Beyond a Doubt

chapter Ten




The copse of trees did little to shelter Bryce and Lucy from the rain and wind. The meal of squirrel and wild greens digested quickly, leaving a raw ache in her stomach. An ungrateful feeling swelled within her breast. Here she sat within the hull of an ancient tree with a good-looking hulk of an individual, and the man was preoccupied with his nails, or something of the sort.

Bryce had stared at his hands for hours. He twisted them this way and that as if his fascination with them could not be gotten over.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

He raised his blue eyes to her level and she gulped. A lady could quickly become lost in their ocean-blue depths.

“Nay.”

She fidgeted, her nerves causing her to talk more than she liked. “I only ask because you’ve been doing nothing but staring upon your hands since the rain began.”

He shrugged, that infernal up and down movement.

“Tell me about her,” Lucy asked.

“Who?”

“Your girl. The one you’re pining for.”

“Oh, Crissy.”

“Aye.”

He studied the backs of his hands once more.

The rain beat a steady tattoo against the canopy above, finally broken by his voice.

“Well, she’s a hearty lass. Full figured, with lots to hold onto. She’s tough but fair. Everyone has supped at her table at least once.”

“She sounds interesting. I’d like to meet her.”

“Crissy would like ye. She has a heart of gold.”

“Where is she?”

“On Cameron lands.”

“Is she waiting for you?”

“Aye, well, I think she is.”

“What do you mean? You don’t know?”

“We’ve never spoken words of commitment.”

“What? You mean you have no promise from this woman? Why not?”

“Don’t know.”

“I hope you didn’t shrug when she tried to communicate.”

Her pleasure abounded at Bryce’s happy reaction to this statement. A hint of a smile lifted the corners of his lips. Lucy settled herself more comfortably upon the bed of grass.

“Does it always rain in Scotland?”

“Nay.”

“Well, pardon me if I don’t believe you. The weather, in my opinion, is unpredictable at best and abominable at worst. It is always cold and wet.”

“Cold?”

“Aye, cold.”

“May I ask where ye are from? I detect an accent.”

“Humph. Accent indeed. If you must know, I’m a mix. British by birth but raised in France.”

“Is France warm?”

“Well, not exactly. It’s just—“

“That ye like to complain,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

If not for the grin, Lucy might have taken offense. “Bryce Cameron, kind sir, you are lucky to have met me rather than others within my station. I complain much less than some I know.”

He cocked a brow.

Lucy played with the folds in her dress. “Of course, if I’m honest, I am lucky to find one such as yourself, willing to escort my person such a great distance.”

Appearing pleased by the added words, Bryce lay down. He crossed his feet at the ankles, his hands buried beneath his head; the man appeared ready for a nice long nap. Perhaps she should join him.

Scooting as close as she dared, Lucy stretched out beside him. One at a time her eyelids descended until she fell fast asleep.