The Country Wife (7 page)

Her fingers went to her wet hair to twist the strands about her head.

“You’ll have to work to earn your keep just like any other man, woman or child,” she said sternly. She’d put her hair up, and now she tied her curtch over her head. By rights, she was not required to wear it for she was not married, but it was necessary to maintain the façade for a while longer. He seemed suspicious enough as it was.

“You can do small chores until you feel stronger.” She spoke as if to a servant. “There’ll be no shirking.” She glared at him as if she’d already found him wanting.

She’d stung his pride. She could see it in the depths of his black eyes. Well, good enough. Perhaps that would keep him from grabbing her at every chance and…and forcing his unwanted kisses on her. She raised her chin in defiance, refusing to admit to herself that his kisses had been exciting and that even now she wasn’t sure she could or would resist them.

He was a laird and not used to being treated like a lowly servant she reminded herself, but all the more reason to do it! He was nothing but an arrogant nobleman used to others doing for him. It was time he learned a lesson. Resolutely she turned away, once again forcing herself to ignore the fact that he had offered to do his share. She could only deny her feelings for him if she thought of him as lazy and selfish. Yet part of her heart cried out that she was wrong to do so.

“You can begin by mucking out the stalls in the byre,” she ordered. “That is, if such a task is not beneath your lairdship.”

He leaped up so quickly she was startled and took a step backward in spite of herself. His hand went out to steady her, his grasp strong and unbreakable, the touch of his hand on her flesh a searing brand that left her breathless.

“Let go of me!” Her voice shrilled. “You’ll not touch me again or you’ll be gone from here.” She saw the anger flare, dark and mysterious as the man himself.

“You’ve no reason to fear,” he growled. “I’ve no wish to touch you again, and I’ll muck your bloody byre.”

He let go of her so abruptly she slid a little on the damp grass, but he paid no heed, simply stalked away toward the byre where, from her vantage point, she could see Blarach add another dollop of waste to his task.

Chapter Seven

In the days that followed, she set him to every lowly task she could find, deliberately goading him for his failures, laughing at his poor efforts. He made no answer to her cutting remarks, merely went about performing his chores, and in their repetition, gaining some adeptness so finally she was forced to grudgingly admit to herself he was a good worker. Never would she tell him that! He gathered more eggs, cut more peat, coaxed more milk and still had energy left for laughter. Often he teased her so she turned away to hide her blushes and her giggles. And when she grew tired, he was beside her to lend a hand with her chores or to take little Rose into the sunshine.

She was grateful for those moments when she could be alone with no one making demands of her, moments when she could gather her scattered thoughts and look ahead to a future that seemed to hold little opportunities for either her or Rose.

Her position was made even less tenable by the fear the new laird would discover her true identity and realize she had no right to this mountain top. She had no man to work the farm and she couldn’t do it alone, even if she knew how. She’d be put off the land and where would she go then? There were few places for a penniless noblewoman from a broken clan. Who would take her in with a wee bairn to tend? He would have to leave before he became suspicious of her lies, still her heart quavered at the thought of his going.

In the evening, when darkness washed away the sunlight beyond the door and the room was all aglow with candlelight—when baby Rose was fed and in her bed, and Callum sat on the stool by the hearth while she dished up their meal—then she felt moments of sweet contentment. At the same time, she felt a strange yearning that left her melancholy and edgy.

Sometimes when calmness settled around them, she sought something witty to say, but nothing came and so they sat staring into the glowing embers and she felt a flame burning bright within her. Helplessly, she felt it gather momentum and knew it might well consume her in the end.

For his part, Callum sat with his hands clasped between his knees, silent and withdrawn, his gaze fixed on the winking coals and wondered why she hated him so. He wondered about the man who had fathered wee Rose, wondered where he was and why he’d left them alone for so long. Wondered if Lilli’s husband was dead and how long she’d grieve before she turned her eyes to another man. He cursed himself.

“Is something wrong?” she asked at such times. “You look so stern. Are you feeling fit enough to travel?” she would ask softly.

“Nay, you’ll be rid of me fast enough,” he’d growl impatiently.

“Not soon enough!” she’d retort and turn away to clear the dishes.

He’d hear the swish of her skirts against the rush floor, each sound a mocking reminder to him that she was not his. Finally, when he could no longer bear the tension, he’d leave the cottage, slamming the door behind him, and go for long walks in the moonlight, where the wispy gold-edged clouds reminded him of her hair.

The heather scented breeze reminded him of her breath, gentle and sweet against his face, and the twin peaks of the mountains drove him to madness remembering the warm lushness of her breasts against his chest.

The room was dark save for the fire glow when he returned to the cottage. Lilli and Rose were sleeping, and after tossing and turning most of the night, so did he.

The next morning was filled with sunshine and yet another day with Lilli.

“And where are you off to, lass?” he asked one morning, watching her fill the cart with fresh hay and settle churns of milk and baskets of new cheese inside.

“To market,” she answered without looking at him. She seldom looked at him now that he was nearly well. She lifted the basket that held little Rose.

“I’ll go with you, then,” he said, putting aside his pitchfork.

“Is it safe?” Her worried gaze met his now.

For a moment, he was undone, looking into her clear eyes. They seemed more the color of blue-green to match her gown.

“Ah, lass, you’re worried about me?” he teased, liking the wash of blush across her pretty cheeks.

“Not a bit,” she answered sharply, her delicate nose decidedly in the air. “I thought only of my own safety and wee Rose’s, for if you’re caught by your enemies, we’d be blamed for harboring you.”

“I’d not let harm come to you and the bonnie Rose.” He brushed aside her concerns and hurried to the watering trough to wash away the stains and smells of the barn. When he turned, his bare chest gleamed wetly and he caught her staring at him. “What’s wrong, lass?” he asked, his voice automatically softening.

“If you’re well enough to travel why can’t you be on your way?” she asked tentatively as if she had no wish to hear his answer.

“At market, I may be able to glean what’s happening as regards to those who attacked Toby and me. And I can send a message to my friends to come lend aid. Are you in such a hurry to be quit of me?”

“Nay, I just wonder that you have no concern for Rose and me.”

“Are you fearful I’ll ruin your good name?” he said with sudden understanding.

“Nay, I…” She hesitated. “Aye, you’re right. There will be little danger. Put on a shirt, if you please,” she scolded, shaking a finger at him. “You wouldn’t show yourself before a lady in such a fashion. Don’t think just because I’m not a fine lady you can disrespect me so.”

“You’re the finest lady I know, and I meant no disservice to you.” He paused. “Do the villagers know you and your husband that well, then?” He bundled the used shirt into a ball and tossed it into a wash basket set near the pump.

“They’ve never met us…him.”

“So then I’ll pretend to be your husband,” he said smiling, his face bright with anticipation.

She frowned at him and turned away. Happy as a lad, he trotted into the cottage and returned with a coarse clean shirt that had been stored in the chest that had once belonged to Thom Hardy.

“I’ll hitch Doire to the cart,” he called and hurried to do so. “Her leg’s much better now.”

He was surprised at how the prospect of an outing to market raised his spirits. He patted the little mare’s neck with some affection. He whistled as he fastened her trappings and Lilli fussed with Rose, seeing her basket bed was well settled in the hay. Finally, she climbed into the seat and gathered the reins. Callum leaped up beside her and took the reins from her hands.

“I’ll drive, lass. You sit back and enjoy the ride.”

He slapped the leather straps against Doire’s back and they were on their way down the slopes to the valley below, for all the world as if they were husband and wife taking their wares to market day. In high spirits, Callum whistled and his good humor was infectious. Soon Lilli relaxed beside him and seemed to enjoy the uncommonly beautiful day.

The sun shone warmly on their heads, its bright light intensifying the colors of rock and sky. Once they reached the lowland road, they met other farmers on their way to market with their wares. They nodded and called to each other. Danger and intrigue seemed very far away at the moment.

“What are you thinking, lass?” Callum asked, catching the luminous beauty of Lilli’s fleeting smile.

“Nothing.” She shook her head then shrugged with an open smile. “I was but remembering going to market day with my father and brother when I was a lass. The crofters would rumble along in their carts, whistling and calling to one another. Their faces were bright and eager for market and a good trade. Their children would dart around the carts or run ahead. My father liked to go early so he could join the festivities and buy the choicest of their wares. I always rode beside him on my own horse, but Edward would race ahead to play with the crofters’ sons. Invariably, they would get into trouble, and some exasperated villager or farmer would bring Edward back by the scruff of his neck to complain.”

Callum laughed, so she continued.

“There was so much noise with sheep and goats bleating and chickens squawking without a thought in their empty heads that they were going off to market and soon would be in a cooking pot.

“And there would be dust rising from the road ahead and behind as drovers herded their bellowing, shaggy cattle along. There was so much excitement and hullabaloo, but the women always talked softly, exchanging advice and gossip, their cheeks blushed red, their eyes aglow with humor. And if that weren’t enough, when we reached the fairgrounds where market was held, there would be dancing bears and jugglers and minstrels who sang funny ditties that made you double over with laughter, songs you knew you couldn’t sing in front of your mother or she’d remind you in the gentlest tones that a lady—” She halted abruptly.

Callum noticed her slip. “Did your mother wish you to be a lady?”

“All mothers wish their daughters to be great ladies,” she replied then went on. “But ‘twas not always so simple and joyous a life. In the winter, there wasn’t always enough peat to heat the cottage and you suffered something fierce from chill blains and your fingers were always nipped with cold. And since there was little feed for the cow, she gave less and less milk. If the cold winter stayed overly long, mother cut back on rations to make the oats last and your portion was less so you were always a little bit hungry.”

“I should not like to think of you hungry, Lilli,” he said with such sincerity that she blushed and looked away. He wondered at her reaction. Had she told him the truth?

“Were you never hungry and cold?” she asked somewhat bitterly.

“Aye, as a soldier on the battlefield, but you expect such things then. Never as a child. I gave no thought to the food set before me. I gave little thought to the people who harvested that food. And when the meat was low, I joined my father and his friends in a hunt.”

“Such luxuries as game are not allowed the common Highlander,” Lilli said, again her voice bitter. “The lot of the peasant is never easy, especially so these past years with wars and feuds and broken clans.”

“Mayhap ‘tis the reason for so much cattle thieving,” Callum said thoughtfully.

“Aye. A man’ll do whatever he must if his child is crying with an empty belly.” She glanced around as if checking that no one overheard them. A cloud seemed to have dulled the brightness of her smile. “As the new laird, you can change things for your people. If you ease their lot even a little bit, you’ll win their loyalty and then no one could usurp your claim, not even Robert Lister.”

“I thought you taken by the scoundrel, then, lass?” Callum said while all the old suspicions came to the fore. “Do you know him well?” He was well aware of a peasant’s penchant to claim ignorance in fear of reprisals against himself or his family.

“I’ve only heard about him, but some Highlanders feel he should be the rightful heir to the lands. The king rewards those who do his bidding with lands taken from others.”

She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. Callum watched her closely, seeing her full pink lips tighten against angry words she might say. She was keeping her secrets close and he wondered what they might be.

“But I am a clan member and I’ve served Scotland well in the king’s army,” he exclaimed, stung by her words. “While my cousin pillaged the countryside, carousing and planting his seed in any willing, and some not so willing, Highland lass’s belly, I was off fighting for my king and country.”

“‘Tis true, I’ve heard the criticism of Robert Lister, that he’s too interested in his own pleasures to care about the needs of those around him. But there’s some who’d disagree.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Callum said stubbornly. “The king himself has granted me the land and I’ll not give it up easily. As for my cousin, he has no legal claim and now he’s wanted by the Crown for his actions. He’s brought this on himself.”

He fell silent, and the swaying cart rolled along while each sat contemplating all that had been said. Callum was too aware of the girl beside him. Her delicate beauty was even more obvious today for her face was luminous with anticipation, her eyes alight with good humor. For the first time, she seemed free of the apprehension that so often claimed her. What had she to fear? And where was her husband? Was he buried in that grave on the hill or did he ride with Robert Lister, himself? Was that how she knew so much about him, why she seemed to feel such loyalty for the rogue outlaw?