The Country Wife (2 page)

“Aye? Why’s that, lass?” Seemingly occupied with the worn leather, he’d paid her little attention.

“Are you not a nobleman? I’m certain you’ve had stable boys to do such common work. Likely all you know about your horse is its speed so you can place a wager.”

“Aye, I have my coat of arms, and I’ve had stable boys to care for my steeds, but I’ve never shied from a decent day’s work.”

He urged the horses forward so they soon had the cart back on the muddy road and her lame mare tied off at the rear. She stood gaping at his efficiency.

He slogged forward to tower over her. “Why would you think I wager on horses or drink too much? You know nothing about me?”

His deep voice rumbled in her ear breaking her spell. Her lips tightened.

“Every nobleman I’ve observed has.” Her delicate nose tipped upward in unspoken disapproval.

“And you’ve observed many a nobleman, have you?”

Blood suffused her cheeks at his question. “Enough to know the nature of your kind,” she snapped.

The sound of his laughter shocked her. How could he laugh when they were in danger?

“Why are you so prejudiced against noblemen, lass? We’re not all a bad lot.”

“Perhaps not in your own eyes, m’laird,” she said with some sarcasm.

“Can you drive the horses by yourself?” he asked abruptly. “They’re a lively pair and won’t co-operate being harnessed to a cart.”

She shrugged and stepped to the cart. “No need to fear. There’s no horseflesh I can’t handle,” she boasted and took up the reins.

The little cart swayed as he climbed into the back. She slapped the reins against sleek horseflesh and was prepared when they jumped in surprise then balked at her expectations. She took up the whip.

“Don’t put the whip to my horses,” Callum called hoarsely. “They’ll do your bidding without.”

“I’ll not whip them, but I’ll scare them a bit.” She flicked the whip in the air well above their backs. They pranced a bit but eventually with her strong hold on the reins they settled down and moved forward.

“Ha!” she cried triumphantly, glancing over her shoulder.

Callum made no reply. He’d tucked the squalling babe against his own side and lay slumped in the corner of the cart his head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth slack.

“Humph! Better close your own mouth or
you’ll
drown,” she growled, but no one seemed to hear her.

Chapter Two

What was she to do with two wounded men, she wondered crossly, and what would happen to them all if those pursuers came back? And what if she couldn’t find the croft in this rain? She slapped the reins against glossy rumps, urging the fine horses into a faster trot. They complied, seemingly as eager to be done with this onerous task as she.

She wondered why anyone would be chasing Callum MacAlister. Vaguely she remembered hearing her father speak of the MacAlisters. Callum was the old laird’s son who’d gone off to war and returned a hero. He’d been granted a new land charter and his father’s lands restored to him for his service to the Crown. Such was not always the case. The MacAlisters must have powerful connections to the Crown.

She thought of her own clan, broken and disbanded, and of Edward, her wayward brother. Her heart squeezed painfully with grief. She pushed it away and concentrated on the muddy road. Not far ahead she left the road behind, taking a narrow, bumpy path across the moor. Behind her, Callum groaned, but when she looked back, he lay as before.

She lost her way but stumbled onto the mountain trail once more. She prayed this was Tollis Hill and went over and over the directions she’d been given. Night had fallen by the time she reached the croft. No welcoming light awaited her. She’d expected none for word had come to them in Strathclyde that Thom Hardy had been killed. Lilli thought of all that had occurred and how they’d fled for their very lives into the night. Upon hearing of her father’s death, Lilli Hardy, Jane’s serving girl, had offered them her father’s croft as a refuge, at least until Jane had given birth to her baby. But Archibald Campbell had pursued them, and Lilli Hardy had been killed. Later Jane had died in childbirth while Edward swung at the end of a Campbell rope. Only Lilli MacGregor remained with little Rose, though Lilli couldn’t risk using her own name. She’d already decided to go by Hardy, and pray for the best.

She closed away the memory and concentrated on finding the croft. It would take a miracle for her to find it now. Then in the lightning flash, she saw the sturdy stone building and gave up a cry. They’d found it. Miracles still happened.

The distressed lowing of a cow came to her—Blarach, Thom Hardy’s favorite milk cow. The message had stated a neighbor from a croft below would tend the stock until relatives could come. Obviously he’d not made it this day. It was just as well. She’d soon have milk enough for them all.

She pulled the cart to a halt before the cottage door and let her shoulders sag. It had been a hard day for anybody to endure, and now, she must tend two wounded men, a bawling milk cow and a wee babe who’d lost its mother these two days past. No sound came from the back of the cart. She was of a mind to slump down on the hard wooden bench and rest her head a bit, but rain slashed at her and she knew she must go on. There was no one else to take the burden from her shoulders.

Wearily she climbed down and walked to the rear of the cart. Callum MacAlister made no move. Nor did his young guardsman, Toby. The boy lay unnaturally still. She checked his pulse and found none. Tears welled for an instant before she dashed them away and anger took over. More death. More innocent lives taken and for what purpose?

“M’laird,” she said shaking Callum’s shoulder, but he didn’t respond. “God’s tears, don’t tell me you’re dead, too!” she exclaimed and shook him harder.

He groaned and rolled his head. Rose woke and began to cry, a desperately weakened mewing. The cow bawled impatiently, the fine horses stamped in protest against the cart pole and rain pounded them all without let up. She held the baby against her shoulder and looked at the sky.

“I didn’t think you could make it worse,” she muttered. “But you have.” She lowered her gaze, considering what to do first. Best to get the bairn inside and start a fire. She opened the door and stepped inside the humble cottage.

Relief flooded her at the surcease of the rain pounding against her. In that moment, no castle, no matter how grand, could compare with the sense of warmth and security the sturdy croft offered. She held her breath, half expecting the dwelling to dissolve around her then hurried to put the baby down and light a lamp. Her gaze swept around the room, taking in the homemade plenishing then paused at the fireplace with its stack of peat. Shedding her shawl, she knelt on the hearth, feeling pleased with herself when she soon had a fire blazing cheerfully. She left the babe propped between two pillows and went out into the rain.

Callum lay as she’d left him. He was a big man, and she despaired at how she’d get him out of the cart, but he roused enough to climb over the sides, although he fell heavily against her slender form. She guided him into the croft and left him sprawled on the bed.

The guardsman was dead. Too weary to deal with him now, she covered his sightless eyes with her shawl and spread hay to protect him from the rain.

Unhitching the horses, she led them into the byre where she rubbed them down with hay and left them a small measure of oats she found. Finally, she turned her attention to the cow.

“Easy, now, Blarach,” she crooned.

Her hands were stiff and cold, and the cow sensed her inexperience, but need lent Lilli a resolution she might not otherwise have had, so she tugged on the swollen teats. Soon she sensed a rhythm and applied herself. A bucket was quickly filled. In a small, penned area, a calf bleated piteously and guessing it might belong to Blarach, Lilli let the eager calf come in to its mother.

When she made her way back to the cottage, she found that Callum had pulled Rose into his arms and given her the tip of his finger to suckle. Such subterfuge did little to satisfy the baby’s hunger, and she paused now and then to utter a frustrated cry. Quickly, Lilli heated milk and, using a clean rag, dribbled the warm liquid into the babe’s mouth. At first, Rose spat it out, wailing in distress, but soon her hunger won out, and she greedily suckled. When her belly was full, Lilli swaddled her in a blanket warmed by the fire and placed her well back on the bed where she slept peacefully.

Lilli stood gazing at her, worrying over the helpless creature. Edward’s daughter! All that remained of the passion between two headstrong nobility—a passion that had cost too many lives, including theirs. A passion that had sparked a feud that would claim still more lives before it was through. Only she could save her brother’s baby.

She stroked the silken hair and said a silent prayer. Warmth and milk had returned some color to the tiny face, but Lilli knew a babe without its mother was in danger. She sighed. She’d done all she could for now.

She turned to her patient. She’d been all too aware as she moved about the room that he watched her with an unfathomable gaze. She stood over him and thought any man should be diminished in such a helpless state, but she sensed the force of his powerful nature and the strength of his wounded body.

“Now, ‘tis your turn,” she said quietly and tugged off the soiled jacket and the blood stained shirt beneath.

When she’d removed his clothes she drew back, momentarily averting her eyes in modesty for his broad chest was bared to her view, its breadth grand to look upon. But then her gaze was drawn to the sculpted muscles and whorls of dark hair that matted his chest. The skin was smooth and supple across muscle and bone, burned brown where the sun had touched and the sun had touched most of him. The wound gaped ugly and vicious on such a splendid body as his.

Taking a breath, she gently probed the flesh around the hole, ignoring the satiny warmth of his skin beneath her hands. He winced, and she flushed, ashamed her thoughts had dwelled on such intimate things when he was so seriously wounded.

“You’ll need stitches,” she said, searching for sewing tools. She found a small box in one of the chests with a needle and thread carefully stored within.

“How’s the lad?” he asked although the effort was telling.

“He’s no longer in this world.” She threaded her needle and turned toward him in time to see a glint of moisture in his dark eyes. “Never fear, m’laird. You’ll find another guardsman when you return home. You’ve no call to grieve. His mother will do plenty of that.”

He cast her a sorrowful glance and wiped his cheek with a blood-encrusted hand. “No, there are none who could replace Toby. He came to our home when he was but a lad, nothing more than a changeling, but all who met him loved him. None more than me.” He glanced at her again, a quick appraisal of the girl and the instrument she held. “Let’s get on with it, lass.”

She settled on the edge of the bed, her head bowed, her gaze intent on the slender steel shaft she threaded through his flesh. He grunted with pain then clenched his jaw and made no further outcry while she pulled the jagged edges of skin together with her neat stitches.

“What am I to call you?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the pain.

“Lilli Hardy,” she said, raising her head to stare at him.

“Ca—” he began, but she cut him short.

“You told me your name already, and that’s more information than I wish to know,” she said.

“That may be, but I’ve a wish you remember my name. I would have you contact my family if I die.” He met her gaze fiercely. “My mother would want to know what happened to her son.”

Lilli looked at him in some surprise. “You’re the new laird that m-my father spoke about. Why would men be trying to kill you?”

“The king has rewarded me with the return of family lands, which a distant clansman claims as his own. I believe it was he who tried to kill me.”

To change the subject and keep his mind from the pain, Callum focused his attention on the girl. She was bonnier than he’d first noted, her ivory skin smooth and unblemished. Her golden hair had dried into a wispy halo around her heart-shaped face, the curling tendrils caught back impatiently with a plain ribbon. Her dress was of fine cloth, unusual for a country lass. Its pale green bodice edged with a lace collar, its full skirts flaring from the waist, hiding the litheness of her slight figure. But it was her eyes that caught his attention. That made him draw a breath and wait for her to glance his way again. They were as soft and rich in color as the moss growing on the backside of a rock, yet with a clarity that made him think she could see all the way into his soul.

“‘Tis the best I can do, m’laird,” she said softly in that lilting voice.

He was surprised that she had neatly sewn his wound and with a greater skill than the butchers who plied their trade on the battlefields.

“Well done, lass,” he said gruffly. “You’ve a fine hand.”

“Aye,” she said, acknowledging his words but leaving little room for the conversation to continue. “Where were you bound?” She moved about the small cottage, putting away her sewing implements and crossing to the hearth to stir a small kettle of savory smelling food.

“I think I’ve told you more than you need to know. My road runs afoul with trouble, not of my own making I might add.” He drew a deep breath, feeling some ease from the burning pain in his shoulder. “I’d be obliged if you shared with me a wee bowl of what simmers in that kettle.”

“Aye, I don’t intend to leave you starving then. What manner of woman do you take me for?” she replied tartly, and he was sorry for his implied criticism. Had she not tended him well, seeing to his fine horses and young Toby? Had she not used her own precious needle and yarn to sew his wound? Her color was high by the time she brought a bowl of stew to him.

“I expect you’ll be moving on come morning?” Though couched as a question, the meaning of her words was clear enough.

He paused in dipping his spoon into the stew and regarded her with surprise and some annoyance.