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Glancing down, Saoirse saw a woman sitting up against the mossy trunk of an oak tree. It was clear from the redness around the woman’s eyes that she’d been crying. A wounded creature, indeed, and just the kind that Saoirse knew how to heal.
“Was that ye I heard from the road?” Saoirse crouched, getting a better view of the woman’s face.
She was beautiful. So beautiful that it made her tears seem even more tragic. She couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Saoirse, with big brown eyes like a doe, and lips so full and red that they looked bee-stung. Her hair, twisted into a thick braid, was a shade darker than her eyes and so glossy that Saoirse had to resist the urge to touch it.
The woman laughed tightly. “Aye, that was me. Apologies if I disturbed yer walk. I dinnae realize I was bein’ so loud.”
“Are ye well? What’s upset ye?”
The woman eyed Saoirse, as if she didn’t quite trust her. “Why does any lass cry alone in a forest, accidentally botherin’ passersby?”
“Husband trouble?” Saoirse flashed an encouraging smile.
The woman’s laugh loosened. “Aye, somethin’ of that ilk.” She squinted at Saoirse. “Do I ken ye?”
“Are ye of Clan Huxtable?”
The woman tilted her head from side to side. “I daenae really have a clan, but I ken Thorn Castle well. Of late, I’ve been livin’ in the village down yonder. Brockhole, if ye ken it?”
“I ken it reasonably well.” Saoirse nodded, extending her hand. “If ye ken Thorn Castle, then ye might have seen me there. I’m Saoirse, the Lady of Huxtable.” She got a slight thrill from saying so, as she hadn’t really had the opportunity to announce herself in such an official fashion.
The woman’s eyes widened, as she took Saoirse’s offered hand. “Lady Huxtable? I dinnae realize that the Laird had taken a wife.”
“It is somewhat recent,” Saoirse replied shyly. “I believe it has been four weeks since our weddin’. If ye havenae been at Brockhole long, perhaps the news dinnae reach ye.”
With a firm tug, Saoirse pulled the woman to her feet, where she discovered that the crying soul was a good deal taller than expected. She was almost as tall as Noah, but not at all willowy in figure. Even with a cloak shrouding much of her, the woman had obvious and quite remarkable curves.
“Is it a marriage of love?” The woman dusted herself off and picked up a bag that rested against the tree.
“Pardon?”
The woman smiled. “Is it a marriage of love? Ye mentioned husband trouble like it was somethin’ ye were familiar with. Are ye and His Lairdship in a marriage of convenience? A means for an alliance?” She hid a laugh behind a slender hand, adorned with two silver rings. “Apologies, ye must think me rude, askin’ so many questions. I ask only because I’ve heard of the Laird. Accordin’ to gossip—and who kens how much ye can trust that—he’d sworn off love.”
“We have a happy marriage,” Saoirse replied evenly. Meanwhile, inside she thought,Aye, I do ye think ye’re a touch rude.What sort of questions were those, to ask a stranger who’d stopped to help?
“After four weeks?” The woman snorted. “It takes more than that to ken if ye’re happy or nae. Even if ye’vebeenhappy for years, feelings can change in an instant.”
Saoirse forced a polite smile, giving the woman the benefit of the doubt. Clearly, she had been through some marital problems and had chosen to vent them, in a strange way, at Saoirse.
“I’m afraid I cannae see into the future, Mrs—I’m sorry, I daenae believe ye introduced yerself.” Saoirse waited expectantly.
The woman’s gaze flitted away, unnerving Saoirse even more. “Nay, I dinnae give my name, did I? Seems I’m bein’ very rude today. Ye can call me Mrs. Foster.”
The turn of phrase lodged in Saoirse’s mind. Was that the woman’s name or not? Judging by the twitch of the woman’s eyes, it seemed unlikely. But what reason could she have, not to give Saoirse her real name? Was she running from something? Was this some sort of a trap that Saoirse had walked right into, orchestrated by thieves who played upon the good will of others? The hidden coin purse suddenly felt very heavy on Saoirse’s hip.
Why did I nae listen to Mary? I told her, with my own mouth, that I’d always listen and yet—
“Well, Mrs. Foster, if ye’re nae injured or in trouble, I should—”
“Has he saddled ye with an heir yet?” the woman interrupted, her doe eyes widening until they seemed almost mad. “Nay, I suppose ye wouldnae ken, would ye? It hasnae been long enough if ye’ve only been married four weeks.” It didn’t appear as if the woman was even talking to Saoirse anymore, just herself.
“I daenae ken what woes ye’ve had, Mrs. Foster, but there are things ye shouldnae say or ask aloud,” Saoirse chided, taking a step back. The road wasn’t far. She could run if she needed to, as long as the woman couldn’t run faster.
The woman smirked. “So, ye’re a shy one, are ye? That doesnae seem like the Laird’s sort of lass. From what I’ve heard, at least,” she hastened to add, but there was a haughtiness in her gaze. Like she thought she knew more than Saoirse. “Daenae be surprised if he takes a mistress. All men do. The best thing that ye can do, as a wife, is to pretend ye daenae notice.”
“Noah isnae “all men,” Mrs. Foster,” Saoirse shot back. She couldn’t stop herself.
The woman just laughed. “Ye think ye’re the first wife to say that about her husband?” She put on a high-pitched voice. “Och,myhusband would never stray. Och,myhusband is loyal as a dog. Och,myhusband is too old for such things. It always ends the same, with them makin’ a discovery that proves me right. Mark my words, Laird Huxtable isnae any different.”
