“Yer father is a leader,” he countered. “’Tis clear that he is in command here.”
Bridget slowed her steps. “Perhaps that is how ye see it, but he doesnae ask for anything from the tenants other than their work. We dinnae ask for any taxes or goods tae be given tae us. If the tenants suffer, we suffer.”
“Not all lairds ask a great deal of their clans,” Bruce said gently.
Bridget paused in her steps and regarded him, wondering which clan he hailed from then. She had heard the tales from the passing tenants about lairds that demanded everything from them, right down to the shirts on their backs. They starved while the laird sat in his castle, enjoying their wares and refusing to give them anything in return, including land or the ability to have their own farms that didn’t belong to the clan. She had also heard of the brutality of some lairds that beat their clan members or forced them into a life of servitude on behalf of the clan’s name.
No, she didn’t wish to have any of that befall on this small group of people that had become her family, nor would her father want to live in a place like that.
“Perhaps not,” she finally answered. “But I have yet tae hear of one that was kind and good tae his people. If they exist, then we wouldnae have so many coming here tae get away.”
Bruce’s jaw hardened, and Bridget quickly resumed her pace. Had he been close to his laird? Had he seen something that was different than what she had heard?
“Wot village are ye hailing from?” she asked instead. Bridget hadn’t been beyond the farm all her life, so she didn’t know anything other than the ones she had heard in passing.
“Murdock,” Bruce said quickly. “’Tis north of here, along the English border. It was raided by English soldiers two years past and burned to the ground. We lost everything.”
He sounded so sorrowful that Bridget had to fight to keep from touching his arm to comfort him. He was naught a stranger that she couldn’t afford to grow close to. They would be gone like the others were, moving through her life as nameless faces.
It would behoove her to remember that. “I’m sorry,” she said instead as the barn came into view. “I cannae imagine that happening here.”
“Do ye have a lot of problems with bandits?” Marcus spoke up, having been silent up until now.
“A few,” she admitted. “They usually steal animals for food in the middle of the night, but none have outwardly threatened the tenants. We keep watches up every night the best we can. Ye will be added tae the watch while ye are here.”
“Aye, we would be glad tae,” Bruce cut in as Marcus opened his mouth. “’Tis part of our payment for the roof over our heads.”
She gave him a quick nod, hoping that she also wouldn’t be assigned to night watch when Bruce performed his. There was something about him that made her aware of things she hadn’t been before, like the way his skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled or the slight upturn of his mouth that made her want to reach out and touch it. The new feelings inside her body were disturbing but also unfamiliar. Not even Fraser had ever elicited such a response before.
They reached the barn, and she threw open the doors, allowing the smells to wash over her and calming her nerves. “Everyone stores their horses here,” she explained as they walked down the rows of stalls. “There’s plenty of hay and feed for each horse. As ye can see, most are in the fields so the stalls need tae be cleaned out for their arrival this evening.”
“Doesnae sound hard,” Bruce replied as he started to roll up the sleeves of his tunic. “Does it, Marcus?”
“Nay,” Marcus grumbled as he did the same.
Bruce’s eyes found hers. “We will get started then, lass, if that is agreeable tae ye?”
Bridget had to fight hard not to stare at the muscular forearms that had just appeared. “Aye, I will check in on ye after a while.”
He gave her a slow smile that warmed her gut, and Bridget left the barn quicker than she intended, heading for the field in which her father was working today. When he saw her, he gave her a friendly wave.
“How are our new tenants faring?” he asked as she picked up a scythe used to cut down the wheat at the stalk.
“They are in the barn,” she said quickly, keeping her face averted from her father’s so he wouldn’t see the color on her cheeks. Her stomach squirmed as she thought about Bruce’s smile and the way he said her name earlier. It would be better once they moved on; she was certain of it.
“And the village they hail from?” Leathen asked as they moved down the row.
“Murdock,” she supplied, cutting the stalks of wheat with one large arch of the sharpened blade. “They have no one.”
“Och,” her father replied, his motions faster than hers. “They seem like strapping Scots. We will use them as much as we can then.”
Bridget fell silent, thinking of something other than the handsome Scot that had caught her attention, and by the time the clanging of the bell signaling luncheon sounded, her shoulders ached from the amount of work she had accomplished while lost in her thoughts.
“Go make certain our new arrivals know tae get some food,” Leathen said, wiping his brow.
She gave him a short nod and hurried to the barn, slowing her steps as she approached. There was a gaggle of women tenants near the barn, all pretending to attend to something while casting furtive glances inside as they passed.
“Wot is going on here?” she demanded as she spied Merdia amongst the women.
