Strolling down a familiar hallway that boasted bold paintings, some of which he’d been gifted and some of which he’d paid far too much for during his travels, Aiden passed through a side door into his garden. It was a lush and generous space, the sort that eased the tension in his shoulders and made him appreciate the beauty of the world around him against his will. Peter had truly outdone himself over the years.
Making no effort to cover the sound of his boots, Aiden noticed the lass was deeply focused on her trimming of the base of the plant with its rounded flowers and not paying attention to his approach. What had she called that thing? Angel? He would need to ask his gardener about it later.
“Did ye find what ye wanted?”
The girl jerked where she knelt and nearly dropped her knife, which was markedly better than cutting herself with it, and he felt a twinge of guilt for startling her so much. Still, the way her head whipped up just as it had in his study left him fighting a grin.
She was a skittish little creature. Her hands were covered in dirt, and she scrambled to stand. Aiden held his hand out for her to take and helped her the rest of the way to her feet.
“Aye,” she finally answered, withdrawing her hand from his quickly and brushing both against her skirt to return the soil to the ground. “Thank ye.”
“Good. I’ll expect ye next week then, aye?” Aiden scooped her knife from the soil, watching her careful green gaze follow the weapon in his hand. With practiced ease, he flipped it and caught the blade between his fingertips, offering her the hilt.
She visibly swallowed and stepped away from the plant she’d been harvesting, taking the knife from his fingers delicately and sliding it back into a sheath that waited inside her satchel.
“Aye. Yer gardener showed me where to clip, so as nae to kill the plant,” she said begrudgingly, as if she’d thought she should already know.
“Even better.” Aiden made sure his hands were gentle as he steered her to face toward the front gate. “Yer horse is ready. We’ll be waitin’ for yer return.”
The girl didn’t argue, nodding slowly and moving the way she’d been guided, looking exhausted. He almost suggested she stay the night, but she looked so skittish that he chose not to overstep and make her feel trapped.
He guided her to the gelding instead and even convinced her to let him give her a leg up instead of trying to do it on her own out of pride on a generously sized fourteen-hand pony.
“Next week,” he repeated sternly, patting her mount’s flank to see them on their way.
4
It took her longer than she was willing to admit to become aware that she was being followed, but she eventually noticed.
Hannah glanced subtly over her shoulder, positive she heard steps behind her, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint where they were coming from and whether they were man or mammal.
When she saw a shadow move just a bit too much, she brought her mount up short and turned him around, facing the threat head-on as bravely as she could. Her voice tried to shake, but she simply refused to let it. Her pony trotted forward and then backward a pace before steadying.
“If ye’re here to rob me, I’ve nothing of value.”
Mercifully, the most precious thing she’d had on her was safely delivered, and the newest, most precious cargo wrapped safelyin her satchel would be complete nonsense to any brigand who’d happened upon her in the woods.
“I have nay such plans, lassie. Calm yerself.”
Hannah was proud of herself for managing to bite back the gasp that tried to escape when the voice came from an entirely different direction than she’d had her face aimed. She whipped her head toward it and felt her pony stiffen between her legs in response to her own tension.
“The Laird sent me.” The man came into view on foot, arms held out to the sides. “I am only seeing ye home safely, lass. I harbor nay ill will.”
He wasn’t as massive as the Laird, but he still cut an imposing figure, his plaid pinned over his shoulder and his boots heavy as he walked in a way that suggested he’d been trying to be quiet before.
“Ye’ve a mind to walk me half a day’s ride?” Hannah scoffed. “Why nae just speak up?”
“The Laird thought ye may be…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Opposed.”
“The Laird is right,” Hannah replied tersely and turned her bay mount back in the direction she’d been going. “Pass along me thanks for the concern. I am nae in need of yer guard, and ye may find it threatens yer own safety to visit me village.”
She glanced over her shoulder, saw him open his mouth to question such a statement, and rather than wait, chose to squeeze her thighs and inspire her pony to be on his way. The brunette man who had been trailing her would certainly be unable to keep up with her new pace, and she chose to make her return home with haste.
“Surely he only wanted to make sure I was who I claimed,” she murmured to the wind as she left the mysterious man standing behind her with his arms held out to the sides still. “Perhaps distrustful.”
That gave her no inspiration to slow down. She was unconvinced by the notion that the Laird was genuinely only concerned with seeing her returned home safely.
The sun was dropping below the horizon when Hannah found her way home, relieved to see familiar eaves. She passed her mount to the apprentices in the stable, checked on the whiskey mash brewing, and then took herself inside.
