She peered around the gelding to consider the smaller creature. The mule’s large dark eyes seemed to stare back at her in equal consideration.
“It . . .” She paused and ducked her head to peek under the animal. “He seems small. You expect me to ride him? Are you certain he can hold my weight?”
“Mules are sturdier than you think.”
Still, she hesitated, staring at the animal as though it might suddenly transform into something else before them. Something resembling a full-sized horse.
With a resolute nod, she told herself this mule might not be as ornery as every other mule on the face of the earth. “Very well. Let’s be on our way then.”
He dismounted and approached her. She took several steps back before she could stop herself. Nellie hissed from where she stood, looking ready to pounce on the bigger man regardless of her condition.
Shaking her head, Alyse told herself not to be so jumpy.
After all, he didn’t want her as a wife. He pitied her and had offered her a position as his housekeeper. If he was to be believed, she should be overjoyed. She had employment. She would earn a wage and soon she could go anywhere she wanted.
If he was to be believed, she would eventually be free.
Chapter 6
The wolf had no notion what to do with a dove. The creature was so clean and fragile.
He came from a world of wolves where doves did not exist.
Marcus helped her mount although she could probably have done so without assistance. As she pointed out, the beast was not very large.
“Perhaps I’ll call him Tiny. Or Little Bit,” she muttered as she arranged her skirts.
Even though he didn’t want to be amused, his lips twitched as she settled herself atop the mule he’d purchased for far more coin than the nag was worth. Bloody extortion.
The animal was all to be offered in the stables and only through much coaxing had the stable master parted with the mule. All other horses available for sale were being auctioned in the square and nothing would have prompted his return there. His taste for auctions had been efficiently dispatched. He doubted he would ever attend one again.
He stared at her for a long moment as she finished arranging her bedraggled skirts and cloak to cover her legs. Even so, the barest amount of thick wool socks peeked out above her worn boots. No woman of his acquaintance would wear such meager garments. Nor would they bear the indignity of riding such a creature. It would be absurd. The soles of her boots might actually graze the ground. His father had owned greyhounds that were taller than this mule.
And yet she didn’t utter a protest. Of course not. She was of lowly roots, was she not? He’d bought her for fifty pounds. She wasn’t going to complain about her manner of conveyance. She was accustomed to far worse.
Even as he told himself this, his stomach knotted. The entire mess made him uncomfortable. He did not like to think of himself as a procurer of humans. Even if pity and altruism had motivated him.
He looked away from those unusual eyes of hers, feeling nearly as uncomfortable as he had watching her on that block with a harness around her neck. He didn’t own her. Nor was she his wife.
No court of law would decree their marriage valid. He could imagine, however, a court would pronounce him responsible for her. He winced. He did possess a bill of sale, incredible as that seemed. Tucked inside his vest pocket, the paper felt like an unrelenting weight pushing against his chest.
Not that he needed that bill of sale to tell him he was responsible for her. He’d opened his mouth and purse for her. He accepted his duty to her. She was penniless and without a roof over her head. He couldn’t abandon her.
Your father would . . .
His father, were he in Marcus’s shoes, would take full advantage of her. Use her up and then toss her aside once he’d slaked himself.
Not me. I’ll not do it. I’ll not touch her.
And that reminder bolstered him. The last person he ever wanted to be like was his father. Not since he’d learned the truth about him. Not since he discovered the precise nature of the man who had sired him.
He exhaled. As of now she was his employee. That’s all she was. All she would ever be.
There were only minimal servants at Kilmarkie House. A caretaker and his family managed the property. He’d gotten a sense from his last correspondence with Mr. Shepard that they would appreciate the help. His wife was in poor health. Alyse could slide into the role of housekeeper easily enough.
Resolved, he gathered up the reins and handed them to her.
She bent, reaching for them. As she did so, her nose wrinkled.
He glanced down at himself and was reminded of the fact that he spent the night in a stable. It was rather humbling. Women desired his company. It was the simple state of his life.
Not that it should matter to him. His ego wasn’t so fragile as that. She was not even to his tastes even if she were available.
“Here you go,” he snapped. “Take them.”
She accepted the reins. He moved ahead and mounted, ignoring her friend who still stood in the road, gawking as though he were some two-headed spectacle intent on devouring Alyse.
He heard the muffled sound of their voices behind him as she exchanged hushed words with her friend. Then the mule followed, its hooves clomping over the snow.
“C’mon, Little Bit.” She clicked her tongue. The mule issued a braying whinny of protest. “Ow!” she exclaimed. “He bit me!”
An apropos name then.
He slowed his pace slightly with a grimace. “You must show him you’re in control,” he called back.
“I don’t think he agrees. Ouch! Stop that, Little Bit!”
At this rate, it would take them months to reach Kilmarkie House. “Perhaps he takes exception with his name?”
“Oh, should I just address him as ‘mule’? What makes you think that impersonal designation would not offend him?”
Sighing, he dug in his heels and circled around to check on her.
Just this once he’d help her. She was his employee. He should not dote on her and give her unreasonable expectations that their relationship was anything beyond that of employer and servant. He needed to keep them both carefully in their respective roles. A challenge perhaps considering they would be traveling together in such close proximity, but not unmanageable. He hadn’t bought her off that auction block for any nefarious reasons. Pity drove him. She had looked so hapless and tragic and unnervingly courageous standing before that unsavory mob.
His father would call him weak for giving a damn what happened to some peasant girl. Especially a scrawny thing like her. She was hardly the type of female Marcus preferred. It should prove no struggle to resist her, proximity or not.
He moved Bucephalus alongside her.
The mule danced skittishly to the side.
“Oh, I don’t think he likes you so close,” she sang nervously.
He reached between them and loosened the slack in the reins. “Shorten your lead. His mouth is sensitive. A light touch will satisfy.” He bent and dropped his hand just below her knee, squeezing her calf once through the fabric of her garments to indicate where to nudge the mule.
She flinched at his touch and yanked her leg away.
“Use your legs to direct,” he snapped, not even bothering to defend his actions. She was understandably uneasy.
When he looked up he caught her leaning away and averting her face, reminding him that his odor still offended. He pulled away, offended in turn, which was perhaps unreasonable. He did stink. He knew that.
He didn’t want to feel offended. But he didn’t want to repel her either . . . this girl he had saved. It very well might be the one good selfless thing he had ever done. So yes. It mattered to him, he supposed. It mattered what she thought of him. Or at least that she realized he wasn’t some groping letch.
“Keep close,” he snapped. “He should follow Bucephalus.”
He trotted ahead as she called behind him. “Your horse’s name is Bucephalus?”
“It is.”
“He’s a lovely animal.”
It took him a moment to reply. He was still seeing her flinch in his mind.