“That willnae be necessary.”
Her playful smile faded just as swiftly as it had risen on her face. “Oh.”
“I have business to attend to,” he added, turning to the door.
“And what business is so important that it should interrupt a morning with yer wife?” she asked him, her voice piercing the veil of his thoughts.
“Unless ye’re just looking for a reason to avoid me.”
He did not reply, but he could not keep the smirk from his face. She was incisive. More so than he had been prepared for. Perhaps he should have known that a woman of her standingwould have a sharpness to her, an ability to see beyond the surface that he should have been ready for.
But, as it was, he was glad to have a chance to clear his head, because every moment in her presence seemed to have him on the brink of saying something foolish.
Like admitting she was right.
Innes stood at the archway that overlooked the Keep’s gardens, her hands planted on her hips.
“Well,” she remarked. “This is going to needplentyof work.”
She adjusted the basket hanging over one arm, in which her journal and some charcoal were waiting for her. She had managed to convince Annabelle to bring her out to the walled gardens she had seen at the back of the Keep.
Nobody had tended to them in years, the maid had said, and they would need to get the gardeners in to cut through the weeds and tangled roots that had overgrown it. But Innes was insistent. She wanted to see just how wild this place was and just what the soil here might have made a good home for.
Equipped with her journal, she intended to make a few notes of the flowers and other plants that had survived without any attention. They might not have been what a classic garden was made up of, but she would, at least, have a better idea of what the ground could support. If she was going to be stuck in this place, she supposed, the least she could do was make something of it.
Annabelle was close at her side as they made their way down the stone steps that led to the gardens, clearly worried that her lady might take a tumble only for her to get the blame.
“Careful, there, m’Lady,” she warned her, pointing downward. “The moss on the steps, you dinnae want to fall.”
“I’m fine,” Innes assured her gently.
Everyone seemed to be treating her with kid gloves since the herbs and the tea the night before, but she was feeling virtually unfettered by it. At least physically. Mentally, she could not shake the thought that someone had intended that tea to be deadly, whether for her or for someone else.
Could it have been an accident? She prayed it was.
Because, if not, she would…
Her eye was caught by a handful of daffodils that had sprouted out from between a cluster of dock leaves and tangled milkweed. Stooping down, she tucked her fingers carefully behind the bright yellow petals and smiled.
“See? This is a good sign,” she told Annabelle. “It means that there’s good, fertile land here. If these daffodils can get by without anyone to tend them, then we’re off to a good start.”
“Aye, whatever you say, m’Lady,” Annabelle complied, sounding slightly incredulous.
Innes didn’t let it bother her. She wouldn’t have been the first to find it rather strange that a lady in her position would bother herself with something as lowly as the garden. However, it had always fascinated her, ever since she was a little girl, wandering through the gardens at the Anderson Keep.
Though the gardens here were a far cry from the carefully manicured grounds that her brother kept. No, these looked forgotten for at least a generation, the trees so overgrown that they had stooped over in exhaustion, the flowers sprouting from between knots of weeds seemingly at random. And yet, despite that, it had something to it, this place—a sense of pride almost, surviving against the odds had made it what it was.
She pulled out her journal to jot down a few notes, and, as she went to pluck one of the daffodils to press it between the pages of her book, she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Looking around, her heart sank when she saw that Keithwas standing a few yards away, observing the pair, doing his best to make it look as if he were just passing through.
She planted her hands on her hips and called out to him.
“Did Lachlan send you?”
Keith met her stare, not replying for a moment—clearly trying to decide whether he wanted to speak the truth or just brush her off and make her feel mad for asking. But, instead, he lowered his head in concession.
“He didnae want you exploring the gardens without oversight.”
“I have Annabelle here.”
