“’Tis nothing, Vincent,” said the girl with a wave of her hand. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Are you harassing my fiancée?”
“Fiancée! Vincent, I should hardly think that we are—”
“You will leave her be,” the Englishman continued, “or you shall have me to answer to. You do continue to enjoy the revenue we bring you, do you not?”
Adam gritted his teeth. This was why he had not wanted to lead today’s hike, or any event including men like this one.
“Be careful, lass, that is all,” he said, stepping backward. He was about to turn away, but had one final question. “I must ask you — what in the devil is on your head?”
“My bonnet!” she replied, indignation flashing in her eyes. “What else would it be?”
“I certainly have never seen the likes of it,” he said in all honesty. “I’m nae sure what you expect it to do, but it certainly willna keep the insects and the sun away.”
“I thank you for your concern,” she said in a tone that made it clear she did not appreciate the sentiment. “However, despite your opinion, I will wear this, and would ask you not to cause a scene, sir.”
“As you wish,” he said, finally stepping away, though he glanced back a few times to see her refuse the help of the Englishman who had called her his betrothed. Adam shook his head as he untied his horse and walked to the front of the pack. The English.
True to her word, the girl — or young woman, he couldn’t be sure of her age — kept up with the men she accompanied, though it was clear she was unused to such physical activity. Perhaps some Englishwomen would be more physical on a country estate, he thought, but certainly nothing like the women in the Highlands, who spent every moment of their day caring for their home or their family.
He tried not to turn around and watch her but couldn’t help himself. Her hair had loosened and stuck to the side of her face as she perspired on her way up the grassy hill. The ridiculous piece of fabric she had been wearing on her head was now bouncing around her shoulders, and her cheeks were flushed from the rising sun. Yet she was still faring better than some of the older men of the group, and he begrudgingly admired her resolve to utter no word of complaint.
He wasn’t taking the group far. He would simply provide them with a view of where they would spend the next few days hunting and show them the lay of the land. As they neared the top of the hill, they came to the one outcropping that was slightly more treacherous than the rest. He called out to the rest of them in a warning, and he watched her begin to pick her way over it. She had nearly scaled it when her foot slipped, the slick sole of her leather boot not providing her with enough traction. Her skirts, though not as voluminous as some he had seen the English wear, became tangled between her legs and she went down with a thud.
Adam scrambled down the hill back to her, but when he finally reached her and stretched out a hand to help her, she had already righted herself and waved away his help.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I thank you, however.”
“Nothing to thank me for,” he said gruffly. “I am simply doing my job.”
He looked up to see the man she called Vincent was far ahead, having left her behind as he made his own way up the hill. Adam nodded to her then left as he resumed his place at the front of the group. They would make one more stop before they returned to Darfield — the village where most of the crofters lived. It was part of the “experience” they provided, although he hated taking the English there. He could see the disdain in their eyes as they looked at the crofters as a species less than themselves. He trained his eyes over the loch — his loch. A few more days, he told himself, then they would all be gone. He could hardly wait.
Rachel was miserable. The man had been right when he said she should stay behind, though she would not give him the pleasure of knowing such information. It would have been much better had she been truly prepared and dressed for the excursion, although she had enjoyed all that there was to see, particularly now that they had made it to the crest of the hill.
As the dashing, yet so utterly rude, Scot led them down the hill, he took them onto a path that he said would finish in a village of sorts, and her spirits immediately lifted. She appreciated the opportunity to meet new people, and perhaps those in the village would be much less surly than this man. Mayhap more like Rory MacTavish. He seemed friendly enough, with his wide grin and easygoing manner.
They neared the small cottages that belonged to the people the McDougall man called “crofters.” She could hardly believe how tiny the homes were, and as they came to the first, she saw sitting out front was a woman with a whole brood of children. Surely they didn’t all live in this tiny home?
“Molly!” Adam called out, embracing the woman after she rose, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Looking wonderful as always. And how are the children today?”
“They are doing well, Adam, thank you.”
Rachel smiled at the woman, until she started hearing the mutterings of the men around her. “I thought we might see a pretty face or two out here,” said one man, the son of one of her father’s acquaintances. “That certainly is not the case!”
“No,” chortled another. “Good God, what is this place? These people live like heathens!”
It did seem they were cooking
