The Laird's Forbidden Lady (16 page)

Because he’d kissed her in public. He wanted to do it again.

‘Yes,’ she said, with a tight little smile. ‘We will talk later.’ That sounded like a threat.

She ducked back into the chamber.

Ian shrugged and followed McKinly outside. He would just have to find a way to make her see he was right.

What a wretch, Selina thought, staring at the four-poster bed crowding the small sleeping chamber off the kitchen. Beside the bed there was a chest in one corner and a faded and patched runner on the floor.

Lies had tripped off Ian’s tongue as if he was the devil himself. She should have denied it all. But she couldn’t. Not without shaming him in front of his people.

‘Whose room is this?’ she asked Marie Flora as the girl expertly twitched the blankets off the bed and piled them on the rug.

‘It used to be Ma and Pa’s room,’ the girl said. ‘Now I sleep here and he sleeps in the loft with the boys.’

‘Oh, dear. We don’t want to put you out of your bed.’

‘‘Tis a privilege and an honour to serve the Laird.’ The girl smiled shyly at Selina. ‘And his new wife.’

Guilt twisted in her stomach. These people would be so angry if they knew who she was. Selina took the end of the sheet at the foot of the bed and Marie Flora took the end nearest the head and they pulled it free. The mattress had seen better days, but it was clearly the best they had and Selina was certainly not going to complain.

The child pulled out linen sheets from the chest, thin and patched here and there, but spotlessly clean. Together they made up the bed. When they were done, Marie Flora patted the blanket with a smile. ‘‘Tis a comfortable bed. Not many has one like it. Father built it when he was first married. Ma died when Thomas was born.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Selina said.

The girl shrugged. ‘We buried her up on the top of the hill. She liked to go up there and look at the mountains.’

There was a little sorrow in the girl’s voice, but mostly acceptance.

‘How many children are you altogether?’

‘Four. My older brother is away south to the mines, he sends money when he can.’ Marie
Flora headed back into the main room and Selina followed her.

‘What else can I do to help?’ Selina asked.

‘Can you peel tatties? We’ve to make the stew go further.’

‘Tatties? Oh, you mean potatoes.’ It was a long time since she’d heard that word used. Not since she used to hang around the kitchen at Dunross, getting under Cook’s feet. ‘Yes, I am sure I can.’ How hard could it be?

Chapter Eleven

M
arie Flora stumped in with a bucket of water and a frown on her face. ‘Thomas, are you still here? Did Father not ask you to move the cow to the other pasture?’

The boy shoved his whittling in his pocket and left without a word.

‘He’s such a dreamer,’ Marie Flora said. She put the bucket between them and went to a bin in the corner where she gathered an apron full of potatoes and put them beside the bucket. She handed Selina a knife. ‘‘Tis sharp. Mind you do not cut yourself.’

Quite the little mother and not at all shy any more. Selina couldn’t help but smile. She watched the child peel her first tatty and then began to work on her own.

‘Not sae deep,’ the girl said sharply.

Selina looked up.

‘You are cutting too much of the flesh,’ Marie Flora said. ‘There’ll be nothing left. Watch.’

Clearly if she didn’t get this right her worth was going to go down in this young lady’s eyes. She watched closely, saw how she rested her thumb against the vegetable and skimmed the skin away.

She tried again. This time she did better and the child nodded her satisfaction. She grinned to herself. This was nice, sitting here working on something useful with a companion, instead of setting fine stitches within an embroidery hoop on a piece of cloth only fit to adorn something that was already beautiful enough.

‘Dig the eyes out like this,’ Marie Flora said, showing her how she twirled the point of the knife in the little brown indentations. She put her finished potato in the bowl and washed another one before starting in on it with her knife.

Selina finished her first one by the time Marie Flora had done three, but she elicited no more criticism so she assumed she was doing it right, if slowly.

Thomas wandered in with a wooden bucket full of creamy milk. It sloshed over the side when he closed the door. His sister muttered something in Gaelic and leapt to her feet. The boy went bright red. She snatched the bucket
from his hand, all the while scolding. The boy shot Selina a considering glance.

‘Don’t you have any Gaelic at all?’ he asked.

‘Not really.’ She knew a few curse words, but it would be better not to say those. She would save them for Ian when he returned.

Married, indeed. At least he could have warned her. And now they were to share that bed in there. Her traitorous body tightened at the thought and she flushed warm all over. But it would be just like last night, she reminded herself. They would sleep. Nothing more.

The potatoes were finished and her hands were red, raw and numb from the cold water. This would be the kind of thing she would have to learn if they really were married. It would be a very different life. And fraught with danger, no doubt. A trickle of excitement flowed through her.

Marie Flora handed her a towel and turned to her brother. ‘Thomas, take these peels outside, then take yourself off and cut some peat for the fire.’

Thomas picked up the bucket and heaved it out of the door. ‘I’ll add just these tatties to the stew and then we’ll make bannocks,’ Marie Flora said.

‘You’ll have to teach me that, too.’

‘The Laird’s wife doesn’t know how to make bannocks?’

She winced. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Oh, aye, you’ll be living in that grand house in the village. Da took me there once to sell—’ She clapped a hand to her mouth.

She rushed off and busied herself at the table, cutting up the potatoes and adding them to the pot over the fire, which was already giving off a delicious aroma.

First Marie Flora put a large flat rock on top of the fire. ‘The bannock stane,’ she said at Selina’s surprised expression. ‘We don’t have a
girdle.
’ She meant a griddle, Selina guessed. The girl then put out flour in a bowl and mixed it with water. After turning it into a flat round bread, she carefully put it on the hot stone. ‘It won’t take long.’

Selina’s stomach grumbled loudly.

The girl looked at her in astonishment. ‘Are you hungry?’

It was then that Selina realised that she had eaten nothing since dinner time the night before, apart from a handful of oats this morning. How could she ask for food when these people had so little?

‘A glass of water is all I need,’ she said, taking a mug from the shelf on the wall and pouring a glass from the pitcher on the table. It would hold her until supper. Unless by some wonderful chance of fortune they ate at midday.

Marie Flora finished cleaning up from her baking and Selina smiled at her. ‘What next?’

‘I have some darning if you’ve a mind to help me. With Da and two boys there’s always a muckle of mending to be done.’

Selina laughed. ‘Well, that is one thing I know I can do.’

Marie Flora pulled out a basket full of what looked like rags, but as she held them up Selina saw they were rough homespun shirts and hose that had been patched and darned more than once. Immediately, she settled herself down to make the necessary repairs and while she worked she asked Marie Flora to teach her the Gaelic words for the things around them. The time flew by.

Selina didn’t remember a time when she had felt more at ease within herself or had spent so pleasant an afternoon. She was still wondering at the strange feeling of contentment when a noise outside had Marie Flora leaping to her feet. ‘‘Tis Father home for his dinner.’

She packed her sewing in the basket and took the shirt from Selina, who had just finished turning the cuff, and began setting the table.

Selina went to the window and saw a man dismounting from a horse.

Not in uniform, but still her heart began to
race. Was it someone looking for her and Ian? What should she do?

‘Marie Flora, it is not your father.’

The child left what she was doing and came to the window. She frowned. ‘Why, it is Mr Tearny, the rent man. It is not his day to come.’

Tearny. An employee of her father’s. Was it coincidence he was here?

‘The Laird and I do not want anyone to know where we are,’ she said quickly.

The girl’s face asked why.

‘Please, Marie Flora, do not mention you have seen us.’ She slipped into the bedroom listening as the girl answered the knock on the door, hearing the rumble of the man’s voice, but not clearly enough to make out the words.

Her heart banged against her ribs. Her body vibrated with the force of its beating and all the while she was torn as to whether she should simply go out there and ask him to take her home.

Leave Ian without a word of farewell?

She couldn’t. It would be wrong. Besides, she had no idea what sort of welcome awaited her there. She might be thrown in prison as a smuggler.

The moment Marie Flora closed the outside door Selina stepped out of the bedroom. The child’s face was white; she looked ready to faint. She held a paper in her hand as if she feared it would bite.

‘What is it?’

She raised her gaze and Selina saw tears standing in her moss-green eyes. ‘I have not opened it. It is addressed to Pa, but Tearny said it is a notice to leave.’ She held the paper out and Selina saw the Albright seal.

‘Why?’

‘We havena’ paid our rent this quarter. Da needed a bit more time.’

Her stomach sank. What was Father about? It was wrong to throw families out of their homes. He might be ambitious, but she had never thought him cruel.

Sounds of voices outside sent Selina skipping back into the bedroom and Marie Flora running to the window.

‘It is all right,’ Marie Flora called out. ‘‘Tis Father and the Laird washing up for dinner at the stream.’

Selina closed her eyes with relief, but the heartache remained. It was wrong to turn out this family.

His hair damp, his shirt wet and clinging to his broad shoulders from where he had bathed, Ian looked weary, but also mouth-wateringly attractive. Selina had trouble forcing herself not to stare.

She’d been running into this problem from the moment she had seen him at Lord Carrick’s
drum. It was pathetic. Where Ian Gilvry was concerned, she was pathetic.

And now she had all her hopes pinned on him being able to help this small family.

‘‘Tis a good day’s work we did today, lass,’ McKinly said, his weary face wreathed in a smile as his gaze rested on his daughter. ‘The Laird did young Willy’s share as well as his own.’

‘That’s good news, Father,’ Marie Flora said. Her gaze dropped to the letter on the table.

‘What’s this, then?’ he asked.

‘Mr Tearny left it but a few moments ago. I am surprised you didn’t see him.’

All the joy went out of the room and the shadows in the corner seemed to encroach as McKinly picked up the paper. His gaze went to Ian, who gave a single regretful shake of his head.

Young Thomas barrelled in. ‘Pa,’ he yelled, ‘there are soldiers riding in the glen.’

‘Ah, saints give me strength. Not so soon.’ He ripped open the paper. He stared at it, his lips moving as he read the words.

Ian’s shoulders tensed. He looked as if he wanted to snatch the paper and read it for himself. Instead he went to the window and looked out. ‘How far away are these men?’ he asked Thomas.

‘They were at Grannie’s house.’

His father looked up sharply. ‘You ijit, boy, I thought you meant they were coming here.’

The boy looked offended. ‘They might come here next. They were asking Grannie if she’d seen any travellers in the past two days.’

Ian stiffened. ‘What did she say?’

The lad gave a sly smile. ‘She said the only thing strange within twenty miles was the boggert she’d seen last night wandering the hills to the north. They rode off in that direction.’

Ian relaxed. ‘She’s an evil old woman, but she’s not a traitor.’

McKinly glanced down at the paper in his hand and then handed it to Ian. ‘We have a week to come up with the back rent or we must pack up and go.’ Hands flat on the table, he bowed his head, his eyes closed.

‘I could—’ Selina started.

Ian cut her off with a sharp chop of his hand and a glare.

‘We will sell the cow and the calf,’ McKinly said. ‘I’ll take it to market.’

‘But, Father,’ Marie Flora said, ‘we need the milk.’

Her father let go a long breath. ‘You are right, lass.’ He looked at Ian. ‘Will you buy my barley? It will soon be ready for harvest.’

Ian’s jaw flickered. ‘What about bread for your children.’

What on earth did he mean?

‘Happen there’ll be enough coppers left after Albright is paid off to buy bread.’ He looked hopeful.

Selina felt sick. How could Father do this?

Young Thomas crouched beside the hearth, his face pale, his eyes scared. A weight descended on Selina’s chest. She longed to offer comfort, to reassure this small family that everything would be all right, but she couldn’t. She had given up any hope of influencing her father by warning the smugglers and then riding off with Ian. And if she hadn’t, she would not have known any of this. But there must be something she could do.

McKinly glowered down at the paper. ‘These notices have been going out for weeks to anyone behind in their rent. Will you buy my barley before I bring it in? Will you risk it?’

‘Aye,’ Ian said, nodding. ‘It looks like a good crop. Too bad we didn’t know about this before your boy left, he could have brought the money back with him.’

‘We have a week,’ McKinly said. ‘I look forward to seeing Tearny’s face when I hand him the money.’

Ian held out his hand with a grin. ‘It is a bargain. Tomorrow we’ll work on clearing the other field of rocks, so you can plant more barley next year.’

McKinly turned to his daughter. ‘See what
it is to have a Laird who cares about his people, lass? Now, where is that dinner I am smelling? My guts are kissing my backbone, I’m that hungry.’