Page 43 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

She placed the frame across the open basket and reached for another. Her hand tightened upon the wooden frame. A bee crawled across the back of her glove. She waited until it moved to the edge before gently turning her wrist.

She could still feel Roy’s hand there, not upon the glove, but beneath it, warm against her waist while she stood between his knees.

Donaldina took a slow breath as the sea crashed beneath the garden wall, spraying high against the rocks. The wind lifted her loose hair strands and carried smoke toward the cliff.

She returned the frame to the hive and picked up another, heavier one. The honey in the lower half of the comb was fresh and dark gold, filling it completely. She tilted the comb to the light, observing the gleaming surface amid the bees.

The beauty of it steadied her. Honey required time. No creature could be ordered to make it more quickly. No decree could command blossoms to open or force the hive to trust the hand that approached it.

Perhaps people were no different. Perhaps trust had to be gathered in small measures: a wound tended, a choice respected, a laugh shared in a rain-damp yard. That thought was far more dangerous than memory.

Donaldina reached for the small knife in her basket and carefully cut away a section of full comb. Glimmering honey gathered along the blade. The scent deepened around her, sweet enough to soften even the salt upon the wind.

She placed the comb in a covered bowl. A bee landed upon her sleeve. Another moved near her wrist. Donaldina remained still, allowing them to investigate before they lifted away again.

She had never feared them. Fear made the body sudden. It turned every movement into threat. The bees sensed it quickly, just as people did.

Donaldina wondered whether Roy had known she was afraid in the infirmary, not afraid of his strength, but afraid of wanting the gentleness beneath it.

She leaned closer to inspect the corner of the hive. Bees clustered thickly over the frame, their wings catching small fragments of light. She moved the smoker aside and reached carefully between them.

Then, the wooden gate creaked behind her, and she froze.

She had been so occupied with the hive and with thoughts she had no intention of sharing that she had not heard footsteps on the path. A shadow fell across the open frame.

Then Roy’s voice came from behind her, low and roughened by the morning air.

“Ye’ll be stung if ye remain so close.”

Roy intended only to inspect the western grounds. That was what he told himself when he saw Donaldina beyond the low garden wall and stopped upon the path.

She stood beside an open hive with her sleeves drawn close at the wrists, surrounded by bees. Dozens moved through the pale air around her. They settled upon the wooden frames, crawled over the edge of the hive and circled her head in slow, dark patterns. Smoke drifted between them, carrying the scent of pine, wax and something richly sweet.

Donaldina appeared entirely unconcerned. Roy was not.

“Ye’ll be stung if ye remain so close.”

She looked over her shoulder. Her smile came slowly, as though she had expected him.

“The bees only attack those who fear them.”

Roy glanced at the swarm. “Then they will find me an excellent enemy.”

Her smile deepened. He entered through the gate with more caution than he had crossed several battlefields. The low hum seemed to thicken around him. A bee passed near his ear, and every muscle in his shoulders tightened before discipline forced them still again.

Donaldina noticed. “Ye mustnae strike at them.”

“I hadnae planned tae begin a war.”

“Yer face suggests otherwise.”

She held out the clay smoker, and Roy regarded it suspiciously. “What am I tae dae with that?”

“Hold it.”

“I gathered as much.”

“Gently press the bellows when I tell ye. Direct the smoke across the frame, nae into me face.”