Slipping the leaves into her pocket, she rose and wandered off, her gaze trained on the damp, dark earth. “You think me an ignorant fool then, do you?”
“No.” That wasn’t what he’d been thinking at all. Far from a fool, she was quick and creative—at least when it came to inventing lies. “I don’t know what to think of you,” he said honestly, following her again. “Or what to do with you, for that matter.”
She whirled so fast he nearly ran into her. The dress she detested swirled around her legs. “What do you mean, what to do with me? You promised you’d take me to London.”
“And I will—”
“This arrangement wasn’t my choice.” She appraised him for a few heartbeats before crouching to inspect another bit of greenery. “But I don’t mean to be trouble.”
Despite himself, his gaze was drawn to the nape of her long, slim neck. “Of course you’re trouble.” He shrugged uncomfortably, grateful her eyes were on the plant. He didn’t want to know what color the hazel had turned to now. “But it’s no fault of yours. All girls are trouble.”
She straightened to face him. “All girls?” The two words were laced with challenge.
He took a defensive step back. “Are you not going to take any of that plant?”
“It’s useless. I was hoping it was moonwort, but of course it’s too late in the year.” With a look that said the conversation was far from over, she meandered along and knelt by another plant. “Surely your mother wasn’t trouble?”
“Her above all.” He sighed, his mind far in the past—a past he preferred to forget. “She abandoned four children, effectively leaving me, the eldest, to raise the rest.”
She glanced up. “Abandoned you?”
He surveyed the fragrant forest, the cloudy sky, anything to avoid the pity in her gaze.
The last thing he wanted was this girl’s sympathy.
“Well, she died, which amounted to the same thing. She insisted on following my father into battle against Cromwell. Not a woman’s place, but—”
“Not a woman’s place?” Shading her eyes with a hand, she sent him a glare clearly meant to intimidate. “Who are you to tell women where their places are, Jason Chase?”
He blinked. “I imagine I should expect such an attitude from a girl who does a man’s job.”
“If running Leslie is a man’s job, then aye, I do one.” Fallen leaves crunched beneath her as she rose. “Given your attitude toward women, I expect your three siblings are sisters?”
“Only one.” Thinking of his sister prompted a smile. “But Kendra proved enough trouble for three. And still trouble—she refuses to get married, at least to anyone remotely suitable.”
“Poor, poor Jason.” Her commiserating noises were clearly less than sincere. “Imagine a lass wanting to choose her own husband.” She came near, her skirts swishing again, drawing his attention to the curves underneath. “Imagine a lass wanting a husband at all. They’re all like you, thinking they can keep their women in place.”
Those changeable eyes looked green now. He backed up until he bumped smack against a tree and could go no farther—at least not without looking like more of a fool than he already felt.
She moved closer again. Too close. “It’s sorry I am if your mam was a halliracket, but—”
“A what?”
“An irresponsible person.” She fixed her gaze on his. “But my mam would say a scabbit sheep canna smit a hail herself.”
He crossed his arms and stared back at her, his mind a complete blank when confronted with such gibberish.
“One evil person cannot infect the whole. You cannot judge all women by your own isolated experiences.”
He cleared his throat. “I suppose your mother is an angel on earth?”
Shrugging, she lowered herself to inspect another plant. After a moment, her voice drifted up, quiet and subdued. “She’s an angel in heaven. Mam died when I was twelve.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling bad for asking while wondering if she was telling the truth. He cast about for a change of subject. “What of your father?”
Slowly she tilted her face until her gaze was locked on his. A faint glaze of tears seemed to brighten her eyes. “My Da died a few weeks ago.”
Egad! Was she still trying to guilt him? If so, it was working beautifully. Though he didn’t know how much of her story he believed, he found himself drowning in those eyes, wanting to reach for her and offer comfort.
He blew out a breath. “I’m very sorry.”
Thankfully, she focused back down, fingering a small whitish leaf. “It was a blessing.” Her voice was flat. He watched her pluck the leaf, her fingers both graceful and deft. “He had a fit last spring and couldn’t move but to blink his eyes and swallow.” She looked up again. “Would you care to live like that?”
He shook his head, not knowing what to say.
“Now my family is only Adam.”
“Right, you told me about him.” Over and over. “Adam MacCallum.”
“Adam Leslie.” With a huff, she stood. “By all the saints, you have got to be the stubbornest man I’ve ever met.”
“Runs in the family,” he said dryly, watching her pull her amulet from under her shift and fold one hand around it. It looked ancient. He wondered how many Emeralds had worn it over the years. “Have you no other family at all?”
“A cousin, Cameron.” The necklace fell from her fingers. “Leslie,” she added before he could suggest otherwise.
He was beginning to think he’d never trip her up; she was a bright one, all right. And she asked way too many questions. Personal questions. “What is that?” he asked, indicating the leaf in her other hand.
“Bifoil.” She added it to her pocket. “Good for wounds.”
He bent and touched the plant’s second leaf. “Why didn’t you take this one?”
“I must leave some to grow and flourish for the next person who needs it. Removing too much is rude. We must respect Mother Earth if we wish her to provide.”
She ambled off again, her gait made awkward by more than a twisted ankle. It was clear she
