“She’s a queer one, your wife,” his mother said. “But she’s intelligent. And an intelligent woman couldn’t help but fall in love with ye.”
He grinned and pressed his lips to her cheek. “Thanks, mam.” She was biased, of course. But her words made his body feel lighter. Sin had always considered himself a fighter, and it was time he fought for what was most important to him. His wife and his home.
“Ye can’t just sit on your rump,” she added. “Ye have to put in some effort to win her heart. And that requires—”
“Living together.” He rolled his eyes. “I heard you the first five times.”
She patted his cheek, a little harder than the situation called for. “Good. Then my work here is done.” She strode to her horse and swung easily into the saddle. “I’ll see you at supper.” And with a toss of her fiery hair, she was off.
Sin strolled to the canal, ignoring the jibes from the men about the scotch he owed them. His mind was on his mother’s words.
He’d always faced life head on. If there was a plot afoot, he ended it. A problem, he fixed it. He only needed to look at his wife as a problem to solve. She didn’t love him. Yet.
He picked up his sledgehammer, found his post, and swung.
But he could be a determined man. And he was determined not to be the only one in his marriage suffering from this horrible, wonderful feeling called love. He’d broken through her reserve in the bedroom. He could break through the wall surrounding her heart.
Gavin clapped him on the back and hooted. “Still only half way on yer first post and the rest of us have planted all the rest.” He tutted. “A sad day for the reputation of the Archer family.”
Sin grumbled good-naturedly, his spirits too high to mind his trouncing.
He gazed at the smiling and dirty faces of his people.
Finally, he knew his place. Where he belonged, and where his duty lay.
And he was determined to have the heart of the woman who stood beside him. He wouldn’t settle for anything less.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“A ball?” Winnifred blinked. Had close proximity to the fumes wafting from the rotting legumes had affected the man’s mind. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Gavin blew out his cheeks, his face going red. “Confound it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Mayhap it was supposed to be a secret.”
Or perhaps her husband simply hadn’t wanted to tell her. Ever since Glasgow, conversation between the two of them had been strained.
She forced a smile. “I won’t tell him I know, not if it is to be a surprise.” It couldn’t have been meant as one, not with all the preparations that a house party and ball necessitated. Another sign that her marriage didn’t represent the partnership she had hoped for. “Now, how fares our experiment? Do your crops show any variance between the supplements?”
“Come see for yourself.” He led her down a narrow dirt path between fields where tiny green shouts were just beginning to show their heads. “I dunnae see any differences, but then it’s only been a little over a week.” He scratched his jaw. “Perhaps that section there is a wee bit higher than the others.”
Winnifred pulled a small glass jar from her satchel. “It is early yet. Visible results are too much to be hoped for.” Kneeling in the first row of barley sprouts, she scraped a small amount of soil into the jar. She made a notation in her notepad. Working her way down the sections of field Gavin indicated, she took soil samples for each type of supplement on each crop.
She rubbed her back as she stood. The jaw in her satchel clinked together as she shifted the bag higher up her arm. “There. I’ll examine these to see if the soil tells us anything.”
“Ye talk to dirt a lot, do ye?” Gavin’s mouth twisted up on one end as he plucked a stone from the ground. He tossed it into a field of corn.
Winnifred’s heart sank as she watched the rock disappear into a row of stunted stalks. “It won’t matter.” She shook her head. “No matter what we discover here, it won’t affect the estate’s crops this year, except for the small portion of your field we’re testing. Perhaps not even next year’s either.”
Gavin planted his hands on his hips and surveyed his land. “We dunnae know how long the sun will hide. Whichever year help arrives, it will be appreciated.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “We’ll make it through. We Scotch always manage to survive.”
She turned to smile up at him, and a lone figure riding a donkey turned from the main road in their direction.
Winnifred’s shoulders stiffened. Donald.
He plodded down the drive, tipping his cap to Winnifred and nodding to Gavin when he drew even with them. “Good afternoon. I wasn’t expecting to find you here, Winnie.”
He looked between her and Gavin, but she didn’t bother to explain her presence. “Nor I, you,” she said coolly. “You’ve said before, several times now, that you were not long for Inver. I expected you to be back in Glasgow.”
He shrugged. “The distance is not so great for frequent trips. Not when there is work to be done.”
