Part 22 (2/2)
”Where would ye go?” Mrs. Pitcairn pulled out a stone pestle and mortar, placed some rosemary in the bowl, and began to grind it.
The clean, fresh scent tickled Bronwyn's nose. Hmm-rosemary. Sir Henry's cook serves herbed bread frequently, and almost always uses rosemary. That has potential.
She caught Mrs. Pitcairn's questioning gaze. ”I'm sorry-where would I travel. I would love to visit Greece and Italy, but that would be much too expensive. Perhaps instead, I'll take a trip to the Hebrides and the northern lochs.”
”The lochs are breathtakingly lovely, miss. Me brother lives in the north, so I've seen them. And they're no' so far away.” Mrs. Pitcairn finished grinding the rosemary and set it aside, then turned to fetch some b.u.t.ter melting in a small pot by the stone.
Bronwyn leaned over the table and took a pinch of rosemary. With a quick look at Mrs. Pitcairn's turned back, she rubbed some of it on her neck.
Goodness, it was quite potent when freshly ground-almost eye-watering, up close. She looked about for a cloth to rub it off, but Mrs. Pitcairn returned before Bronwyn could do anything.
The cook brushed the dough with the melted b.u.t.ter, then sprinkled it with the rosemary. ”If ye travel, ye'll need a companion. Women canno' travel alone.”
”Of course they can,” Bronwyn said. Surely the smell will fade before the hour is out. ”We don't live in medieval times; women travel alone to many places.” Older women, to be sure, many of them forced by their circ.u.mstances to do so, but it was accepted.
Still, the thought of traveling alone wasn't as appealing as that of traveling with someone with the same sense of humor. Someone who would enjoy a line or two from a poem by Walter Scott while admiring a beautiful loch. Someone who disliked formality and could kiss away the storm clouds- Stop that! She shook her head, hoping to dislodge her plaguey thoughts.
Mrs. Pitcairn chuckled. ”Ha' ye a bug in yer ear, miss?”
”No, just a troublesome thought.”
Mrs. Pitcairn placed the bread loaf onto a large wooden paddle and slipped it into the oven. ”Ye'll ha' to shake harder than tha' to lose a thought.”
”I'll just go read. You can't read and worry-it's not possible.”
”I worry aboot ye, all alone outside. Someat' could happen to ye and no one could hear yer screams.”
”The dogs are with me; they are protection enough.”
Mrs. Pitcairn wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n. ”Hmph. Ye think more o' th' beasties than I do, but there's no turnin' ye. Go on wit' ye. There're apples in tha' cask; take one in case ye get hungry.”
”Thank you.” Bronwyn tucked the s.h.i.+ny apple into her pocket, then put her cloak on. As she closed the door behind her, she whistled for the dogs. They came running from a nearby field and fell in behind her as she set off down the trail, her book a pleasant weight in her pocket.
The sky was bright blue and the sun warm as her boots crunched along the path; she didn't really need her cloak until she reached the shade of the woods. The dogs roamed here and there, sniffing the gra.s.s and rocks, an occasional leaf floating down to land before them. The growing sound of the stream announced their arrival at their favorite clearing.
Scott and Walter each picked a place in the sun to stretch out, and soon their eyes closed.
The ground was too damp sit on, so she untied her cloak and threw it over her shoulder, tucked her skirts into her waistband, and then climbed to a thick, low branch of her reading tree. There, she settled into the crook, resting her back against the trunk as she stretched her legs along the wide branch. Satisfied she was in no danger of falling off, she threw the cloak over her legs, making sure it didn't brush the damp gra.s.s.
With a happy sigh, she pulled the apple and her book from her pocket. The quiet was lovely and calming, a respite from the tensions that now filled Ackinnoull. Mama hadn't been the same since she'd discovered Alexsey's glove in the foyer, although she had been oddly reluctant to mention it. Bronwyn thought to reopen the subject, but feared it would only add to Mama's already sharp suspicions, and so they'd settled into an uneasy silence. The rest of the family was in just as much turmoil: Papa's head was buried deeper in his workshop than usual, and they rarely saw him; Mairi was constantly bubbling with excitement over events at the castle; while Sorcha had been quiet of late from the strain of their new social life.
Bronwyn herself had been on edge, her mind never at peace. No matter where she was-at home, at the milliner's, at church-the moment she heard a door open, her heart lurched in antic.i.p.ation of it being Alexsey. When it was him, she was thrown into a state of physical arousal and emotional turmoil, neither of which was given any relief. And when it wasn't him, she was bitten by deep disappointment that lingered for hours.
She supposed the disappointment was only natural; she was eager to teach Alexsey a very needed lesson and her time was running short. All too soon, Sir Henry and his guests would leave Tulloch Castle, and life would return to its previous boredom.
She frowned. I wasn't bored at Ackinnoull before Alexsey arrived, and I won't be bored after he leaves. And yet . . . she had to admit things would be less lively.
She stifled a sigh and took a vigorous bite of her apple, appreciating the sweetness as the skin gave way to the flesh. When she finished, she threw the core into the clearing, where Walter and Scott leapt upon it, playing with it before they settled down and ate what was left. She wiped her fingers on the bottom of her cloak and then picked up her book, taking a deep breath of the chilled forest, the musty scent of dropped leaves and damp ground tickling her senses. She opened her book and within a few paragraphs was lost in the words.
She wasn't certain how long she'd been reading when Walter and Scott woofed and stared into the woods. Startled, she lowered her book.
As if he'd risen from the pages, there was Alexsey, dressed much as he'd been that first day.
Bronwyn's breath caught. How could a man look so good in such common clothes? She tapped a finger on her book. Miss Edgeworth had obviously never seen a fine male figure adorned in the clothing of a working man, or she'd have shown Roland in just such clothing, still looking as handsome and n.o.ble as if he were in formal dress.
With a bark, Papillon burst into sight, her feet muddied and her tail wagging so fast it was a blur. Walter and Scott ran to greet the small dog.
Alexsey walked toward Bronwyn, his gaze hot and possessive. ”You look like a wood nymph, perched in your tree.”
”I sat here because the gra.s.s is damp.”
”Ah. That, I can fix.” He took off his coat and spread it over the gra.s.s at the bottom of the huge trunk. He looked more approachable now, wearing a loose white s.h.i.+rt that clung to his broad shoulders and then fell in graceful folds about his waist.
”I didn't expect to see you here so early.”
His lips twitched. ”You think I'm a slug-a-bed who doesn't arise until late, complaining about having to meet the day? I am not so paltry a man.”
”Paltry” was not a word she'd have used to describe anything about this man.
”And do not worry that I will interfere with your reading time.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small book. ”I have a book, too.”
How many men would join her in reading? None she'd ever met before. She really wished she could stop finding things she liked about him; it made it more difficult to maintain her distance, which she desperately needed to.
But . . . maybe this was just a ploy to win her favor, to advance his attempts at seduction. ”How did you know I'd be here?”
”I stopped at Ackinnoull and spoke to Mrs. Pitcairn who was on her way to fetch eggs. She told me you'd be in your special glen, so I knew you'd be reading.”
”And you just happened to have a book in your pocket?” She couldn't keep the dubious tone from her voice.
He waved a hand. ”It is a gift for you, mayah daragahya. Since you are already reading, I will read with you. Afterward, it is yours.”
To her chagrin, more of the knots she'd tied around her heart eased. Not only was he willing to sit and read with her, but he'd brought her the one gift she loved over all others-a book. Blast it, must he be so kind? She realized he was looking at her, a question in his eyes, and she managed to say without seeming ungrateful, ”Thank you. You know me almost too well.”
His smile glinted with heat. ”What I know about you, my little Roza, I like very much. And I know I will like the rest, too.”
The purr in his words made her body warm in reaction.
He lifted a brow. ”May I join you?”
Of course, her heart whispered. More touching, more kisses, more embraces. I want them all.
That's not wise, her brain whispered back.
Be quiet, Bronwyn told them both as she swung her feet over the edge of the limb and dropped to the ground.
”What were you just thinking?” Somberness darkened his eyes. ”Doubts have found you, nyet?”
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