Chapter 9
August 10th, 1881North York Moors, England
By the time Eva had finished her porridge, the cool early morning had transitioned into another warm and sticky midmorning. After cleaning the dishes, she went to her shed to pick up a satchel she had borrowed from Rich. The leather bag had two metal clasps and a shoulder strap. It was large enough to carry a mallet and the wheelwright’s book. Today she would go to Elias and check the carriage’s wheel, nothing more.
She arrived at the campsite feeling overheated and slightly annoyed by the sight of Arthur and another man gawking at her. Over a delicate fire, Arthur stirred the contents of a small pot that sat on a metal grate on two large, smooth stones. The other man, a scrappy-looking grump, sat on a wooden stool. A piece of jerky hung from his lips as he looked at Eva with narrowing brown eyes.
Eva placed her hands on her hips. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, swiping a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Neither man said a word.
“Why are you staring? Is there something on my face?” Eva said.
Arthur dropped his spoon onto the nearby table. “Lady Quinn,” he said with a faltering smile. “It is good to see you again.”
“Lady? Never seen no lady wearing trousers,” the man on the wooden stool said.
Eva crossed her arms and studied him.
He was dressed in a light-green kilt, with brown wool socks up to his knees, a light-grey waistcoat over a white shirt and a matching grey jacket with large brass buttons.
“And you, sir, are wearing a kilt. If you can wear a skirt, I can wear trousers. It is only fair,” she said.
He blinked, then slapped his knee as his head fell back in uproarious laughter, sending the piece of jerky tumbling from his lips.
“Duncan, will you please treat our guest with respect?” Arthur said.
“Aye, the lass is a funny one. I understand why Elias has taken a liking to ye,” Duncan said.
“Because the lass isn’t a bore like ye,” Elias’s voice said. “Ye great big oaf.”
Elias emerged from behind a carriage, barefoot, with drops of water on his bare torso. He, too, wore a kilt, but his was a deep forest-green, with thin red and white lines. He rubbed his head with a towel; his usually light-brown hair was dark chestnut and fell in a mop of wet curls around the nape of his neck.
Topless and in a kilt. Well, that was an unexpected sight so early on a Monday. She swallowed hard.
“Me? A bore?” Duncan said.
“Aye, a bore and a blunderin’ fool to laugh at the lady who will help us fix the broken wheel,” Elias said. He flashed Eva a crooked grin.
“I dinnae believe it. Will ye tell me the lady will smoke a pipe and speak politics with us too?” Duncan said.
Eva looked at him. “I’ll do you one better. Not only will I fix your wheel, smoke a pipe and speak politics, but I’ll also outdrink you at the pub.”
That made Duncan roar with more laughter.
“Coffee, Lady Quinn?” Arthur interrupted.
“No, thank you,” she responded, feeling herself smiling at Duncan’s boisterous laughter. “And please, call me Eva. I’m not a lady, nor do I want to be one.”
“I dinnae think ye can sway Arthur from breaking his formalities. Especially when it comes to the opposite gender,” Elias said.
“Do you mind if I call you Arthur?” Eva said.
“Not at all, you can do as you please,” Arthur said, his face reddening.
“Since we’ve all introduced ourselves, shall I show ye the wheel?” Elias said.
Elias led her behind the first carriage. He pointed to the left rear wheel, and she dropped to her knees for a better look. The wooden wheel was bent out of shape, buckling beneath the rim of the carriage frame. Upon closer inspection, she spotted a small fracture in one of the spokes.
She set her bag onto the grass and craned her neck beneath the undercarriage. The metal insert connecting the wheel to the axle was bent downwards. It had most likely been caused by hitting a pothole. As the wheelwright in her book said, A pit in the road is a wheelwright’s best business companion.
“Just as I thought,” she said.
“What?”
Eva emerged from under the carriage and peered up at Elias. His tanned, muscular torso gleamed like sleek caramel.
Heat crossed her face.
“Judging by the grim expression on yer face, the wheel cannot be fixed so easily?” he said.
“It needs to be replaced.”
He wrinkled his nose in dismay.
“I can show you why, if you want,” she said.
He kneeled next to her and craned his neck below the carriage. Their gazes met from across the wheel’s length. At this proximity, the freckles across his face were more apparent. Sun-kissed, half-naked and in a kilt. She immediately looked away, but her gaze unknowingly landed on his muscular thighs that peeked out from beneath the edges of his kilt.
A wave of nerves washed through her.
Seriously, Eva?
Again, with the kilt. Why was it so annoyingly sexy? And why was she feeling like a giddy teenager? It made no sense. Especially after what she’d been through over the last few weeks. Did it really take the sight of a tanned Scot in a kilt to bring out the happy pheromones?
She cleared her throat. “You see here.” She pointed to the metal pin. “This connects the wheel to the axle. As you can see by the angle, it’s been bent, most likely by rolling over a pothole or a large stone. To fix it, you will need to have the wheel removed and the pin replaced. But there’s another problem.” She gestured to the spoke. “Up close, you can clearly see a fracture in one of the wheel’s spokes. Honestly, I think it’s best you go to the village to speak with the wheelwright.”
Elias grumbled.
“I’ve heard the wheelwright is a nice man. I’m certain he can quickly help you,” she said.
He tilted his head. “Ye know him personally?”
“No.”
“Do ye know the way to the village, at least?”
“I do.”
“Will ye come with me?”
“Where?” she said, knowing perfectly well what he meant. For some reason, her brain was dumbing out at the sight of him.
A crooked grin crossed his face. “To the village, ye wee fool. I dinnae ken where it is from here, and ye seem well acquainted with the area.”
Her heart lurched. She wriggled out from beneath the carriage and clapped her hands together to remove the wet soil.
“The village is north of here,” she said. “Just follow the road toward that huge mountain in the distance. It’s impossible to miss.”
“Will ye make me beg for yer company, then?”
She gave him a sideways glance.
On his knees and with a dramatic pout on his face, he waited for her answer. “I’m already on my knees.”
“You are,” she said, reluctantly.
A small smile crept onto his lips. “I’ll buy ye a beer.”
“A beer, you say?”
“From the finest pub in the village.”
“Hmm.”
“A nice, cold, thirst-quenching beer on such a fine summer’s day would—”
“Fine,” she said quickly.
“Okay, it’s settled,” he smiled. “A beer for yer most helpful service.”
Her stomach was a hard ball of dread. Not only because she was going to the village for the first time in weeks, but because she found herself astride a horse with Elias pressed firmly against her behind … again.
At least he’s wearing a shirt now.
“This seems familiar,” he said, his Scottish drawl hot and rumbling in her ear.
“Déjà vu,” she said.
“Day-shar what?”
“It’s French for already seen.” She gripped the saddle’s horn more tightly. “It’s usually said when someone is re-experiencing something. In my case, I’m sitting on a brute of a horse with a stinky Scot, scared out of my wits.”
“Och, stinky, eh? I’ll have ye ken I washed myself thoroughly in the river before yer arrival.”
“So that explains why you were wet and naked.”
“The lass noticed, after all. And here I was thinkin’ yer red face was from the sun, not because ye were blushin’ at the sight of a topless Scot.”
“Please,” she muttered. “I wasn’t blushing, and I hardly noticed.”
But she did notice, and she had blushed. Even now, her face felt searing hot, and there was an odd tingle in the depths of her belly at the thought of his sleek skin in the sun. Also, Elias was not stinky. Far from it. In fact, he smelled like goat’s soap, mixed with the subtle musk of a hard-working man. It was all too alluring.
Why was her brain allowing her to feel this hot and bothered by Elias? It wasn’t like she had a crush on him, and he hadn’t looked this appealing at Asheford Hall months ago. Maybe it was because she was single and wanted to prove her independence. Maybe she craved a bit of male attention. Or maybe she wanted to secure her future in a century where a woman needed a man for survival. Oh, God. That was it. Deep down, she knew there was no way in hell she could become an independent craftswoman, so her sub-consciousness was preparing her for a life as a wife and mother.
“Do ye want to re-enact our speedy chase to the village? Just one word, and I’ll send Bram flying with a firm kick to his side,” Elias said.
She rolled her eyes. “Ha ha. It wouldn’t be a proper re-enactment if I was not bleeding profusely from my head.”
“I can smack ye.”
Her head darted over her shoulder to glare at him. “Excuse me?”
“I dinnae think ye ken, but I have a mean punch. Although, something tells me that if I tried, ye would hit back harder.”
“Try your luck and see what happens.”
He grinned. “How about we dismiss the idea and enjoy the landscape? Unless ye want me to hit ye—”
She elbowed his ribs. “One more word and I’ll kick Bram myself.”
He laughed. “Easy, lass. My lips are sealed.”
They trotted along the dirt road. Without a cloud in sight, the sky was as bright as a bluebell. To their right, rocky mountain ridges were dotted with white sheep. To their left, there were vibrant green meadows on rolling hills, stone walls and ancient, twisted trees.
Instinct told her to breathe through her worries, to throw them away in the wind and never look back. Some of her fears were known: riding on a horse, being with Elias and travelling to the village where she would face a handful of strangers. Then, there were the darker ones that had been bottled up in her mind, only to resurface as a recurring nightmare. When she grew strong again, she would uncork them, face it all with a bursting courage and come out standing victorious over the pile of torment. Out in the vast open land and beneath the blazing sun, she knew that moment would soon come because she could feel the strength returning to her bones.
Slowly, she released her grip on the horn. Relaxing in the saddle, she looked at Bram’s muscular shoulders quivering with every strut beneath her thighs.
Throw your fears to the wind.
First, she would conquer her fear of riding large horses. Next, she would conquer her nightmare.
“Can we ride faster?” she said.
“Faster?”
“I want to feel the wind in my hair.”
“Ah,” he chuckled. “Ye seek a wee thrill?”
“Stop with the questions and make me scream, dammit.”
There was choked laughter from behind. “Ye may regret threatening me with a good time.”
She turned her head to look at him.
His curls had dried, falling in waves across his forehead. He was watching her with a glint in his emerald eyes. They matched the vibrant green backdrop of the hills behind him, and she wondered if they were the same colour as the mountains of Scotland.
“I won’t regret it,” she said.
He raised a brow. “I bet ye a shilling that ye will. Ye can hardly sit relaxed in the saddle as it is.”
“A shilling it is.”
“Och, ye wee devil.” Elias manoeuvred Bram off the road.
Her heart gave a lurch. “What are you doing?”
“We can’t blast through the village, can we? Besides, it is much more thrillin’ to fly through the meadow. Are ye ready?”
“Aye!” she shouted with a jolt of heart-pounding excitement.
“Look at ye, like a wee Scottish soldier fightin’ for independence. All yer missin’ is a tartan quilt to drape ye shoulders with,” he said quietly. “Hold onto the horn and dinnae let go.”
She did as he said.
With a firm kick to Bram’s side, Elias shouted a command in Gaelic, and off they went, galloping into the vast meadow leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Bram’s hooves pounded against the grass and the wind whistled past her ears. Faster and faster they sped, through the long wild grass toward the edge of nowhere.
All her thoughts melted.
She burst out laughing as she lifted her arms.
Flying. She was flying. If she shut her eyes, she could almost imagine herself in a convertible with her dad, driving at high speeds through the English country roads. But there was no use in imagining her past. This was her present now. And to move on from the past, she needed to make new memories.
There was another commanding shout.
Bram slowed.
“I said to not let go of the horn,” Elias said sternly as he pulled back on the reigns.
“Sorry.” She exhaled and brought her hands back onto the horn. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. I wanted to … I wanted to…”
Her voice failed. She couldn’t find the right words. The thrill of racing across the meadow had rendered her breathless.
“Ye wanted to crack yer heid?”
“To fly,” she said. “I wanted to fly.”
When Elias did not say anything, she turned to look at him. He regarded her with a curious glimmer in his eye. Apart from the cry of a bird overhead, the only sound was his breathing, heavy and erratic.
“What?” she said.
“Would ye like to join us for the remainder of our journey?”
She felt dizzy. A trip to study moths across northern England. With Elias.
“Consider the offer,” he said, with a mesmerizing smile. “At least until we speak with the wheelwright, but I expect a word while we have a drink together.”
“I can’t consider the offer that quickly.”
“Ye can.”
She furrowed her brow. “Says you?”
“I do. Because I ken the answer already.”
“Elias the mind reader, eh?”
“Not a mind reader. I’m only a man that kens when a lass requires a good time.”
She quickly faced front. A good time with Elias the rugged Scotsman and his kilt in the wild lands of northern England. If she wasn’t blushing before, she certainly was now.
Was a great adventure what she needed? Or should she stay safe at the Randall farm, taking care of pigs and children? Which path would bring her the strength she was looking for?
“You owe me a shilling,” she said.
“Do I?”
“Yes, and that’s aside from the beer.”
Elias laughed.
It was a sound she could get used to.