“David cost you a freaking mint and was more trouble than he ever came close to being worth.” Of course, she had brought that on herself. Maybe that was her karma for pissing off her parents and hadn’t she really used him before he used her? She hated it when her conscience made her look at the truth from every angle. A yank of her collar up around her face helped block the coolness of the evening breeze, but she didn’t turn back, just kept trudging on, hugging herself against the mess she’d made of her life.
She was on the verge of bankruptcy and could even lose the two hundred acre farm her parents had resentfully left to her since she was their only child. So far, she’d kept the bank and creditors at bay, but who knew how much longer she’d be able to tap dance around them?
Especially since some out of town big wig named Christopher Larkin had set his sights on her land. A real estate developer, Larkin was ruthless in his never-ending search for more potential acreage. He was well known for ripping away every tree, plowing everything under, and running off all the wildlife.
His subdivisions with their cookie cutter houses filled up several thousand acres at this end of the state. Her banker had already approached her once, gently wheedling with her about perhaps selling off a hundred acres or so to Larkin to get back on her feet.
But Rachel had watched Larkin Construction’s raping of the land for so long—too long, in fact. The bile rose in her throat at the suggestion of giving over even a single blade of grass to that man. Two hundred acres might be more than she could handleright now, but at least all the deer, fox, owls, and other woodland creatures would have a sanctuary against his machines for as long as she could hold out. She’d never met the avaricious Mr. Larkin, but she looked forward to spitting in his eye if she ever did.
As the sun sank lower behind the hills, a shiver raced through her, making her sore back twinge a little harder. She’d probably better turn back. She couldn’t keep walking down the gravel road forever. The farther she ended up walking down the road, the farther she was going to have to walk back.
Weariness hit her hard and made her pause to take in the view. The land always made her feel better. The earth cradled her, and the trees whispered for her to not give up hope. Oranges and reds of the setting sun kissed the fresh spring growth, promising that once again, winter had failed to stop the rebirth. Everywhere she looked there were signs of new life, new beginnings with the promise of what was yet to come.
Taking in a deep breath and letting it ease out, she relaxed as Mother Nature kissed her cheek and sang to her through the budding branches of the trees. One way or another, everything would be all right. She wouldn’t give up and consider otherwise.
CHAPTER 7
Caelan ran his finger along the line in the cookbook one more time to ensure he was preparing the baked chicken pie just right. He bent to the level of the kitchen countertop and inspected the piecrust from every angle. It looked like a disaster, but he’d followed the wee book word for word. Hopefully, the thing would be worth swallowing rather than spitting out.
What a feckin’ complicated task it was to prepare even the simplest of dinners. He had never realized the work that went into a meal. Mistress Jennet and Mistress Florie back at the keep always bustled about when preparing meals that sometimes were called upon to feed the entire clan, but he had always assumed that was just their nature. The way they handed out duties to the kitchen lads and maids with firm commands and a shake of their fingers as though countering an attack—now he understood why.
The efficient women had always seemed to pull suckling pigs, loaves of bread, savory puddings, and baked pies out of thin air without so much as batting an eye. There had always been something wonderful bubbling in the kettle over the kitchenfiresjust in case the laird would need a wee something to tide him over.
When he got back, he was going to wrap his arms around both the women and tell them how thankful he was for all the wonderful meals they had labored to make over the years.
Never again would he take them for granted, or bellow at them from the head table in the great hall. He would ensure they both understood how much they were appreciated just in case he had been guilty of taking them a wee bit for granted.
Breath held and teeth clenched to keep from ruining his handiwork, he eased the pie into the oven. The broken screen door banged behind him, making him smile and breathe easier. Even without turning, he knew Rachel was back. His senses spiked with joy at the feel of her in the room.
“Sit ye down at the table,” he said without a glance her way, “and I’ll pour ye a bit of the mulled wine I made. It’ll run the chill right out of your bones.”
Choosing a pair of heavy ceramic mugs yellowed with age, he filled them with the aromatic liquid from the pot on the back of the stove. He set her steaming mug in front of her, then settled himself at the table with her, sitting on the other side to give her the space he sensed she needed. After tonight, that would change, he promised himself. He tipped a nod at the cup in front of her. “That’s a recipe my clan has known for so long we’ve forgotten where it came from. Many a warrior has sworn his heart to his maiden over such a mug of wine.”
“You have a very unusual way with words. Do all Scotsmen talk the way you do?” Rachel fidgeted in the chair, staring down into the steaming mug while worrying her fingertips around its rim.
He eyed her over the edge of his mug as he stoked his intentions with a wee sip. “I dinna ken aboutallScotsmen, but as a Highlander, I speak from my heart.”
“I’ve always dreamed of going to Scotland,” she said. “The pictures I’ve seen are beautiful.” She hugged the cup between her hands and lifted it to her lips, pausing as if almost afraid to taste what was within. She gently blew across its surface, then swallowed hard before pulling in a wee sip.
Caelan forced himself not to smile while waiting for her reaction. It would not be mannerly to gloat.
She wrinkled her nose at him, like a child about to tease its playmate. “This is wonderful.” She took a deeper drink, inhaling as she held it in her mouth.
“Aye, lass, it is wonderful.” He relaxed back in his chair, his heart warming—as well as other parts of him. He loved the windblown mess of her hair. Her unruly tresses were so black that they almost shimmered with shades of blue when the light caught them just right. The chill from her walk and the first few sips of the sweet warm wine had set a lovely blush high upon her cheekbones. Her amethyst eyes had gone so dark they were nearly ebony. Even though she could be a fury when she wished, she struck him as tiny and fragile, like a wild fawn on its first forage away from its mother.
Her heartbeat pulsed beneath the ivory skin at the base of her throat, making him pull in a deeper breath. Beyond his control, his lips twitched, longing to kiss the spot and warm her blood with his caresses. The timer on the stove buzzed with a loud annoying chatter, rudely interrupting him from his reverie.
“What’s for supper?” she asked, while stretching to see what he had in the oven. The tensed set of her shoulders had relaxed, and her smile came easier now. Mulled wine was the best medicine Caelan had ever found.
“Chicken pie,” he said, while frowning at the lopsided crust and its holes bubbling with the golden gravy. “Your wee book said it would be done by this time, but do ye not think it should be more brown?”
“That stove is older than I am, and the oven has a mind of its own. Go more by what the food looks like than what the recipe says. If you want it darker put it back in for another five minutes. That should do the trick.” She propped her chin in her hand and shifted with a telltale sigh while her gaze raked across him.
Caelan tried not to smile at the pure lust in her eyes, but he couldn’t help himself. If not for the fear of driving her away, he would drape her across the kitchen table and feast on her rather than the chicken pie.
Her eyes flared wide as she seemed to realize he'd read her thoughts. The blush on her cheeks flamed a brighter red. She ducked her head, cleared her throat, and took another sip of her wine.
He chuckled to himself as he slid the pie back into the oven and reset the timer. As a successful laird for the past fifteen years, he read people easier than books, but he would show her mercythis time. “Why have ye never traveled to Scotland?” he asked to give her something else to focus on, “since ye always dreamed of going there.”
