“You act like you know the man.”
“I know . . . his kind.” Again, her eyes told a greater story . . . that she was not purely talking about the man back in that cottage.
She entered the stables behind him, huffing a little. The walls of the building did little to shield them from the cold and he was heartily glad they didn’t have to sleep in the stables overnight. “He’s like every person I grew up with in Collie-Ben. I am his kind. Poor but proud. We don’t like our shortcomings flung in our faces, especially by the likes of you.”
“The likes of me?”
“Aye.” She nodded her head, looking him up and down as though he were some manner of vermin.
“And pray enlighten me. What am I that is so very unsavory to a poor crofter?”
“A gentleman. Someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth that has never known a day of deprivation in his life.” Her chest lifted on labored breath and there was a slight rush of pink to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold.
“That’s what he sees, is it?” he asked, pausing before adding, “Or is that what you see?”
Staring into those strange topaz eyes, he read the truth there. This was what she thought of him. She didn’t even know how true her words were. He was as blue-blooded as they came.
“Perhaps it’s what we both see.”
“Perhaps,” he allowed, feeling unaccountably angry. He wasn’t certain why. She spoke the truth. He didn’t know what it was like to go without, and since when was that a shortcoming?
Besides. Why should her opinion of him matter?
He stroked Bucephalus on his velvety nose. “And yet I offer something you both need.”
For her, it was freedom. For the crofter, an improved home.
“See here,” he began, “I don’t regret saying what I needed to in order for us to achieve shelter for the night.” He shrugged as he closed his gelding up in a stall and then guided her mule into the neighboring one. “We needed lodging. He did not look ready to agree. Forgive me if my candor hurt his feelings, but in case you didn’t notice, this isn’t the kind of weather you want to get stuck in overnight.”
That said, he turned his back on her and fetched some hay, reminding himself yet again that he shouldn’t care what his soon-to-be-housekeeper thought of him.
Without being directed, she copied him and fed her mule. She was no delicate miss. She knew work. He watched as she hefted a pitchfork that he knew was substantial in weight. She didn’t so much as grunt from the effort.
Satisfied that their animals were tended, they walked back out into the evening. The temperature had dropped in just those few minutes they were in the stables.
They crossed the yard. Just as he was about to knock on the door, the young woman he had spotted in the window pulled it open for them.
“Come in and warm yer bones,” she commanded.
They stepped inside the single-room cottage. She closed the rickety-thin door behind them.
The cottage, however ramshackle it appeared, was far warmer than outside and his body instantly sighed with relief.
The husband sat at the table, eating from a bowl. He looked up at them as they set their bags on the floor and removed their cloaks. The crofter’s wife took them and hung them on pegs.
“I’ve a stew. Can I get ye both a bowl?”
“Aye, thank you,” Alyse responded before he had a chance to say anything—almost as though she doubted his ability to be polite. He, a man raised in polite Society and schooled in the prettiest of manners.
They sank down on a bench at the rough-hewn table.
Marcus glanced around the tight space, wondering where they would sleep. The two toddlers whispered in the bed where they were tucked beneath the covers. One of them waved a rag doll above her face.
His gaze landed on a fur rug spread out before the fire. He supposed that would be better than the stables or exposed to the elements.
“Where are ye traveling?” the husband inquired.
“The Black Isle.”
“This time of year?” He tsked and shook his head. “Ye wouldna see me ’eading that far north.”
Alyse slowed the stirring of her spoon in the bowl. She looked at Marcus, an eyebrow lifted in inquiry.
He arched a brow, staring back at her. It wasn’t difficult to read her thoughts. He knew she would prefer London. She’d voiced her desire to go there already.
But he wasn’t going to change his plans for her. He was going to the Black Isle and she could bloody well like it or go her separate way.
He sipped a spoonful of broth. London was the last place he wanted to go.
Foolish or not for this time of year, he was going north.
Kilmarkie House was as close to the ends of the earth as he could get and right now that sounded just about right.
Chapter 11
The dove was sensible. She knew other doves were free of cages.
She’d heard their weeping and knew freedom did not always guarantee happiness.
That was another battle that must be won.
They ate quickly and then Alyse helped the lady of the house with the dishes. It was the least she could do. Weatherton might be paying them for their hospitality, but it wasn’t like Alyse to sit idle—especially when the young woman looked so very weary. Several strands of hair fell loose and dangled around her pale face. Her hair looked like it needed a good washing, but she imagined it was a lot of work to heat water for a bath.
“Thank you,” Alyse murmured as they dried the last bowl and put it in the cupboard.
“Of course, and ye may call me Mara. We dinna get much company ’ere. It’s nice tae see another woman’s face.” She smiled tentatively.
“Yes. It is nice,” Alyse agreed, smiling back, recognizing Mara’s loneliness.
She knew about loneliness. She’d felt it for several years under the Beard roof. Even surrounded by people, the ache had been there, gnawing deep. Sometimes it was worse when others crowded about. Worse than when she was lying alone in her narrow bed at night, imagining a future elsewhere. Strange, she supposed, that one should feel alone when surrounded by others. It shouldn’t be possible then.
“I grew up in Abderdeen.” Mara’s voice snapped her from her musings. “Have you ever been there?”
Clearly the woman was keen on conversation. “No. I have not.”
“Oh.” She looked a little disappointed. “It’s lovely. Our ’ouse was a stone’s throw from the sea. My family is still there, the whole lot of them. I’m the only one tae move away.” At this, a cloud fell over her eyes. “I’ve seven brothers and sisters and between all of us there are thirty-three nieces and nephews.”
“Goodness, you have your own army. It must be nice to have such a large family.” If Alyse had family, she wouldn’t be in this situation now. She wouldn’t have been forced to sell herself.
Mara nodded proudly. “Aye, we were always a boisterous clan. I ’aven’t seen them since Sally was born.” She nodded forlornly in the direction of where her two children slept. Alyse could only guess which child was Sally, but whatever the case, Mara had not seen her family in a number of years. “I miss them,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Alyse nodded back in sympathy. It could not be pleasant being heavy with child and no female around for company or support. She would not be the first woman to endure the labors of childbirth on her own. Especially not out in remote areas like this. Hopefully her husband would support her through it. It was hard to say what manner of man he was. He still looked sullen across the room—doubtlessly from his interaction with Weatherton.