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Harvest had started in earnest. Not in the mood to sit in the manor musing about things she did not comprehend, she decided to come give a hand. Used to it, she got involved in the McKendrick’s activities as part of her normal life.
Practical dress on, hair pinned up, hat, sickle in hand she bent cutting the ripe oats.
“What are you doing?” The guttural question caused scalding heat, followed by a wash of cold to course through her.
Quickly straightening, she swivelled to him. And wished she had not done that. Ever again. In the morning sun, his moss-green eyes glittered a questioning and vaguely disconcerted light. Wind-dishevelled sable hair, full tartan over a snowy shirt, tall as a Celtic king of old, square jaw set, taut frame. His figure had to muddle a woman’s head forever.
They had not talked since he brought her back yesterday. And she would not mind it if she met him in a century’s time, so to say.
Memories of that fatidic morning in the woods did not stop playing in her head, producing humid heat each time.
“Helping.” She ripped her goggle from him and went back to her work.
“I did not bring you here to work.” He came closer.
Not ceding to the pea-headed mistake of looking at him again. “What did you expect me to do? Sit in the manor all day doing nothing?” That had never been her style.
If she sat all day, those memories would haunt her to madness point.
“As the future lady-of-the-manor— “ He trailed off meaningfully.
Her temper tried to stay cool, but fury at the mention of marriage proved inevitable.
“I should be helping my brothers.” She tamped down the tart answer she wanted to give him.
“Indeed.” He breathed a derisive chuckle. “And what were you going to do at your aunt’s?”
She would chase the miscreant who gave him her itinerary and he would find a new job only in the Americas. She thought boiling.
; No other choice than to turn to him anew. “This is none of your business.”
Maybe she should tell him she sought to relieve the pressure for marriage. He would know she intended to choose who, when and where to marry, troglodyte methods or not.
“Go back to the manor.” He ordered unrepentant. “You and Sam pleaded for time to know each other.”
That fury pushed hard at that moment. “Hell will freeze over before you decide about my life!”
A sardonic smirk surged in those lips made for torment. “With this fire of yours, you will melt the whole Arctic sooner.”
As he braced his legs, arms crossed his impossible eyes ambulated over her from hat to boots, slow, heated. Those thick lashes gradually shading the intent glint in the same measure her skin flushed with the same gradient. It made her want to throttle him to the ground and then come over him and—And what, you stupid woman?
Oh, it would be so convenient if they were alone and she could punch him in his rugged face! But workers, farmers and tenants milled around at this busy season.
She did not need to do it, he read her thoughts. So much so, he bowed mockingly before he turned to go.
Evidently, everyone there knew who she was, for they treated her with the due respect.
Her work resumed, she strived not to think of the giant.
If the buidseach gave him another of those… esurient once over, he would not be responsible for what he did next. He thought, walking away from her as if the trolls chased him.
Taran headed to the group of tenants farther in the field as he tried to reconcile this woman with his idea of a daughter of a Laird. Fiona had abhorred anything related to land, and the work involved in it. For her, it served merely to generate the money necessary to use in the city.
An obvious fact that Aileen was no stranger to the toiling of a manor. Her practised movements with the sickle confirmed it. And she bent dishing him with her delectable back together with the ideas of what he would like to do with it. The sole solution to keep distant—very distant—from her.
Needless to say, he had spent another atrocious night, even if in the comfort of the Laird’s chambers or bed. The later the worst. Wintry after the night they spent in the woods and the manner in which they awoke. The best night of his life. Even if turbulent, frustrating, overflowing with outlawed fantasies and desires.
