Chapter 9
Old Ned might look ancient, but he did the work of a much younger man. At the end of a few hours, James had an even greater appreciation for the man’s stamina.
He found himself behind a plow as Ned gave the horse a swat on the rump. The old man thought it uproariously funny when his arms were nearly jerked from his shoulders. Once he’d become accustomed to the strain, however, James found the chore no more difficult than pulling in a full-bellied sail.
In addition to plowing, they unloaded wheat from the granary, sent it to the mill, and inspected the irrigation ditches. James talked with the smith, the gardener and his son, the shepherds, and the young men repairing tackle. Nothing seemed amiss at Tyemorn Manor.
At noon they halted, but instead of returning to the house for their meal, a basket was brought to them by a smiling Abigail. She tarried long enough that even Ned noticed. When the lunch was consumed and the girl gone, Ned turned to him with a frown.
“She’s a young lass and silly. Best you remember that.”
“And young enough to remind me of my childhood,” James said calmly, understanding the protectiveness of the old man.
Girls like Abigail were more foolish than wanton and needed to be protected from the world.
Unfortunately, there were men who would prey upon that innocence.
He wasn’t one of them, but Ned had little way of knowing that.
“No one seems alarmed at Tyemorn,” James said. “I would think the drovers would be more cautious with animals being stolen.”
“There’s a few sheep missing,” Ned answered. “Fewer head of cattle. I’ve no knowledge of the chickens. I don’t count the fool things.”
“Two hundred three, according to Riona.”
Ned smiled, looked off into the distance. The mist had been burned off by the sun, and now the air was clean and clear. Before them lay the south pastures, the crops already to his waist.
“She’s a marvel, that girl. City bred, but she’s taken to the farms as if they’re her own. Pity they’re not. She’d make a fine mistress for Tyemorn Manor.”
“You don’t feel the same about Susanna?”
Ned shook his head. “Now that one. I’ve yet to make my mind up about her. She means well, but I don’t think she knows the difference between a bull and a goat.”
“She’s fortunate to have you to help her.”
“I’ve lived here all my life. It’s home.”
His words reminded him of Riona’s earlier statement.
“Are there any other chores you need done?” he asked the older man.
Ned looked at him, his full beard obscuring any expression. “The cows need milking. We’re shorthanded today since one of the girls is visiting her sick mother.”
He’d never milked a cow in his life, but there wasn’t any way James was going to confess that to the old man. “Lead the way,” he said, squaring his shoulders.
Thomas Drummond stared at his target. How easily he wandered over the pasture and followed the paths around the farm. Not once had MacRae realized that he was being observed.
He didn’t know if these people were kin or not, hampered as he was in his discovery of information. The area was so sparsely populated that he couldn’t move around without being noted.
Yesterday, he’d waited for the MacRae to leave, only gradually realizing that he was staying the night. Nor did it appear that he was in any hurry to return to Gilmuir, a development Thomas had not anticipated.
His escape had trained Thomas to blend in with the landscape rather than call attention to himself.
For that reason he’d chosen a ruse suitable for travel, stealing not only his money, but a grinding wheel from an itinerant knife sharpener.
He’d already made a few coins from a goodwife who’d spotted him in Ayleshire.
But she’d frowned at the job he’d done, so he’d spent an extra hour trying to please her rather than have her comment about his poor work.
She’d finally taken her newly sharpened knives and axe away, leaving him blessedly alone.
Last night, he’d used a few of his coins to rent a room above a local tavern. He’d hoped that being a stranger wouldn’t cause comment, but the people of Ayleshire, while friendly, seemed otherwise occupied and not overly curious.
Another lesson he’d learned from the English—to focus on one thing above all others, his survival. Although he could have killed the MacRae at any time today, he’d have been discovered only too quickly. Thomas had no intention of dying until every MacRae was dead.
Tonight he would wait and watch for the man to be alone. Tonight he would rid the world of one MacRae before he returned to Gilmuir for the others.
James entered the three-sided milking shed to be greeted by the sight of fourteen cows all lined up, headfirst, in individual stalls. Two young girls standing shoulder to shoulder giggled when they saw him.
As the second oldest of five boys, he was familiar with being dared by his brothers.
This activity was no different, he realized, as Ned took up a position at the side of the shed, leaning against one of the supports.
The two milkmaids, both of whom were more than happy to help him with the rudiments of this chore, fetched a stool and sat it down on the left side of the cow.
Beyond that, he was left to his own devices and a basic knowledge of what was required.
He heard Riona’s laughter before he saw her.
Stiffening his shoulders, he wished she weren’t here.
Not because he was reluctant to be viewed as inept at a task, but because he wished to keep some distance between them.
The more time he spent with her, the more time he wished to spend with her.
That circle of interest and curiosity was unwise.
Twice today he’d become ensnared in the sound of her laughter and had looked for her.
More than once, he’d wondered at her self-imposed duties and her whereabouts.
“Ned, that is too bad of you, to expect our guest to know how to milk.” She placed her hand flat on the cow’s flank and glanced down at him. “You don’t, do you?”
“I regret that I do not,” he said, wise enough to admit to lapses in his learning.
She grabbed another stool and placed it beside him. “Do you want to learn?”
“Not necessarily,” he answered honestly. “But I suppose my honor is at stake if I do not.” He glanced over at Ned, whose beard quivered as if he laughed softly.
“This is Marybell,” Riona said. “A very sweet lady.” The cow chose that moment to turn her head and placidly stare at him, as if they were being introduced.
“You grab the teats,” Riona said serenely, smoothing her fingers over the cow’s distended udder.
In his youth, he and his brothers had been given the task of looking after the sheep or fishing to feed the village.
He’d never been asked to plow a field, or seed it, and only rarely assisted in the harvest. Even at Gilmuir, he’d been more involved in constructing the shipyard and occasionally helping in the rebuilding of the old castle than in tending to the animals.
James didn’t think he’d ever been this close to a cow.
“Use this part of your hand.” Grabbing his hand, Riona slid her fingers over the heel of his thumb. “Here,” she added, closing his fingers tightly in demonstration.
Leaning forward, he placed both hands around the teats as instructed. Pull. He knew that much. He pulled, but the only response was the cow’s interested glance.
His dilemma was attracting more than its share of onlookers. Even Marybell was evaluating his performance, and judging it poorly if her low mooing sound of displeasure was any indication.
“I did the same as you the first time,” Riona remarked, placing her hands around his.
“I was terrified I’d hurt the poor thing.
But she’s more likely miserable waiting for it.
Aren’t you, girl?” This last remark was directed toward the cow, who was looking vastly relieved now that Riona was assisting.
“It’s not a pulling motion,” she instructed. “But a squeezing one. Squeeze and then roll.” She demonstrated, and milk streamed into the wooden pail. “Squeeze and roll.”
“Squeeze and roll,” he repeated, following her lead.
He could smell Riona’s sun-warmed hair amid the scents of new hay and warm milk. Her hands, soft yet strong, lay atop his. He could feel the exhalations of her breath against his cheek. If she whispered he would be the first to hear, and the only one to feel her tremble.
Who knew that such a moment would be so sensual?
“There, that’s it,” she congratulated him a moment later as another thin stream of milk hit the wooden pail.
The others, surrounding them, clapped their hands, and he grinned at their good-natured teasing.
She withdrew her hands, making him regret that he’d learned so quickly. Dipping one finger into the pail, she held it in front of his lips.
“The taste of your success,” she teased.
Warm milk and Riona.
His thoughts, at the moment, weren’t concerned with theft or even milking. They centered on Riona smiling at him, her full lips curving in an enchanting expression. Her eyes were alight with humor, making him wish she’d share her thoughts even if he was the brunt of her amusement.
Abruptly she stood. “You have the way of it now,” she said, her voice suddenly quick and impatient. Before he could say a word, she was gone from the shed.