“Ah dinnae like it. The weather’s turnin’,” Uncle Callum growled.“It’s gettin’worse by the hour.”
“Uncle Callum, the Laird wants us all tae huv a nice Christmas—which is verra generous,” I pressed.“It falls tae me tae check the livestock and grain before it reaches us. Rowlands only holds the purse strings. He wouldnae ken the difference between a coo an’a goat.”
He rubbed his beard, thinking.
“Aye… ye huv a point there. The man has a verra weak constitution.”
That was an understatement.
“I’ll be back before nightfall.”
“Hmph.”
“Callum, dinnae be so hard-headed,” Aunt Flora cut in gently.“The lassie’s almost twenty years old.”
Which, unfortunately, reminded everyone of my unmarried status.
“Aye. An auld maid,” Ranald sniggered.
I glared at him.
“Fine,” Uncle Callum sighed.
I grinned and darted into my aunt’s room to fetch the good winter coat she’d laid out for me.
A cart ride and a day out.
A day away from the Laird’s strange eyes… and that tempting, unsettling scent.
? ? ?
The two sturdy ponies were the healthiest I’d seen in a long while. I ran my hand down the warmth of one broad flank, comforted by the solid muscle beneath its winter coat. I didn’t dare pat its head—not with the harness already fastened and the driver perched and ready.
I shifted my weight, impatience gnawing at me, and glanced toward the house for Arthur.
Beyond the snow-dusted grounds, the loch stretched out in pale silence. The Laird was fortunate to own such a beautiful part of my country. I found myself wondering—briefly,dangerously—whether he appreciated the land as much as he’d begun to appreciate the people upon it.
His early disdain had vanished. He treated his staff well now. Fairly.
My cheeks warmed at the thought of our breakfast update meetings. He didn’t need to share his food with me. He certainly didn’t need to insist on pouring my tea every morning.
Yet he did.
The crisp crunch of boots on snow made me turn sharply.
It wasn’t Rowlands.
It was the Laird.
He was dressed properly for the bitter cold—hat pulled low, coat buttoned to the throat, boots heavy, leather gloves snug over his hands. Entirely reasonable. Entirely composed.
“Rowlands has taken ill,” he said mildly.“He feels unwell travelling by cart. I’ll accompany you instead and check the livestock with you. I do have some experience in these matters.”
He nodded to the driver as though the matter were settled.
“But—” I began, then faltered.
What could I possibly say?
