“So, you’ve forgotten Sweet Molly, have you, sir?”
O’Connor said, “His lordship has a proper wife now. Leave him be.”
“A wife, hey? As pretty as me?”
Beaufort stopped to turn an evil eye on the woman. “I had what I required from you years ago, as have most of the young men in the area. However, such does not mean I would approve of the sound of my wife’s name on your lips. Leave off, unless you wish me to have your tongue removed for its foulness.”
“I not mean any harm,” she whined.
“Remove yourself from my way,” Beaufort growled. “I will not tell you again.”
Lady Klare hadnot been happy when the men had only plastered one wall, calling Annalise a slew of names in Gaelic, and, though she did not understand them, they had made more than one of the men blush. She wished her husband would return sooner, rather than later. She and Lady Klare existed in an uneasy truce, though, truly, Annalise did not understand why the woman was so vehemently set against her. Annalise assuredly knew their situation could not last, but she held no idea how to alter the course of it, especially without knowing the source of the lady’s complaints.
The state of their affairs was too fragile to last, but Annalise had never considered what was to occur.
She had spent an hour at the desk her husband had employed since their arrival at Klare Manor. She provided Navan a list of items required for the repair of the walls and floors and a separate list of food stuffs. He should have asked for a list before his departure, but he had not, and she had been too stubborn to insist on providing him one. Now, they must send a rider to deliver the lists to him. She had considered including a note of apology, but her stubbornness still had not known regret, and so she had simply signed the back of the paper with “Lady Annalise Beaufort.”
With her mind settled, she set out for the gardens to continue her work among the flower beds. Thankfully, no one had moved the hoe and rake and spade she had left among the plants on the second lowest of the four terraces that marked the floral gardens at the manor. She had already spent days on her hands and knees removing weeds from the lowest level and preparing it for replanting in the spring. She had raked pea gravel to form walkways between the plants, forming separate beds to encourage the flowers to return and the weeds to find a new source of nourishment.
Annalise had always wanted a home with lovely flower beds surrounding it, but she had never resided long enough in one place to view the flowers she had planted in bloom nor had her uncle encouraged her to attempt her hand at gardening.
She paused to wonder about the look of Beaufort Court.Does it have formal gardens? Annalise wished with all her heart that Beaufort had first taken her to his home, not his grandmother’s estate. She admired his sense of duty—such a man would never permit his wife and his children to want for anything—yet, she felt quite alone and isolated on the Klare Fields estate. “Accept what you have now as opposed to what you have known for the majority of your life,” she murmured as she took up the rake to clear a path between the plants on the second level.
Since her mother’s passing, she had never known security or love. “You may now claim a bit of security,” she told herself as she worked. “You can earn Beaufort’s respect, even if he never learns to love me, though his love would be a blessing only God would understand.”
“Caithfidh sé seo a bheith álainn i rith an tsamhraidh,” a very masculine voice said, but it was not the voice of her husband. Annalise did not understand the words, though she suspected it was something mundane, but she easily recognized the tone. A young woman raised among men quickly learned to avoid men whose vocal register took on a mixture of desire and danger.
“Why are you here?” she demanded as she carefully sidestepped to where the rake still rested on the ground. The man was one of those she recognized as being hired to repair some of the brick work on the manor house. She had not thought that anyone would have dared to approach her, especially knowing she was Beaufort’s wife, but this young man had.
Keeping her eyes on him, she noted when he shifted to the side in an obvious attempt to prevent her escape. She said in a tone to match her words, “I am warning you to leave me alone,” but all he did was smile at her, as if he thought her words were an invitation, rather than a caution against his obvious purpose.
They were on the back side of the house, away from the majority of the others, who were working inside. The only one she knew who might be within hearing distance was Lady Klare, whose quarters overlooked the gardens.
“Lady Klare!” she called as loudly as she could manage without looking away from the man, who was shadowing her movements. “Lady Klare!”
Those were the last words she uttered, for the man moved quickly when he finally realized her purpose. He charged her just as she swung the rake, catching him under the chin. She heard the satisfying snap of the man’s teeth and noted the slight trickle of blood escaping his mouth. She had stunned him with her bravado, but not long enoughfor her to make her escape into the house.
He lunged for her as she stumbled backwards, catching the heel of her boot on the terraced steps, landing hard on her behind, but she had not lost her grip on the rake, which she brandished like a sword as he scrambled to reach her while she was still on the ground. She “stabbed” him in the middle and knocked him backwards long enough for her to reclaim her footing.
“Help!” she called as she rushed down the steps to take a more protective stance. “Help! Help!”
Meanwhile the man’s features had hardened. He picked up the abandoned hoe and brandished it. He meant to fight her, and he had the advantage in strength and weapon. The hoe was sturdier than the rake, but she had the lessons Alexander had provided her and the cunningness she had learned at the hands of Jacob Moran.
Before the man could reach her, she executed a spin, bringing the rake around to smack him first in the side of his head and then swept it upward to hit him under the chin with the end of the stick where the rake was attached. His mouth snapped together a second time, and he cried out as he bit his tongue. Another circle of the stick above her head and then downward struck him in the back of his knees, pitching him forward to slam into the hard ground. Immediately, she was on the run around the corner of the house, but she saw what she was not supposed to view. Lady Klare was standing near the garden wall, shaking her head as if she were disappointed in the outcome of the confrontation.
