Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
“This is it.”
Ava gestured to the small cottage that had been her home for the past three years, acutely aware of how rundown it probably looked to a laird who lived in a castle.
The thatched roof needed repairs, the whitewash on the walls was peeling in places, and the entire structure was barely larger than what she imagined his bedchamber alone must be.
Noah surveyed it without comment, though his eyebrow rose slightly.
“It’s cheap,” Ava said, pushing open the door. “Which is all I can afford on a tavern maid’s wages.”
The inside was just as simple as the outside—a small sitting room with a worn-out couch and a single chair, a kitchen barely big enough to turn around in, and a bedroom that could kindly be called “snug.” But it was clean, and it was hers, and she’d be damned if she’d apologize for it.
“Right then.” She turned to face Noah, who seemed to take up an enormous amount of space in her small sitting room. “Esther will sleep with me in the bedroom. Ye’ll be on the floor here.”
She waited for the protest. For the outrage. Surely a laird wasn’t accustomed to sleeping on floors like some common—
“Fine.”
Ava blinked. “What?”
“I said fine.” Noah was already unbuckling his sword belt. “I’ve slept in worse places durin’ clan disputes. At least yer floor appears clean.”
“I... ye...” Ava’s mouth opened and closed.
She’d been fully prepared for an argument, had already marshaled her defenses about how this was her house, and he was lucky she was letting him stay at all. “Ye’re nae goin’ to complain?”
“What would be the point?” He set his sword carefully against the wall.
“Ye’ve already made yer position clear. And I’m nae so soft that I cannae sleep on a floor for two nights.
” He glanced at her, something that might have been amusement flickering in his dark eyes.
“Did ye want me to complain, Miss Harris?”
“Nay! I just...” she caught herself. “I expected ye to be more... difficult.”
“I’m only difficult when people are bein’ unreasonable.” He looked pointedly at her. “Yer terms are perfectly reasonable given the circumstances.”
Ava wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed that he was being so accommodating. She settled for suspicious.
“I’ll get ye a blanket,” she muttered, heading toward the small chest where she kept her spare linens. “And a pillow, I suppose.”
“Much obliged.”
By the time she’d set up his makeshift bed—and honestly, calling it a bed was a stretch; it was just a thin blanket on a hard floor—Esther was nearly falling asleep on her feet. The poor thing had been through so much in the past few days.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Ava took Esther’s hand. “Let’s get ye into a proper bed, aye?”
Esther nodded sleepily, then hesitated, looking at Noah.
“Sleep well, lass,” he said quietly, and something in his tone made Ava’s chest tighten.
There was such raw longing in those three words, a desire to connect with his niece that he clearly didn’t know how to act on.
“G-goodnight, Uncle Noah,” Esther whispered, and Noah’s entire expression softened.
“Goodnight, Esther.”
Ava woke up to the pale dawn light filtering through the thin curtains and a small, warm body pressed against her side.
It hadn’t been a peaceful night.
Esther had woken at least four times, each time with a small gasp of panic, her hands scrambling in the darkness until they found Ava.
The first time, she’d clenched Ava’s nightgown so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. The second time, she’d pressed her ear against Ava’s chest, as if listening for her heartbeat to find reassurance.
The third time, she’d simply whispered “Ye’re still here?” in a voice so small it had broken Ava’s heart.
Each time, Ava had held her, murmured soothing words, and stroked her tangled hair until the trembling stopped and Esther’s breathing evened out again.
Now, in the gray morning light, Esther was finally sleeping deeply, wrapped around Ava like a burr. One thin arm was thrown over Ava’s waist, her face pressed against Ava’s shoulder, her small body seeking warmth and safety even in sleep.
For a moment, Ava just lay there, her heart doing something complicated in her chest. No one had ever held her like this when she was small. No one had checked on her in the night when she woke frightened. No one had stroked her hair and promised everything would be all right.
She’d learned early that comfort was something other children received, not her.
But here was this little girl, terrified of being left behind, and she’d chosen Ava. Trusted Ava to be there when she woke in the dark. Believed Ava’s promise not to leave.
When was the last time someone held onto her as if she truly mattered? Like she was safe, warm, and worth keeping close.
Ava blinked against the sudden sting in her eyes.
Daenae get attached, this is temporary. In two days, ye’ll be at the castle, workin’ as her minder. That’s all this is. A job.
But Esther made a small, contented sound in her sleep, and Ava’s treacherous heart refused to listen to reason at all.
Carefully, she started the delicate process of freeing herself from Esther’s grip. It took several minutes of gentle maneuvering. Each time she moved, Esther’s arms would tighten, but finally, she managed to slip free without waking the child.
She moved quietly toward the kitchen, expecting to find Noah’s large form still sprawled on the sitting room floor. But the blanket was neatly folded, the pillow was on top, and there was no sign of the Laird anywhere.
Ava frowned. Where has he gone to?
A rhythmic thunk sound from outside caught her attention.
She moved to the kitchen window and peered out into the small yard behind the cottage. Then froze, her breath catching in her throat.
Noah was there, all right. And he was...
Sweet merciful Christ.
He’d removed his shirt.
Ava knew she should look away. Knew she should busy herself with starting breakfast and absolutely not stare at the play of muscles across his back as he brought the axe down on another piece of firewood.
But her eyes seemed to have disconnected from her brain entirely.
Because Noah MacGregor was... built. There was no other word for it.
Broad shoulders that taper to a lean waist, arms that rippled with muscle every time he swung the axe, and a back that looked like it had been carved from stone. Scars crossed his skin in places, evidence of a life spent fighting, but somehow they only made him more compelling.
Thunk.
Another piece of wood split cleanly in two.
Ava’s mouth had gone dry.
This was ridiculous. She’d seen shirtless men before; working at a tavern meant dealing with drunk fools who thought removing their shirts made them more attractive. But this... this was different.
This wasn’t some tavern fool trying to impress her.
This was a laird, chopping wood in her yard as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and her body was responding in ways that were completely inappropriate for someone who was about to become his employee.
Stop it. Stop starin’ at yer future employer like he’s a piece of meat. Have some dignity, woman.
She forced herself to turn away from the window, her cheeks burning.
Right. Breakfast. She’d make breakfast, and by the time it was ready, Noah would hopefully have put his shirt back on, and she could stop having entirely inappropriate thoughts about what it might feel like to—
No.
Absolutely not. She was not going there.
Ava threw herself into cooking with perhaps more force than needed, slicing bread as if it had personally offended her and cracking eggs with such strength that she had to fish shells out of the bowl.
She was just putting the porridge on to heat when she heard the back door open. Footsteps approached the kitchen.
Please have yer shirt on. Please have yer shirt on.
She kept her eyes fixed determinedly on the pot she was stirring, not trusting herself to look.
“Ye didnae have to chop wood,” she said, proud of how steady her voice came out. “Though I appreciate it.”
“The pile was gettin’ low.” Noah’s voice was closer than she’d expected, and she risked a glance sideways.
He’s put his shirt back on, thank God. Though the linen clung to his still-damp skin in ways that were almost as distracting as—
Focus, Ava.
“I didnae want me niece gettin’ cold,” Noah continued, moving to the basin to wash his hands.
Despite herself, Ava felt a smile tug at her lips. “Choppin’ wood at dawn. Must be terribly inconvenient for a laird.”
He turned to glare at her, water dripping from his hands. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothin’.” She waved her spoon innocently. “Just seems like a lot of effort for someone who could’ve sent a servant to do it. If ye had servants here, that is.”
“The wood needed choppin’.”
“Aye, and I’m sure ye were simply bored.” Ava turned back to her cooking, unable to keep the amusement from her voice. “Had nothin’ better to do than make sure there was enough firewood to keep a wee cottage warm.”
“I was already awake.”
“Of course ye were.”
“What are ye implyin’, Miss Harris?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“I’m nae implyin’ anythin’, me Laird. Just observin’ that for someone who barks orders and scowls like it’s his job, ye’re pretty quick to do the work yerself when it comes to makin’ sure Esther’s comfortable.”
His jaw tightened. “I do what needs to be done.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ava stirred the porridge with perhaps more vigor than necessary, fighting a smile. “Terribly practical of ye. Like I said. More carin’ than ye look.”
She could sense him watching her, likely trying to determine if she was mocking him or not. The silence lingered so long that she was about to apologize when—
“Uncle Noah?”
They both turned to see Esther standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes with a small fist. Her dark hair was a tangled mess around her face, and she looked so young and vulnerable that Ava’s heart squeezed.
“Good mornin’, lass,” Noah said warmly, his voice softening. “Did ye sleep well?”
Esther nodded, then padded over to Ava and wrapped her arms around Ava’s waist from behind.
“Well, good mornin’ to ye too, wee one.” Ava reached down to pat Esther’s head, careful not to spill the porridge she was still stirring. “Breakfast is almost ready. Why daenae ye sit down?”
Esther reluctantly let go of her hold and sat down in one of the two chairs at Ava’s small table. Noah took the other seat, and Ava was struck by how absurd the scene was—this towering laird crammed into her rickety kitchen chair like some giant child.
She served them both—porridge with a drizzle of honey she’d been saving, thick slices of toasted bread, and eggs that were only slightly burnt around the edges. It wasn’t fancy, but it was hearty and warm, and it was the best she could do with what she had.
“This is good,” Noah said after his first bite, sounding almost surprised.
“Ye sound shocked that I can cook,” Ava observed, settling into her own seat with her portion.
She’d given them the larger servings, keeping just enough for herself, a habit she’d developed from too many lean times.
“I didnae mean...” He paused. “I just meant it’s well-prepared. Thank ye.”
Was that actual gratitude in his voice? Wonders never ceased.
“How do ye like it, Esther?” Ava asked, watching the girl carefully.
Esther smiled around a mouthful of porridge and gave an enthusiastic nod.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Ava found herself observing them both—how Noah kept glancing at his niece as if reassuring himself she was really there, and how Esther seemed to be relaxing more and more in her uncle’s presence.
This could work, she realized. The three of them at Castle MacGregor.
Esther could have stability and proper care.
Noah could learn to connect with his niece rather than just provide for her from a distance.
And Ava... well, Ava could make enough money to actually help the orphanage instead of just keeping it limping along.
It was practical. Sensible.
So why did her chest feel so tight as she watched Noah reach over to wipe a smear of honey from Esther’s cheek, his large hand impossibly gentle?
This is what it could be like, a traitorous voice whispered in her mind. A family. A child to care for. A man who comes home to ye, who chops wood so ye’ll be warm, who sits at yer table and thanks ye for the meal.
Ava’s throat went tight.
This wasn’t her family. Noah wasn’t her husband. And even if he were interested in someone like her—which he certainly wasn’t, because she was common-born, poor, and completely unsuitable for a laird—she knew better than to hope for things that could never be.
Her father had made sure she understood her place in the world. Had made sure she knew that girls like her didn’t get fairy tale endings.
“Miss Harris? Are ye all right?”
Ava blinked and realized both Noah and Esther were staring at her with concern.
“Aye, sorry. Just... thinkin’ about everythin’ I need to do today.” She forced a bright smile. “I need to go to the tavern and tell them I’m leavin’, and then there’s the orphanage to sort out, and—”
“I’ll come with ye,” Noah interrupted.
“What? Nay, ye daenae have to.”
“I’ll come with ye,” he repeated, in that tone that brooked no argument. “Ye’ll need help carryin’ yer things. And if this tavern master of yers gives ye any trouble about leavin’, it’ll be useful to have a laird there.”
Ava wanted to argue that she could handle it herself and didn’t need his help or protection. But the truth was, Malcolm at the tavern would probably give her trouble. He always did when people quit.
“Fine,” she conceded. “But ye’re to let me handle it first. Only step in if I actually need ye.”
“Agreed.” Noah stood and collected the empty dishes. “And I’ll wash up. Ye cooked.”
Ava stared at him as she opened her mouth to protest. “Ye... what?”
“I said I’ll wash the dishes.” He was already carrying them to the basin. “It’s only fair.”
Who is this man, and what has he done with the scowlin’ brute from yesterday?
Esther giggled, a true bubbling sound, at Ava’s dumbfounded expression.
And despite all her warnings to herself, despite knowing better, Ava felt her foolish heart do something dangerously soft.
This was going to be a problem.
A very big problem indeed.