Lessons in Loving a Laird (3 page)

The Englishman crossed his arms at his chest. Slowly, his eyes took their fill of her, and she grew uncomfortable under his perusal. She could just imagine how she looked to him. Horse manure caked her shoes and lined the hem of her dress. Her wet, shiny hair hung down her head like long black snakes. Her once-white pinafore was now mottled with smears from handling the rain-soaked animals.

A thread of embarrassment coiled inside her. The image she presented to him was little more than mud, moisture, and manure. At least her branded hand was behind her, out of his sight.

“How much were you given for her?”

Hume wrung the tam in his hands. “Er … two pound, my lord.”

The Englishman scratched his jaw. “I’ve not hired any outside servants yet—other than the gamekeeper, that is. I’ll need someone to look after the livestock that Hartopp is conveying to the estate. As you’ll have little enough need of Shona yourself, you can article her to me. And for that, I’ll reduce your debt by a further four pounds.”

Hume silently considered the proposition.

But not Shona.

“Ye’ve a bloody cheek!” she told the Englishman, her hands pinned to her hips. “How dare ye trade me aboot like an animal! Who do ye think ye are? I won’t be bought and sold like a heifer.”

Mr. Hartopp rolled his eyes. “My dear young woman, there is little enough difference between a parish apprentice and a farmyard animal. In fact, if it were left to smell alone, I doubt the laird would be able to distinguish between a heifer and yerself.”

The Englishman suppressed a chuckle. Shona, however, was not similarly amused.

“Why, you ill-begotten, half-bairned son of a cur!” She lunged at Mr. Hartopp, determined to scratch the smug look off his face. Before her nails made contact, a long arm snaked around her middle.

“Whoa!” shouted the Englishman. “It was only a jest.”

“’Twas no jest,” she said, struggling against the Englishman’s superior strength. “’Twas an insult, clear and deliberate!”

He laughed. “You thrust first in that swordfight. It was not so long ago you called him a whey-haired old goat. Now sheathe your claws.”

Shona stopped wriggling. When she did, she became vividly aware of the feel of the man holding her tightly. Behind her was a wall of strength—a wide chest dense with muscle, narrowing to a firm waist. His long legs prevented any retreat, but she wasn’t making any. She grasped the arm wrapped around her middle. The fabric of his sleeve was soft, but the muscles beneath were marble-hard. Her waning fury was quickly replaced by a surprisingly agreeable sensation.

He released her, and she backed away from him. Her body was still tingling wherever it had made contact with his.

He jerked on his waistcoat, straightening his clothes. “Now, the fact remains that my estate is not yet fully staffed, and your services will be required. Apprentices don’t usually get paid, but I am prepared to offer you a small wage, in addition to bed and board.
If
you’re industrious and well behaved, that is. And I’ll give Mr. Findlay here until the end of the year to make up the balance owed. Now, are we in agreement?”

For the first time, hope winked inside her. Not only would Hume have more time to pay his debts, but she would finally be able to earn a wage. Her mind reeled with the possibilities of how her and Willow’s lives would change if they went to work for the Englishman. Surely with some money jingling in their pockets, they would be in a better position to seek their own lives—and Camran—once they turned twenty-one. Also, she’d be able to tend to Pillow and all the other animals she’d come to love.

On the other hand, the Englishman might prove to be an evil taskmaster. She’d heard stories of Sassenach lords and the advantages they took of servant girls. For all his boorishness and bluster, Hume was no lecher. She wasn’t so sure about the Englishman. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

The Englishman’s eyes gazed at her in bemused curiosity. He was handsomer than she had at first surmised. His eyes were blue, like the sky on a summer day, encircled by a darker cobalt, like the color of a loch in winter. Beneath his long eyebrows, his eyes were edged by a thick fringe of dark brown lash. The wind picked up a sandy brown whorl from above his forehead. His jaw was clean-shaven, but tomorrow’s beard lay submerged underneath.

Maybe this would not be such a bad move after all. “Sounds fair enough. Aye. Willow and I can be there on the morrow.”

The crease between his eyebrows deepened. “Willow? Is that the cow’s name?”

Shona laughed. “No. Willow is my sister.”

His dark lips thinned. “Willow is not part of the bargain between myself and Mr. Findlay. She can stay here on the farm.”

The smile drained from her face. “Nay. Willow must come with me.”

The Englishman sighed. “I’m sorry. Findlay, please sort this out. Hartopp will draw up the articles of indenture. I want the girl on my estate before nightfall.” The Englishman stepped onto the carriage.

“I’ll not leave without Willow,” she protested.

Hume put a hand on her arm. “Leave it be, Shona. I want Willow to stay here with me.”

She jerked her arm free and ran to the carriage door, holding it open. “Ye
must
take us both. Keep the wages if ye wish, but I’ll not leave Willow behind.”

“Shona, hush yerself!” Hume admonished. “Take no notice of her, my lord. ’Tis sisterly affection between them. But they are of age now, and must learn to live apart.”

“No,” she insisted. “It is both or none.”

“Young woman,” began the Englishman, “I am not in the habit of being issued ultimatums, least of all by those in my employ. Now I strongly suggest that you—”

His voice trailed off and his eyes lifted to a place just behind her. She turned to look. Willow was standing behind her.

“Please, my lord,” Willow said. “Don’t separate us. I’ll be no trouble, I promise.”

He blinked. “You’re Shona’s sister?”

“Aye, my lord.” Willow cast her face toward the ground, her blond hair falling forward along her cheeks.

He gave Willow a leisurely appraisal. His expression was one that many men had when they set eyes upon Willow. “Very well, Shona. I’ll take you both. I think I might be able to find something for her to do. Gather your belongings. The carriage leaves in ten minutes.”

*   *   *

Within five minutes, the girls had tossed their wardrobe—the frocks that they shared between them—and their few belongings into a worn leather valise they had brought with them from the orphanage. Iona stood in the doorway of their room and wept, swearing all sorts of curses upon Hume’s bald head.

“Don’t cry, Iona,” said Shona as she changed out of her wet dress and into a dry one. “The estate is only five miles away. I promise Willow and I will be back every chance we get.”

Iona’s nose looked like a wet cherry. “Five miles? It may as well be fifty. Ye’ll never make it out to the farm from that distance. And even if ye could, there’s no telling what that Sassenach laird will be like. He might refuse to let ye leave the estate. He might be just as bad a tyrant as his uncle, may that man rot in his grave. Oh, God. What if he’s a scoundrel? What if he takes advantage of ye?” Iona dissolved into tears again.

Willow embraced Iona from behind as Shona grasped the older woman’s hands. “We’re not going to let that happen,” Shona assured her. “Don’t ye worry. We can take care of ourselves.”

“Ye, perhaps. But Willow, sweeting, ye must promise to be strong.” She turned toward Willow, whose own tears had begun to fall swiftly. “Men are animals, the lot of ’em. They want only one thing, especially from a pretty girl like ye. Ye mustn’t let anyone bully ye into giving them favors. Not yer master, not the other servants. Ye’re a sweet girl, and ye don’t understand the effect ye have on a man.”

Shona looked away, stung once again by the realization that she was not the prettier of the two. Willow’s effortless loveliness drew men to her like flies to honey. She could see why. That creamy, unblemished skin, which invited caresses; the childlike shape of her face, which lent her an ageless beauty; those full, shell-pink lips that formed a perpetual pout; her long, shiny lashes, which made her appear as if she had just been weeping. Yet there was an unawareness of her own beauty, making Willow much more susceptible to men’s flattery, leaving her as helpless as a tethered goat outside a den of wolves. Iona’s advice was a truth that Willow needed to hear.

“And ye,” continued Iona, placing both her hands on Shona’s cheeks, “take care of yer sister. Ye’re a sensible soul, and ye’ve sound instincts. If anyone makes unreasonable demands of either of ye, or hurts ye in any way, promise me that ye’ll run away straight home. D’ye understand? Hie yerselves here.”

“I promise,” she said.

A crest of tears spilled over the rims of Iona’s blue eyes. “Dear Lord, what am I going to do without m’girls?”

They went downstairs to the kitchen, where Iona placed some treacle biscuits and the kidney pie she had made for Hume’s dinner into a basket. She stumbled over her own sobs, trying to pour overdue motherly advice into their heads. All she managed to do was stammer unintelligibly.

The driver placed their bundles in the rumble of the carriage. He then held the door open for them and helped them onto the coach.

The interior of the coach was even grander than the exterior. Burgundy-colored leather seats faced each other, and the matching walls were accented with gold trim. The clear glass windows were elegantly etched at each corner.

Shona glanced at the other occupant. Not only did the carriage seem to belong to another world, but so did the Englishman. He had a manner that bespoke generations of breeding, completely at ease with his own power and wealth. His tall frame filled the cabin, and his long legs extended out almost to the opposite seat. He was immensely attractive … for a Sassenach. Shona edged past his lap and sat opposite him, while Willow took her place beside her sister, their gloved hands clasped nervously in their laps.

The Englishman smiled at Willow. “So you’re the one that Mr. Findlay wouldn’t part with. I can certainly see why.”

Willow smiled sheepishly, a blush whispering across her cheeks. Shona’s protective instincts immediately became alert. To Shona, Willow looked a mess—her hair was uncombed, she was at the pinnacle of her cold, and her clean pinafore was already smudged. But to a man, she probably looked as beautifully rumpled as if she had just risen from a lover’s bed.

“Your name is Willow?”

“Aye, my lord. Willow Slayter, at yer service.”

“What do
you
do for Mr. Findlay?”

Willow glanced up from her downcast head, and shrugged. “Whatever’s required, my lord. Milk the cows, see to the chickens, mend the clothes, do the washing—”

“Do you have children?”

Color flooded her face. “No, my lord. I’m a maiden.”

“I see,” he said, a smile touching his eyes.

“But I love children. When the women of t’other farms would give birth, Iona would ask me to look after the wee ones while the mums got their strength back. I love seeing to bairns.”

“Do you?” he replied, his interest even keener. “In that case, I have a special position I think you might be able to assume.”

The words “dirty sod” flashed through Shona’s mind. “And just what
position
would ye be talking aboot?”

The Englishman flashed a puzzled glance at Shona. “I have an infant son—a two-year-old—and his nursemaid fell ill midway on the journey from London. She simply couldn’t continue, so I had to put her on a coach back home. Consequently, I must engage a nursemaid to look after the boy. Perhaps you, Willow, might be able to fill that station.”

Willow’s face brightened. “I’d love to, my lord!”

The Englishman asked Willow a barrage of questions as to her health, cleanliness, morality, temperance, habits, and specific experience with children. She answered each question with self-effacing candor and meek respect.

The Englishman turned to his factor. “I think Miss Slayter here can serve as Eric’s nursemaid—on a trial basis, of course. Hartopp, ask the housekeeper to get adequate clothes for Miss Slayter. She’ll also need to be given accommodations in the nursery. You’ll ask Mrs. Docherty to see to that as well, won’t you?”

Mr. Hartopp scribbled into his ledger. “Of course, sir.”

Shona became immediately suspicious. “And where is this nursery?”

His brows drew together. “On the uppermost floor. Why do you ask?”

“Will yer bedchamber be adjoining hers?”

“Shona!” Willow admonished.

The Englishman’s lips pursed. “Are you implying that I’m arranging a sordid dalliance with your sister?”

She straightened. “I’ve a right to know what yer intentions are toward her.”

Mr. Hartopp came to his employer’s defense. “Young woman, ye’re speaking to a gentleman and the laird of the estate. If he—”

The Englishman raised his hand and Mr. Hartopp stopped speaking. He leaned forward and brought his face to within inches of hers. “In the first place, I do not care for being upbraided by a servant, however well intentioned it may be. In the second place, if you are accusing me of desiring to take liberties with innocent maids, you have much still to learn about me. And finally, if I
were
to take liberties with anyone in my household, there is nothing you could do to stop me. So I will thank you to remember your place, for if you cannot control your impudent tongue, I will send you—and only you—back to that farm.”

He retracted his imposing frame back to his chair, and Shona could finally breathe again. His threat had winded her, robbing her of speech. During their brief acquaintance, he had accurately discerned what her greatest fear was—to be separated from her twin sister—and he knew precisely how to use that weakness to his own advantage. She now understood that although the Englishman was well groomed and genteel, he was infinitely more dangerous than she had initially thought him. Ownership of the sisters had passed hands from Hume to the Englishman, but she was no longer certain that it was a good thing. A lamb never fared better at the
second
place it went to.