.” She slipped a string with a small biscuit hanging from it over the boy’s head. “There now, and a wee pinch o’ salt in yer pocket will keep ye safe from any mischief.”

  Jamie smiled good-naturedly as the old woman produced a bag and poured some salt into his pocket. He tucked the biscuit beneath his shirt then turned toward Sergeant Stewart. “Are we ready then?”

  “Aye. We’ll fetch my livestock then return for yer animals.”

  “We’ve only the goat,” Jamie said. “And the cat, if we can find her.”

  “And yer bees?” Conall asked.

  “They’ll not abide the cold,” Aileen said.

  He nodded and lifted his elbow toward her. “Shall we then?”

  She reached to take his arm, but Dores stepped between them. “Aileen, where’s yer shawl? Ye’ll not want to be catchin’ a chill.”

  Aileen knew any argument would be futile; besides, her hair was still wet, and the spring nights were far from warm. Dores meant well—most of the time anyway. Aileen stepped back into the house and grabbed both Jamie’s jacket and her mother’s plaid. She’d not wanted to cover up her new collar, but of course, she was acting silly. She left the sack of dishes by the door to fetch as they passed through the village.

  When she walked outside, she found Jamie laughing. Sergeant Stewart was backing away from Dores, holding up his hands in protest as she patted him, searching for a pocket. She finally sprinkled a bit of salt into the waist of his kilt. “Well, ’twill have to do, I suppose.” She wagged a finger in his face. “Ye’ll need to be especially careful tonight, Sergeant, struttin’ around lookin’ as handsome as Rob Roy. I’d not put it past an enchantress tryin’ to lure ye away, or even the queen o’ the faeries herself.”

  Aileen could have sworn she saw a bit of red in the sergeant’s cheeks as he grinned at Dores, white teeth flashing. Of course he enjoyed flattery. What man didn’t? She folded the jacket and plaid, holding them against her. “Thank you, Mrs. Campbell. I’m sure Sergeant Stewart kens to be vigilant when it comes to enchantresses.” She started up the road toward the sergeant’s house.

  Behind her, she heard Jamie and Sergeant Stewart bid Dores farewell, and a moment later, the two joined her.

  Once they’d gone a sufficient distance, the sergeant let out a hearty laugh. “Yer neighbor. She’s quite . . .”

  “Eccentric?” Aileen offered.

  “Aye, there’s a good word for it.” He continued to chuckle, reaching for the bundle she held and folding the coat and shawl over his arm.

  Aileen felt defensive of her friend. “Dores has her quirks, but she means well.”

  Conall nodded. “I’ve known my share of meddlesome relatives—though I’ve not seen any o’ them for more than a decade. Hearts in the right place but ofttimes, their methods are . . . frustratin’.” He laughed again and glanced at Aileen. “I can see that she acts out o’ love. She’s concerned for yer well-being and Jamie’s. The two o’ ye are auld friends?”

  “Aye. We’re from the same village. We came to Dunaid together. Mrs. Campbell, Jamie, and me, after our homes were . . . gone.” She stuttered the last words and walked faster, heart pounding. The conversation had moved too close to the topics she avoided.

  Jamie ran ahead as they turned up the path.

  Conall took Aileen’s hand and tucked it beneath his arm, resting it in the bend of his elbow. He slowed their pace. “Mrs. Leslie, I meant to tell ye before, ye look truly—”

  “Mam, did ye ken Sergeant Stewart has three coos?” Jamie ran back to join them. “One is yellow, and the others are brown—a big one and a wee one. The wee one has no horns. None o’ them have names, but Sergeant Stewart said I could call them whatever I like. I call the wee one Barney.” He took Aileen’s hand and pulled her from the path toward the side of the house.

  She released her hold on Sergeant Stewart, following Jamie around the house to the byres where the animals were penned. Garlands of yellow flowers decorated the enclosures.

  Conall handed over her clothing. He opened one gate, leading out two horses. One was bridled, and the other only had a rope around his neck. Both animals had bouquets tied in their manes.

  Aileen nodded to herself as she wrapped her plaid around her shoulders. Mrs. Ross had done well.

  Jamie kept talking. “The gray horse pulls the wagon and the plough, and the brown horse is for ridin’. She’s a mare—that means a lady horse. Her name is Aranella, but Sergeant Stewart calls her Nellie.”

  Sergeant Stewart led the animals toward them.

  Aileen cringed as they drew near, but she stood still, hands clenched at her sides, hoping the sergeant wouldn’t see her apprehension. She’d no experience with horses, and up close, the animals were so large.

  Sergeant Stewart stopped. He handed the plow horse’s rope to Jamie then brought the mare towar
d Aileen. “Nay to worry. They’re both as gentle as kittens.” He spoke softly and took her hand, bringing her a few steps closer and standing behind her. He lifted her hand to rest on the horse’s shoulder. “Yer quite safe wi’ Nellie.”

  Sergeant Stewart’s hand was large and warm, and his breath tickled her neck, giving her a shiver. Despite the large animal looming before her, Aileen felt calm. She nodded, glancing up at the man. His eyes were deep brown, and the brows above were pulled together and upward, furrowing lines across his forehead. The calm feeling left, replaced by a jittery sensation.

  Aileen pulled her hand away and stepped to the side. She looked to where Jamie stood holding the plow horse’s lead rope and patting the bridge of its nose. She took the reins from the sergeant.

  One side of the sergeant’s mouth pulled up in a smile. He gave a nod then moved away to open the other pen and lead out the cows. The three shaggy-haired beasts were tied in a line, floral bouquets stuck into the knots of the lead rope. The larger animals had long wavy hair covering their eyes, but the wee one’s fur was curly, making it look soft and fluffy. Barney, Aileen thought, smiling at Jamie’s name for the calf.

  “Get on wi’ ye, Jamie,” Conall called. “Lead the way.”

  Jamie and the gray horse started toward the road.

  Conall motioned with his head for Aileen to go next.

  She took a step, and the horse moved, sending a burst of panic through her.

  “Just pull on the reins. She’ll follow ye,” Conall said.

  “Aye. Tha’s what I’m afraid of,” she grumbled. But she’d not kept her voice as quiet as she’d thought because Conall laughed.

  “I’d never have taken ye as one to be afraid of anythin’, Mrs. Leslie.”

  “I’m not afraid.” She shot him a glare and tugged on the reins. The horse followed at a docile pace, and after a bit of trial and error, she settled into a rhythm—neither walking too fast and pulling the animal nor too slow to let the horse overtake her.

  They walked in procession up the lane from the sergeant’s house, and once they reached the wider road to the village, he stepped beside her, the cows following obediently. “I told ye. Naught to fear with auld Nellie.”

  He kept his eyes on Jamie as he spoke, and Aileen was grateful to him for allowing her son to feel confident but keeping a close watch on him. She glanced back at the horse and the string of cows.

  “She likes ye, does Nellie,” Conall said.

  Aileen sniffed, giving him a flat look. “Horses don’t evaluate people. They jes’ do as they’re told.”

  He made a clicking sound, shaking his head. “And that’s where you’re wrong, Mrs. Leslie. Animals are excellent judges o’ character.” He pointed forward with his chin, toward Jamie. “Look there. That auld plow horse would follow Jamie anywhere. He kens the lad’ll not lead him astray. Trusts him.” He nodded. “Nellie sees the same in ye.”

  She could feel his eyes upon her but couldn’t quite lift her gaze to meet his. Her thoughts and emotions were all jumbled together: pleasure at his compliment, embarrassment that he’d seen her afraid, gratitude at the care he took of Jamie, and though she was ashamed to admit it, resentment at how he’d captured her son’s admiration so fully. Luckily, she was spared the need to respond when they arrived at her house. She left the horse with Conall and fetched the sack of dishes and the goat, and they continued through the village.

  Jamie grinned and waved at people they passed, and Aileen’s confusing emotions returned. She felt petty for resenting the sergeant’s influence on her son, especially when Jamie was so happy and well behaved as a result. But she couldn’t help feeling that she should be the person to bring out the best in the lad, not this person they hardly knew.

  They drew near to the field and walked to a large, temporary enclosure that had been erected for the event. Aileen patted Nellie’s nose. “There ye go,” she murmured and turned over the reins to Conall.

  Once the animals were safely inside the corral, Conall rubbed his hands together, a smile growing on his face. “Och, how I’ve missed this,” he said. “Longed for it, truly. This feeling of a community workin’ together, celebratin’ together. There’s nothin’ like it in the world. Nothin’ at all.” He took the sack from Aileen and offered his arm, leading her toward where the feast was being served. Jamie ran ahead.

  “I imagine ye worked together wi’ other soldiers, surely,” Aileen said.

  “Aye, but a group of fightin’ men plannin’ an attack or foragin’ for food, even celebratin’ a victory . . . ’Tisn’t the same as families gatherin’ to honor auld traditions. Nay, this, ’tis somethin’ special. And I’d not known until I was so far away that my heart ached for it.”

  Aileen was surprised that he would speak so sincerely. ’Twasn’t usual for men to reveal their emotions so openly.

  Conall seemed to have the same thought. He glanced at her, and his eyes tightened in a slight wince. He cleared his throat and patted his stomach. “And o’ course, nothin’ compares to Highland fare.”

  “Yer spoiled,” Aileen said. “Mrs. Ross is the finest cook in the county.”

  The corners of his mouth pulled down, and he nodded solemnly, though a twinkle remained in his eye. “Aye, that she may be.”

  At the bonfire, the three filled their plates: haggis, mutton, herring, stuffed eels—all of it prepared skillfully under the direction of Mrs. Ross and Mrs. Graham. Aileen saw Mrs. Ross slide a few extra sausages onto Jamie’s plate.

  The trio found a spot to sit, a flat patch of ground close enough to feel the fire’s warmth, and listened as Jamie chatted between mouthfuls of food. The meal was delicious, the food plentiful, and the company . . . Aileen peeked to the side. Perhaps ’twas the casual atmosphere or the cupful of warm caudle, but at the moment, she felt rather happy with her companion. She watched the sergeant scoop up some of the moist, crumbly haggis. He chewed slowly, closing his eyes and letting out a small moan.

  Aileen laughed. “I dinna think I’ve ever seen a person so taken wi’ haggis.”

  Conall opened his eyes, looking surprised.

  Aileen blushed, wishing she’d acted a bit more refined, constraining her mirth within ladylike bounds.

  He smirked and sighed dramatically. “Absence makes the reunion all the more sweet.”

  “Sweet, is it? There’s a word I’ve never heard associated wi’ Highland puddin’.”

  He took a drink and opened his mouth to reply but stopped short when a shadow fell upon them.

  They looked up, and Conall rose to his feet, shaking hands with the minister. “Good to see ye, Mr. Graham.” Jamie stood as well, and the minister shook his hand then bowed a greeting to Aileen.

  A slender man, the minister stood much smaller than Conall. He put his hands together in front of his chest. “I came to thank ye again on behalf of the village for bringin’ the sheep. We’ve nay had such a fine feast for Beltane in all my years. ’Twill make Dunaid all the more fortunate come harvest season.”

  Conall inclined his head. “Of course yer welcome. And I thank ye, sir, for yer fine sermon on Sunday. . . .”

  Aileen didn’t listen any further. Her mind whirled. Sergeant Stewart had brought the sheep? An entire sheep? ’Twould have cost more than most families in Dunaid saw in a year. The lightness in her heart dissipated, and her cheeks heated in embarrassment. Had she really thought . . . ? She shook her head, and her gaze moved to their dishes on her mother’s homespun plaid. Conall’s painted porcelain plate looked like it belonged in a palace compared to her rough wooden one.

  As the men spoke, Sergeant Stewart shifted, the buckles on his well-made boots glinting in the firelight. She pulled in her legs tightly beneath her, making certain her own worn boots were out of sight beneath her skirts. She felt foolish, wearing an old bit of curtain around her neck and thinking the sergeant would be at all impressed with her. Had she truly thought he considered her as any more than a case for charity? She was deceiving herself to think he mig
ht have actually wanted her company. The food she’d eaten felt heavy in her stomach.

  When the minister took his leave and Jamie hurried away to join his friends, Sergeant Stewart must have sensed her discomfort. He asked a few leading questions, but Aileen gave vague answers, evading his attempts to start a conversation.

  After a moment, he set down his utensils. “Mrs. Leslie.” His tone had changed, sounding much lower and more serious. Conall remained quiet until she looked up. His eyes searched her face. “I’m glad ye agreed to accompany me today.”

  The embarrassment was joined by a hot surge of anger. “And why is that, Sergeant? So the auld ladies o’ the village would stop pesterin’ ye?”

  “Nay. It has nothin’ to do wi’ them. Or anyone else fer that matter. I’m glad because I wanted a chance to become acquainted wi’ ye.”

  Aileen didn’t respond. She looked down at her hands.

  “You don’t believe me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “It’s quite gentlemanly o’ ye to say, but we both ken that’s not why ye asked.”

  “An’ yer sayin’ ’twas because o’ the pair o’ interferin’ hens?”

  She pursed her lips. “Yer sayin’ ’twasn’t? Please, Sergeant. I’ve not delicate feelin’s in need o’ protection.” Blowing a breath out of her nose, she started to gather up the plates. “And I certainly don’t need yer charity.”

  “Och, an’ we’re back to this again.” Conall laid a hand on her arm, stilling her movements and taking the dishes from her. “Let me ask ye, Mrs. Leslie. Do ye ever take honey to yer neighbor, Mrs. Campbell? Or walk with her to kirk of a Sunday? Or even just stop by for a visit?”

  Her arm felt hot where he held it. She pulled away, folding her hands in her lap. “Aye, of course”

  “And would ye say ’tis charity?”

  She thought for a moment before answering. “Nay,” she said finally.

  “And why is that? Why is it different if I do the same wi’ ye or Jamie?”

  “Because Dores and I are auld friends. I care for her. ’Tisn’t charity when ye care for someone.”