Chapter 8
Riona led the way, thinking that she should have balked at the task of showing James the farm.
Even now, she could feel him behind her, as if he were staring at the middle of her back.
How silly, to think that she could feel a man’s gaze.
She glanced over her shoulder at him to find that she was correct, after all.
He was indeed looking at her, and his expression when she caught him didn’t alter.
There was something somber and altogether disturbing about his look.
“You have very unusual eyes,” she said, a remark over which Mrs. Parker might have fanned herself vigorously. Too intimate, she would have whispered vehemently. Too much interest implied.
“My mother is beautiful and my father garners his share of attention from other women. I cannot help how I look.”
What had she done to anger him? Gone was the man she’d talked with the night before, and in his place was this creature of icy stares and clipped sentences. At least toward her. He’d been excessively cordial with the other women of her household.
Annoyed with herself for having felt the first inklings of friendship for him, she turned and led the way once more.
“I would think that you would not object to your appearance. After all, even in nature the more attractive of specimens captures attention. Bees, for example, will seek out the prettiest flowers.”
His bark of laughter startled her. “I’ve never been likened to a flower before. All in all, I’d prefer the role of bee.”
He would.
Facing him, she folded her arms. “What am I supposed to show you?”
“Everything.”
She smiled, thinking that he didn’t know exactly what he was asking. “Very well,” she said, more than willing to walk him over every inch of Tyemorn Manor.
The path was one she knew well, leading through the woods that intersected the property. Pointing to a cultivated patch of earth, she said, “There is no kitchen garden, so we grow our herbs here.”
He nodded, and she wondered how interested a man could be in spices and medicaments.
“Tyemorn Manor is actually seven farms,” she said, leading the way again.
The path sharply rose, following the curve of the hill.
At the top she halted, waiting for him to catch up with her.
“The land here is more fertile than any near Ayleshire. We grow barley, oats, wheat, hay, and potatoes. In addition, we have over a hundred head of cattle, fourteen milk cows, four hundred sheep, seven goats, two hundred three chickens, and several barn cats and shepherding dogs.”
“An impressive litany. How are you so certain of the numbers?”
She turned and glanced at him again. His expression had thawed somewhat, a small smile playing around his lips. “I know Tyemorn,” she said simply.
At the top of the hill, along the ridge, was another path, this one leading to the falls.
She hesitated, wondering if she should show him her favorite place at Tyemorn, then reasoned that if she didn’t someone else would.
The view was not, after all, her domain, any more than if she owned the sky or the clouds billowing white on the horizon.
The path was wide enough so that they could walk abreast, and he slipped into place beside her.
“Our cheese is sold at market in Inverness and commands a good price,” she told him. “I’m not as familiar with the making of it as I should be, but I’m sure Old Ned can inform you.”
“Old Ned?”
“Our steward,” she said, staring at him curiously. “The man you need to see. He’s been here since Great Aunt Mary was alive and knows Tyemorn better than anyone.”
“You seem to be as well versed.”
She smiled at him, wondering if he knew what a compliment that was. He turned away from her, intent on the view. They had climbed to an elevation where the lower farms could be seen. They sat like squares of brown and green next to the undulating River Wye.
“Most of the farms are irrigated with canals leading from the river, but two of the pastures are too high and need water pumped up to them in dry months. But the spring has been wet and the summer looks to be as plentiful with rain.”
“Will you be here in the summer, Riona?”
The question caught her off guard. She answered him too honestly, her voice not schooled in deception.
“No,” she said, hearing her own regret. “Why are you here at Tyemorn Manor?” There, a question as sudden and blunt.
“Didn’t Susanna say?”
She suspected that he knew only too well that her mother had been mute on the subject.
“Will you tell me?”
“Regretfully, I cannot.”
“Tyemorn Manor isn’t to be sold, is it?” she asked, making no effort to hide the panic in her voice.
“No. At least, not that I’m aware.”
She didn’t know him, couldn’t trust him with something so important. The very fact that she was tempted to believe him concerned her. Her judgment had been appalling of late, witness the fact that she was soon to be married to Harold McDougal.
“Will you give me your solemn word of honor that it is not?”
His eyes, oddly enough, seemed to warm the longer he observed her. As if he were measuring her worth in a glance. Is this a woman I should give my word to? the look seemed to say. A reassuring notion, that his honor might be so valuable that he did not treat it lightly.
“I give you my solemn oath that I know nothing of the sale of the property, Riona. It is not for that reason I’m here.”
“But you will not tell me why you are?”
“I’ve given my word.”
She changed the subject for the moment, fully intending to return to it.
“As far as people at Tyemorn, Polly is our housekeeper. Abigail and Cook are the only other servants in the house. The gardener, who also serves as our coachman, lives with his wife and three children in the poultry yard. His widowed father has a small dwelling behind the henhouse. Is there anything else you wish to know?”
“Have you no information about Ayleshire?”
Once again he’d surprised her. She’d been quite proud of her recitation, and any Cormech or Edinburgh man would have ladled her with praise. Not, however, James MacRae.
“Ayleshire?”
“Are you never teased, Riona?”
She considered the idea for a moment. “Rarely,” she admitted, a little disconcerted to realize that it was the truth. But then she had little patience with courting games.
“I wonder why?” he asked.
Turning to look at him was not a wise decision. He was smiling directly at her, his lovely eyes gleaming as if he knew an amusing secret.
“Perhaps I’ve not the wit to understand a jest. Or the time to appreciate it.”
He reached out his hand and gripped her wrist before she could move away.
“Forgive me.”
She nodded quickly, anything to make him release her. But he wasn’t satisfied.
Reaching out his other hand, he tilted up her chin, touching her in a way no man ever had before and perhaps should not now.
“Forgive me,” he repeated. “I was very impressed by your knowledge of Tyemorn. I chose a poor way of demonstrating it.”
“I took no notice of your comment,” she said, secretly appalled at how quickly the lie came to her lips.
He studied her for a moment as if doubting her words, then released her.
But he didn’t step away. Suddenly, she wanted to ask him to move, to put some distance between them.
For a moment she thought of placing her hand flat on his chest to keep him at bay.
But she didn’t wish to create a bridge of either words or touch.
Long ago, someone as appreciative as she of the view of the falls had erected a few stones so that they formed a bench. She walked to it now, sitting and pulling her skirts aside so that he might join her.
To their right, water emerged from the ground soundlessly and tumbled down over a succession of rocks towering nearly twenty feet in the air.
The pool at the bottom was black and deep and ringed by vegetation.
Where they sat was midpoint, a place misted by the eternal falling water. A perfect spot for solitary reflection.
“Doran’s Falls,” she said as he joined her. “No one knows why it’s called that, but I hope it’s not because someone named Doran decided to do himself in here.”
“All for the loss of a ladylove?” he asked, and it took a moment for her to realize he was teasing again. She wished he wouldn’t. His charm was disconcerting. His earlier coldness was easier to bear.
She glanced at him, thinking that their paths would never cross again, This moment in time, as fleeting as it was, would be all they would share in life.
Celebrate the temporary, lass. Sometimes it’s all you have. Her father’s voice, rarely recalled of late. His advice was wise, if a little sad.
They sat for a moment, listening to the fall of the water over the rocks.
Riona folded her hands together on her lap, staring at the plume of mist rising like smoke from the pond.
Day after day, regardless of the weather, the water plunged over the embankment.
Only during the coldest winter days did the waterfall freeze.
“This is my favorite place at Tyemorn,” she said, wondering why she divulged that information to him. “I think it’s because it’s possible to feel out of yourself here.”
He raised one eyebrow, and she explained. “Sometimes I’m quite tired of my own thoughts. Have you ever felt that way?”
“As if there is a dialogue in my mind?” At her nod, he smiled. “Too often.”
“I haven’t decided why it is. Perhaps I spend too much time arguing over something I don’t want to do and yet must.”
“What is it you must do?”
She shook her head, unwilling to confide in him. Speaking of Harold would only tarnish the days she had left.
Closing her eyes, Riona listened to the sound of the water.
Sometimes she thought that if she kept her eyes closed long enough, she might be transported to another time.
At this moment, it wouldn’t be so difficult to believe herself a Roman maid or one of the Picts who tinted themselves blue and were so fierce that stories were still told of them.