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“Uh, so, yeah.” I stumble over words trying to cover my embarrassment.
“Right,” Duncan says, looking around as if he too is embarrassed by the touch. “I thought I’d see how you’re settling in. Check on ya, you know?”
“Oh, thank you,” I say. “That’s very kind.”
Loud, braying laughter comes from the other side of the house where the women are working. Are they laughing at me? Silly, they can’t see me, but the sting of their accusations and treatment is painfully raw. It stabs into my chest like a knife and tears well unbidden in my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Duncan asks, moving closer.
I shake my head, not wanting to tell him about this. It’s not their fault. I’m not only a stranger, but to think of how my arrival must have seemed to them. Dressed in strange clothes, my accent something they’ve never heard before. Of course they don’t trust me.
“Nothing,” I say, sniffling. His musky scent fills the air, turning my thoughts away from the rejection. “It’s fine.”
“Ach, it’s anything but fine, lass,” he says, grabbing my hands and squeezing.
I drop my eyes away from him, afraid. A raging urge fills me with his closeness. Desire burns like a bonfire. Dirty thoughts fill my head, none of which I should act on. I’m afraid of what I might do, making it impossible to meet his eyes. Those soulful eyes might break my willpower.
“Tell me, lass. What is bothering ya?”
The laughter of the women rings out again. Loneliness and homesickness swirl inside me and overrides desire. I’m lost. Lost and alone. Duncan is so nice, caring, but I don't belong here. My throat clenches around a tight knot as a tear slides down my cheek. I shake my head, trying to hold back anymore from breaking free.
“Nothing,” I say. “It’s just…”
As I trail off, Duncan squeezes my hands but waits silent. It’s comforting in the most basic of ways.
“They think I’m a witch.”
“Ah,” he says, speaking softly and thoughtfully. “Are you?”
“What?” I ask, jerking my hands out of his in shock.
He shrugs with a sheepish grin on his face. My eyes are wide, and my mouth hangs open. Not him too?
“It seems like a valid question,” he says. “Considering.”
“And if I am?” I ask, then snap my mouth shut as anger heats my skin.
“I’ll ask ya to nae turn me into a toad,” he says with a laugh.
“Well, it would serve you right if I did,” I say, whirling around and moving away.
“Hey,” he says.
I don’t belong here. What right does he have to make fun of me? Witch. Seriously. Of course I’m a witch. What else could I possibly be?
Anger is a pounding drum in my head. I clench my hands into fists, ignoring his repeated calls. Cheeks and chest flushing, I rush away from him. I could take it from everyone else here, but not him.
Chapter Twelve
My butt is numb. I squirm uncomfortably on the short wooden stool which has zero padding. I straighten my back and stretch my arms, leaning against the stone walls of Alesoun’s home. I swipe the sweat from my forehead on a sleeve then grab the churn again.
Stupid men. Stupid me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Getting home. That’s the focus. Why do I care what Duncan thinks?
I slam the churn handle up and down with all the force I can muster. Milk splashes through the hole, splattering across the lid. My grip on the handle slips and the churn tilts. Leaping forward, I barely manage to grab the handle and set it right before it all spills out. I mutter a curse under my breath.
“You’re right awful at churning,” Alesoun says.
“I know,” I exclaim.
