The Beautiful Stranger (17 page)

It took Arthur a moment to gain his mind; scarcely able to think, he focused on the feel of her fingers as they drifted across his lips.

Kerrys fingers rested on his lips. I I fear I might abandon all morals to your touch, Arthur. I seem to be on dangerous ground here with you now.

As hard as he tried, Arthur could not think of a reassuring response to that; it seemed odd that she chose those words, words that struck so very close to what he was feeling.

And had he been able to think of a reassuring response, it would have drifted into the night on the tails of the mist, because Kerry slipped away, walking quickly to the house and leaving him to stand alone in the heath.

Leaving him to a hunger that he feared would not now or ever be completely sated.

That night Arthur dreamed of England.

He stood in the formal drawing room of his Mount Street home, Portia beside him as he greeted guests.

Then Phillip appeared, his blond hair wildly mussed, his shirt stained red with blood, weaving in and out of the crowd, smiling at Arthur over the shoulders of his guests. He came so close, but when Arthur reached for him, he melted into the crowd. He turned to Portia, only it was Kerry now standing beside him, wearing a plain gray broadcloth amid the sea of pastel silks, her blue eyes glittering. He leaned forward to kiss her but she stopped him cold with a punch in the ribs. He groped for the injured rib, but she hit him again, hard.

Ouch.

Och, ye sleep like the dead.

The gritty sound of Thomas McKinnons voice dragged Arthur from the depths of a very comfortable sleep. He felt the discomfort in his side again and opened his eyes. In the dim light of a single candle, he could see it was the toe of Thomass boot that was striking him in the ribs, the bloody bastard.

He rolled away, presented Thomas with his back, and asked through a wide yawn, Is there something I might do for you at this ungodly hour, Mr. McKinnon?

I told ye that we start early in Glenbaden. If yell be up, we could use yer back, he said, nudging Arthur again with his boot. Up with ye now.

The next thing Arthur heard was the clip clip clip of Thomass boots as he walked out of the room.

With a groan, he slowly raised himself and focused his blurry gaze on the window. He blinked, tried to clear the sleep from his eyes, because it looked pitch-black outside. He blinked again Gods blood, what time was it?

He dressed, stumbled to the kitchen, and frowned. Thomas was there, sipping from a cup of steaming coffee, a bowl of oats next to a platter piled high with scones in front of him. Kerry was there, too, busy at the basin. She glanced over her shoulder and flashed a brilliant smile that only made Arthurs head hurt.

Good morning, Arthur Christian! You slept well, then, I trust?

Arthur fell unceremoniously onto the wooden bench beside him. Very well indeed, until a few moments ago.

Thomas lifted a wiry brow. I suppose then that the English doona believe in a full days work.

The English, sir, are so very efficient at a full days work that there is never a need to rise in the middle of the bloody night! Arthur snapped irritably. Now where did you find that brew?

Thomas casually inclined his head toward a table and an iron vessel beneath the window. Arthur pushed up and dragged himself to fetch a cup.

Big Angus, hell be along in a moment. Have ye any experience with livestock? Thomas asked.

Arthur poured steaming coffee down his throat before answering. I am rather remarked upon for my skill with horses, so yes, I suppose Ive a bit of experience, he said testily, and ignored Thomass derisive chuckle.

Thomas McKinnon, mind you now, Kerry said from the basin. Ill keep him occupied, you needna worry over it.

Aye, Thomas said, his blue eyes smirking, Id see that ye do.

The sun was only beginning to creep above the horizon when Arthur realized that a self-proclaimed skill with horses did not necessarily translate into any discernible skills with livestock, and in particular, hogs.

He could scarcely believe it when Kerry handed him a large bucket filled with a most foul smelling, rancid-looking offal and pointed toward a pen of hogs in the middle of the cluster of thatched-roof cottages. Arthur looked at the hogs, then at the slop, then at Kerry.

They are not particular, she said, her nose wrinkled in offense to the slop.

I beg your pardon, I am to do what? Arthur asked again, still incredulous.

Toss it about. The hogs, theyll root about for it, she said patiently, then frowned lightly at his apparent distaste for the task. If you prefer, Ill

Oh no, he said quickly. He was not about to give Thomas McKinnon the pleasure of humiliating him. If the residents of Glenbaden slopped hogs, then by God, so would he. Ill be quite all right. And very nobly putting down the urge to flee, he walked to the pen, swallowing the obscenity on his tongue when the hogs began moving toward him, their round snouts wiggling furiously as they tried to touch him. Aware that Kerry watched himand for all he knew, ThomasArthur took a deep breath, held it, and began to pour the slop for the hogs.

After he had finished that choresatisfactorily and in record time, he was quite certainKerry cheerfully led him to a barn that looked as if it would collapse at any moment. Inside, one sway-backed dairy cow munched contentedly on her hay. Shes to be milked, Kerry said, and shoved a bucket into Arthurs chest.

Ill gather the eggs, providing that old hen cared to grace us with any.

Really, havent you a milkmaid or someone of similar occupation to do this? Arthur groaned as he took the bucket.

Kerry laughed. Take care with the teats, now, she warned him in all seriousness. Nell willna care for it if you squeeze too hard. There you are, then, she said, and with a jaunty little wave, turned and walked out of the ramshackle barn, assuming, apparently, that he was quite the expert in milking cows.

Lord God. With a heavy sigh, Arthur warily approached her, carefully positioning the milk stool and bucket before patting the old girls rump. Ive not had a complaint yet, Nell. We wouldnt want to dampen a mans spirit with one today, now would we? he said, and lowered himself to the stool, studied the mechanics of her udder, and grimacing, reached beneath to relieve her of her milk.

A half-hour later, he considered the milking, like the slopping, an astounding successNell complained three times, but she only managed to butt him off his stool once. Arthur was wise to her after that; with

grave determination, he righted the stool, informed Nell that he would have her milk if it killed them both, and doggedly continued until every teat was dry.

By late morning, when most self-respecting English gentlemen would only just be rising, Kerry was dragging Arthur through a thick mist over a very rutted path. On his back, Arthur carried heavy stone-cutting tools, the purpose of which, Kerry explained, was to help Thomas shore a fence. Arthur could scarcely wait.

But first, Kerry would apparently make a few calls.

At the first cottage Kerry stopped, Arthur was introduced to Red Donner, a man almost as big as Angus, with gray streaking through his bright red hair. He had, evidently, sliced one of his sausage-like fingers, but was adamant that Kerry not apply the salve she withdrew from her basket. He was so fearful of it that he scarcely noticed Arthur at all, merely nodded his enormous head before objecting again to Kerrys plan, half in English, half in Gaelic.

Well not be without your fiddle, Red Donner, she insisted firmly, and in a matter of minutes, Red Donners hand was in hers, and she was spreading a very offensive-smelling unguent into his wound while the man wailed like a child.

The second cottage was set back in a thick copse of trees, around a bend in one of the many hills that bordered Glenbaden. The location of the cottage was curious, Arthur thought, as if the owner had intended to be removed from all neighbors. Kerry did not bother to knock, but stooped and disappeared through the small door.

A few moments later, a hideous shriek rent the tranquility of the glen; Arthur started toward the cottage, but Kerry emerged, her face a wreath of smiles. Winifred, she said with a roll of her eyes. Shes as old as this glen, curses every day she lives to see, and threatens to shoot me for bringing her bread. Yet she eats it, and shes no gun, she said, and walked on.

The last cottage, situated just where the rutted path ended, belonged to a young widow with three small children. Loribeths husband, Kerry explained, had drowned trying to save their youngest child, who had wandered off and into the loch. They never found the babys body, and Loribeth had never been the same. When the young woman appeared at her door, looking drawn and ragged, Arthurs heart went out to her. He wondered exactly how she might put food in the bellies of three children, but then he realized howKerry had brought biscuits and a rasher of ham.

Upon leaving Loribeths cottage, Kerry turned into what seemed like an endless meadow of tall grass, moving on to where he was to meet Thomas. The thought of Thomas suddenly reminded him of the heavy stone-cutting tools on his back. And what exactly do you suppose Thomas means to do to me with these? he drawled, adjusting them again on his back.

Kerry laughed gaily. Hes ornery Ill grant you, but hell be grateful for the help, he will.

Arthur doubted that. Doubted it even more when they reached the piece of fence in question. As Thomas gruffly explained that his task was to shore an old rock fence to keep their few head of cattle from wandering too far, Arthur wondered just where in the hell Thomas was afraid the cattle would go, what with rocky hills sweeping up either side of the meadow. But he rather supposed that question would earn him nothing more than another look of complete disdain. The old fence was disintegrating, and for the life of him, Arthur could not imagine how shoring this one spot could possibly make any difference.

Well then, I suppose I shall leave you to your work, Kerry chirped, and with a wave and a soft smile, turned to make her way across the meadow again.

As if on cue, Thomas dropped a large stone at his feet that landed with a deep thud. He very tersely instructed Arthur how he was to collect a few stones and split them, and then use the pieces to rebuild the fence, showed him how to wield the axe, watched him a time or two, then abruptly turned around and began to walk back across the meadow.

Arthur watched him for a moment before he realized Thomas intended to leave him there. Ho, McKinnon! Just where in the bloody hell do you think you are off to?

Thomas scarcely paused to glance at Arthur over his shoulder. Ive me own work to do! he called, and kept walking, leaving an incredulous Arthur alone to the chore of repairing the fence. Well, that convinced him. Thomas fully intended to kill him.

Thomas almost succeeded.

Splitting the rock was backbreaking labor. Even though the day was cool and the breeze steady, Arthur dripped with perspiration. His hands ached from holding the cutting tool he used to spall the large stones and the muscles in his back burned with the effort of lifting the stones to the wall. He was beginning to feel parts of his body he had not even known existed. But as miserable as his body was, there was something very cathartic about the activity. The physical exertion made him feel alive; in a rather strange way it was far more rewarding than he ever might have imagined. He could feel and see the fruits of his labor, the progress toward an end, the concrete results of his exertion. In London, a full days work meant various social calls where little was truly accomplished. But here in Glenbaden, it seemed that every activity had a purpose, and every purpose was the common good.

He had been raised from the cradle to avoid physical labor, so it was therefore nothing short of astounding that it was as exhilarating as it was this day.

But oh God, he hurt!

Shortly after midday, Arthur paused to stretch his back. He glanced across the meadow and a slow smile spread his lips. The sun had finally penetrated the blue mist; he could see Thomas and Kerry walking toward him. A pail swung carelessly at Kerrys side; she moved languidly through the tall grass, her thick black braid of hair draped carelessly over one shoulder, her free hand skating across the top of the grass. The simple gray gown she wore hugged her slender frame and Arthur could remember the feel of it in his arms, her hips pressed firmly against him. The memory of that kiss seeped into every bit of his consciousness; his pulse began to rise steadily as he turned fully toward her, enchanted by the sight of her gliding as if on air, as if she and this landscape had stepped out of a masters painting and into life.

Mind ye doona let the spittle drip onto that borrowed shirt, Thomas said as he walked past him on his way, presumably, to inspect the fence. Arthur sliced a quick and impatient gaze across the mans back, dropped his cutting tool, and moved forward to greet Kerry.

She graced him with a beatific smile. I should have known, she said as he reached to relieve her of the pail she carried. Thomas would put the king himself to work. She stopped, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she gazed up at him, eyes dancing with mirth.

I am quite convinced he may succeed in seeing me dead by days end.

Somewhere behind him, Thomas snorted at that. Kerrys rich laughter drifted across the tall grass. Aye, hes a bit hard around the edges, but hes a good heart.

Frankly, Arthur would require more evidence of that before hed be convinced, but he wisely chose not to argue the point and glanced at the pail. What have you got here?

Cheese and eggs, some bread, and from May, a bit of shortbread. She smiled, winked coyly. It seems our May has taken quite a fancy to you.

Has she? I rather suspected the woman had uncommonly good taste.

Kerry laughed again, lips stretching across even teeth. Through no conscious thought of his own, Arthur impulsively reached for her, slipping his hand around her wrist and squeezing fondly. I love to hear you laugh, he said softly. It is music to me.

Her smile faded slightly; she opened her lips to speak, but whatever she might have said was forever lost to Thomass intrusion. Well then, yed best eat, he said sharply, and took the pail from Arthur. Well take a moment, no longer. More than a wee bit of work to be done here, he informed them both, and stalked away with the pail.