“Wait,” she said before Irvine could open his mouth, “are you fromMcPearson?”
The way she spat out his clan’s name had Irvine pause momentarily from telling her that he was indeed that person. Had his letter caused this sort of animosity? If so, then accomplishing his mission was going to be difficult indeed.
The lass took a step further, clearly not afraid of them. “Because if ye are...”
“We arenae,” Irvine interrupted, hearing Malcolm’s start of surprise. “We are nothing but workers looking for a farm tae provide our assistance to.” He didn’t want to tell her who he was without understanding where her anger was coming from and why. Though the farm looked thriving, there was still a need, a protection that a laird could provide, and if he were going to be that person for them for the future, they had to trust him.
She visibly relaxed. “Aye, well, we welcome anyone that is able-bodied and willing tae work.”
“Wot are ye doing?” Malcolm hissed, but Irvine ignored him. His friend wouldn’t understand what Irvine was attempting to accomplish. Perhaps if he could figure out their anger toward the clan, he could rectify it and then send someone else on his behalf to negotiate so that once the deal was settled, they wouldn’t be able to back out when he took the position as their laird. Irvine detested the fact that he would be deceiving them, but he could only hope that they would see why he had done it.
Irvine took a step forward, forcing a friendly smile. “Aye, we are. Mah cousin and I are only looking for work and lodging.”
“Well then,” she stated after a moment, “ye will need tae meet mah father and get his approval.”
“Aye, lead the way,” he told her.
This was what he was hoping for.
4
Bridget hadn’t expected to see two large Scots on the path when she opened the door this morning, and for a moment, she had been frightened that the McPearson representatives had come. Her father had been on edge since receiving the missive, and she knew he had quite a few sleepless nights attempting to find a way out of the negotiations so that it wouldn’t end in blood being spilled over the land.
Given the size of these newcomers, perhaps they could use them if it turned to that.
They had looked like they had fallen on hard times, their clothing homespun and mud-spattered, nothing like what Bridget imagined the representatives from the clan would look like. They would likely ride in a carriage, surrounded by warriors and wrinkle their noses at the smell of horse and the simple ways of their lives.
Even under the dirt streaks, Bridget could tell that the two men were striking. The one who had done the talking was taller than her father, with broad shoulders and kind eyes that reminded Bridget of the soft fur of a newborn calf. He had no facial hair, which showed off his strong jaw and his hands, well...they were quite large themselves.
The other Scot was fair-headed with a short, trimmed beard and piercing blue eyes that seemed to have shadows lurking in their depths.
That and he hadn’t been as friendly, clearly upset by something that his cousin had stated.
“This way,” she forced out, feeling suddenly nervous as she led them away from the house and to the fields where her father was. There was still a great deal of wheat to get off the ground before the first snow hit, and he had been rising before dawn to help gather it all as they needed as much as they could get for the horses for the winter.
The hazel-eyed Scot fell in step next to Bridget. “Tell me, who are the McPearson Scots you are expecting?”
Bridget snorted. “They are the ones who are attempting tae take our home from us. Bah! The lot of them! They’ve never come out here and helped us with our farming, only attempted to steal it from under our noses more times than my da can count!” She swept her arm over the fields, where the tenants were already working. “These Scots come here for freedom without the tyranny of a laird. We are our own rulers.”
The Scot fell silent as they approached her father, and he immediately froze as he assessed the two men.
“They arenae the McPearsons,” she said immediately, hoping to put him at ease. “They are cousins looking for work.”
Leathen arched a brow. “Is that the truth?”
The hazel-eyed Scot nodded, a friendly smile on his face while the other seemed to be quite nervous.
“We are only looking for work and lodging, no coin.”
“Wot are yer names?” Leathen asked, wiping his hands on his breeks.
Bridget watched as the Scot bit the inside of his cheek, as if he didn’t wish to give up his name. Was he some sort of wanted man? They got those a time or two as well, but as long as they didn’t cause any strife, her father allowed them to stay on for as long as they cared to. Most didn’t stay in one place for long, not wishing to call attention to their location.
“Err ’tis Brutus—I mean, Bruce.”
Leathen laughed. “Which one is it, lad? I want tae make certain ye answer when I call.”
“Bruce,” he answered, clearing his throat. “Bruce Lennox.”
