In the late afternoon, with Heather beside him, Breckenridge walked into a tiny hamlet that, according to his map, gloried in the name of Craigdarroch. In unspoken accord, without a word or even a glance exchanged, he and Heather halted and considered the three cottages clustered just ahead of them on the slight upslope above the lane.
“I don’t suppose there’s a larger village around the next bend?” With her head, Heather indicated the next curve in the lane, the next outcrop of hill that hid their way onward.
“Not according to the map. It doesn’t show a larger settlement for quite some way, so we can’t risk going on.” He glanced at the western sky. “The sun might still be shining, but it won’t be for long.”
They’d reached Kirkland a little after midday and had continued on along a larger lane that ran over the hills joining Thornhill and New Galloway. That lane had been better surfaced, but it had still tacked and turned, climbed and descended, albeit never steeply. Nevertheless, the going had been slow — there was no chance they could reach the Vale that day. They’d passed through the village of Moniaive an hour or so ago, and following the route they’d selected, they’d turned off onto the much narrower, pitted lane-cum-track that had brought them to Craigdarroch.
He hoped their taking a less obvious route out of the hills would throw any pursuer off their trail.
At his side Heather stirred. “Let’s try the last cottage. It looks to have an extra room added at the rear.”
He looked, then nodded. Grasping her hand more firmly, he walked with her to the red-painted door of the whitewashed cottage at the end of the short row. They halted on the stoop. He adjusted the satchels on his shoulder, then raised his hand and rapped.
A moment passed, then a woman opened the door. She looked surprised to see them. Alarm briefly flared in her eyes as she looked at him; she quickly moved the door closer to closed before asking through the narrower gap, “What is it?”
Before he could respond, Heather stepped forward; slipping her left hand from his grasp, she gripped his sleeve, pressed. . in warning? “We were just wondering, mistress, if you have a room we might hire for the night. We’re on our way to visit my family, but the going was harder than we’d thought, so we need a bed for the night.”
Breckenridge saw the woman’s eyes drop to Heather’s hand on his sleeve — the hand on which his signet ring still gleamed — and held his tongue.
The woman looked at Heather in her rumpled gown, her hair escaping from the bun she’d fashioned that morning, her normally alabaster skin faintly pinkened by the sun, then considerably more carefully looked at him. She looked him down, then up, then she returned her gaze to Heather. “He’s your man?”
“Yes. He’s mine.”
“He” managed not to glance inquiringly at Heather. Her answer had been instant, assured and absolute; from the corner of his eye, he watched her chin tilt upward a fraction, as if challenging the woman to comment unfavorably on him.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been viewed by any woman in a less-than-favorable light, but he wasn’t slow. Clearly the woman distrusted large and physically strong men. Ducking his head, doing his best to lower his shoulders and seem less intimidating, he shifted his feet and murmured, “I’d be happy to cut wood for you, mistress. Did that for the couple we stayed with last night, back down by Gribton. In addition to the coin, of course.”
The woman glanced again at Heather, then she nodded and stepped back. Holding the door wider, she waved them in. “I’m Mrs. Croft. I’m a widow, so I have to be careful, you see. But I won’t deny the coin — and the wood — will come in handy.”
Heather glanced around the cottage’s tiny sitting room. An open door in the middle of the rear wall led into a lean-to kitchen, a deal table at its center. A door in the wall to the right of the front door no doubt gave onto the cottage’s main bedroom. The hearth and chimney were built into the rear wall, to the right of the kitchen door. Further to the right, a narrow stairway led upward, turning to disappear behind the chimney.
After shutting the stout front door and slipping a heavy iron latch into place, Mrs. Croft waved to the staircase. “The spare room’s up there. Take a look, set down your things. The washroom’s out the back through the kitchen.” She hesitated, her gaze skating over Breckenridge to fix on Heather’s face. Then she nodded as if she’d made some decision. “You’ve come at the right time — I was just starting in on filling the pot. If you fancy, I can do you a decent dinner and a good breakfast, too, as well as the room.”
“Thank you.” Heather smiled in honest relief. “That would be most welcome.” Remembering what they’d paid the Cartwrights, she suggested the same sum.
Mrs. Croft all but beamed. “That’ll do nicely — if you’re sure you can spare it.”
Breckenridge, head bowed because he was standing beneath one of the low ceiling beams, rumbled, “Seems fair. And I can start filling your woodbox before the light goes, if you like.”
A small fire was already burning in the hearth.
Mrs. Croft glanced at the wooden crate beside the fireplace. It was half full of logs. Without meeting Breckenridge’s eyes, she waved. “Oh, you can leave that til morning. You’ve been walking all day by the sounds of it, if you’ve come up from Gribton, and the light’s already fading.”
And then they would leave her with a full woodbox.
Breckenridge ducked his head even lower. “The morning, then.”
Heather had to press her lips together to hide her smile. He looked so. . not him, trying to make himself appear innocuous. “We’ll just go up then.”
Mrs. Croft nodded. “I’ve a bell — I’ll ring when the plates are on the table.”
Heather started up the stairs. At the turn she glanced back and saw Breckenridge, about to follow, angle his shoulders sideways just so he could fit. She’d never considered the difficulties associated with being so tall and broad-shouldered; continuing up the short flight, she stepped onto a tiny landing before a simple door.
Opening the door, she walked into a small, but fastidiously neat, room. Windows at the rear looked across the rising meadow behind the cottage. The room had been built over the kitchen, spanning the space between the cottage’s original roof and the raised bank behind; the room’s floor was the kitchen’s ceiling.
A wood-framed bed occupied the center of the room, with its head against the wall below the windows and its foot toward the blank wall of the chimney flue. There was space enough for a small chest of drawers against the far wall and a washstand against the wall beside the door.
Heather crossed the room and set her satchel down by the chest. She turned to see Breckenridge, having closed the door, pause with his hand on the chimney.
Seeing her looking, he said, “With the fire downstairs, we’ll be warm enough up here.”
Slipping the satchels off his shoulder, he walked to the corner beside the washstand. As he straightened from setting the bags down, a knock sounded on the door.
Mrs. Croft’s voice reached through the panel. “I’ve brought a pitcher of warm water — thought you might like to use the basin in there.”
Waving Breckenridge back, Heather hurried to the door. Opening it, she smiled at their landlady. “Thank you. That was kind.”
Handing the pitcher over, Mrs. Croft wiped her hands on her blue-striped apron and immediately turned away. “Aye, well, you’re welcome.”
Heather watched her descend the stair, then held the heavy pitcher out for Breckenridge to take. He relieved her of it and set it on the washstand.
Closing the door, Heather murmured, “I wonder what happened to her.”
Breckenridge cast her a glance, then tipped still steaming water into the waiting basin. “Her husband probably beat her.”
The way he said it, his tone, made her think he recognized something in the way Mrs. Croft reacted to him.
After rinsing the dust of the lanes from her face, then patting it dry with the thin towel hanging from the side of the washstand, she left him availing himself of the rest of the water and went to inspect the bed.
Drawing down the coverlet, she examined the sheets, then pulled the coverlet back up and sat on the
