“I didn’t see you at the wedding, child,” Hilde admonished softly as she cut the dough into tidy rectangles and arranged them on a baking sheet. “I thought you said you’d come.”
“I said I would consider it.” Piper popped the rest of the biscuit into her mouth, though it tasted of ash now. She was in no mood to be berated for her absence for the second time today. Even by the woman who was far more a mother to her than her own. “Was it very lovely?”
The question escaped her in a whisper before she could call it back. The question she’d forgotten to ask of Jane.
With a soft harrumph, Hilde called for one of the maids and handed off the full tray to be put in the oven. Taking one of the freshly baked cookies for herself, she turned to Piper with a frown. “Yes, it was one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Not a dry eye to be found. Your brother is quite in love.”
“I heard.” From the handsome stranger she’d encountered at the church door where she’d lingered and fretted about going in. That is, before the instinct for flight defeated fight.
“Kind of his lordship to invite the staff along.” Hilde pointed her shortbread at Piper in the same manner her tutor had once reprimanded her with a ruler. “Then again, he’s a kind man, as you’d know well enough if you’d come to see him while he was here.”
“You could tell him I’m here,” she reminded the cook. “Any of you could at any time.”
“Isn’t my place to do so. It’s yours,” Hilde grumbled. “About time, I’d say.”
“Please, let’s not discuss this today.” As with Jane, the subject had been raised at home more and more frequently as time passed. “I’ve been lonely these past few weeks.”
A rare admission.
“If you confronted his lordship, you’d have no reason to be lonely.”
As if her loneliness and isolation were her fault and no one else’s. More than two years had passed since she’d stopped hoping and praying that someone would rescue her. Two years since the threat that drove her into hiding presented itself. Had they all forgotten that the threat to her persisted?
Hilde held out another warm biscuit. Piper took it.
Scottish shortbread. Harry’s wife was Scottish, but she wasn’t here any longer.
“Why bother making a Scottish sweet when my brother and his wife are gone?”
* * *
“Would ye inform Mrs. Davies I plan to be back for supper, Bram?” Connor saddled his horse while the freckle-faced groom stood fidgeting nearby, clearly ruffled by Connor’s continued insistence that he could saddle his own mount, even after weeks of similar encounters. “Nae need to make a fuss. I can take my meal in the kitchen.”
The boy appeared aghast at the suggestion prompting Connor to modify the request. “Or in my rooms.”
Bram touched his ginger forelock with a sigh. “Aye, m’lord.”
“I’m no’ a lord, lad,” Connor reminded him.
“Aye, m’lord. So you said.” The boy nodded.
Connor shook his head with a chuckle, wondering how long it would take before his habit of caring for his own horse and his preferred address would become commonplace among the staff here. Although Dinton Grange was an estate fit for a king, as was his clan’s home in Scotland, it had never suited him to be treated like one. Especially when he was the only one in residence.
“Are you going far, m’lord?”
“I’m no’…” He sighed. “No’ far. I want to get the lay of the land before work begins.”
“Farmlands are to the south and east,” Bram told him. “Sure you won’t get lost?”
Giving the cinch one last tug, Connor hid a smile and led his chestnut gelding out into the stable yard. As he did, he spotted a woman coming down the graveled lane from the house. Each stride executed with a hoydenish flare that kicked out the hems of her long red skirts.
If they’d been a matador’s cape, his attention couldn’t have been more ensnared. Tall and willowy, with her sleek black hair reflecting the sun, she was about as bonny a lass as he’d seen in some time, despite her manly stride. She gazed all around her as she walked, taking in her surroundings and giving him a chance to appreciate her beauty from every angle.
Herfamiliarbeauty, Connor thought, though he couldn’t immediately pinpoint where he’d seen her before.
At last her focus shifted ahead and she came up short at the sight of him. Stiffening, she pivoted on her heel and spun away from him in a swirl of skirts, only to turn about afresh and resume her original course. With a resolute set of her jaw, she called out, “My horse, Bram.”
“Aye, m’—er…,” the lad’s voice cracked. “Ma’am.”
