His vengeance could reach her even here. She had no friends. She must keep her wits about her.
Chapter Four
Lilli plunged into the icy pool to wash away the memories. She was a practical woman now with no wish to dream for she had no trust in them. They led one to folly as surely as the sun rose in the Eastern skies. Another dream had died, as well—a dream she no longer allowed to grow. A dream of a man who would one day love her and bring her to his home. Though of noble stock, she had no dowry, nothing to offer except herself. A man of Callum MacAlister’s ilk would never consider a woman with no means even if she were nobility. He would want land for in the end, land and prestige were the prizes men fought for. Had not Archibald Campbell’s greed for Lady Jane’s dowry lands impelled him toward a cruelty more dreadful than any could contemplate?
Still her stubborn heart thought of a man who might come to her one day, a man like her father or Edward. A Highlander who would fight for those he loved and the things he believed in. A man with rough hands and a ready laugh. A man tender enough to smooth a little girl’s hair and bold enough to make a woman blush.
Callum MacAlister sprang to mind. He was a warrior. The scars on his body testified to that. Yet he’d not hesitated to tend the bairn while she slept. He was a puzzling man for a nobleman. She washed her hair and relaxed back, letting the flowing water spread the strands around her. She imagined herself a mermaid with a golden halo. She would not think of Callum. As soon as he was well enough, she’d see him gone.
He must never know the truth of who she was or why her enemies sought her. What had he asked her? Where was her man? He must not know she had no man to tend the croft else he could put her off the land. Then where would she go?
Those thoughts did little to improve her disposition as she made her way back to the cottage. Callum and Rose still slept, so she put a stew of mutton and barley to simmer over the fire and turned to the next task. She took some pride in the fact she wasn’t as awkward as she’d been just yesterday as she milked the cow. Then she turned the bawling calf in to feed from its mother. She signed. At least the chores were not as onerous as they’d been in the beginning. She might come to like being a simple Highland crofter. Feeling energized, she tidied the cottage and rubbed down the wooden plenishings. And when at last she finished, she sat by the fire with her feet near the flame for warmth and her hands fashioning bannocks to fry on the griddle.
* * * *
The sight of the girl by the fire was the first thing that met Callum’s gaze when he woke. The fire cast an orange glow about her, and he lay quietly, unwilling to break the peaceful scene. She’d put aside the wimple countrywomen wore for modesty, and her golden hair tumbled down her back. As she worked, it fell forward across her shoulders in tendrils, so she pushed at it impatiently. Finally, she reached for a length of cord and tied it out of the way.
Callum sighed with regret for he’d lain imagining burying his hands and face in that swirling mass. But now his attention was caught by her clearly etched profile, as fine and delicate as one of the precious porcelains his mother had treasured. Save the porcelains had been cold and untouched by the world around them. The girl’s profile was lined with the warm light from the fire, and her cheeks were flushed with warmth. He thought of placing his tongue against that flawless round cheek and tasting the essence of her. Aware of where his thoughts were taking him, he moved restlessly on the bed, turning away from the temptation she presented.
“You’re awake, then,” she said softly, startling him, for he thought he’d made no sound. “Do you feel well enough to rise and walk a bit?” She rose and came to the bed.
“Not yet!” he answered harshly for he’d not have her know what devils
Chapter Four
Lilli plunged into the icy pool to wash away the memories. She was a practical woman now with no wish to dream for she had no trust in them. They led one to folly as surely as the sun rose in the Eastern skies. Another dream had died, as well—a dream she no longer allowed to grow. A dream of a man who would one day love her and bring her to his home. Though of noble stock, she had no dowry, nothing to offer except herself. A man of Callum MacAlister’s ilk would never consider a woman with no means even if she were nobility. He would want land for in the end, land and prestige were the prizes men fought for. Had not Archibald Campbell’s greed for Lady Jane’s dowry lands impelled him toward a cruelty more dreadful than any could contemplate?
Still her stubborn heart thought of a man who might come to her one day, a man like her father or Edward. A Highlander who would fight for those he loved and the things he believed in. A man with rough hands and a ready laugh. A man tender enough to smooth a little girl’s hair and bold enough to make a woman blush.
Callum MacAlister sprang to mind. He was a warrior. The scars on his body testified to that. Yet he’d not hesitated to tend the bairn while she slept. He was a puzzling man for a nobleman. She washed her hair and relaxed back, letting the flowing water spread the strands around her. She imagined herself a mermaid with a golden halo. She would not think of Callum. As soon as he was well enough, she’d see him gone.
He must never know the truth of who she was or why her enemies sought her. What had he asked her? Where was her man? He must not know she had no man to tend the croft else he could put her off the land. Then where would she go?
Those thoughts did little to improve her disposition as she made her way back to the cottage. Callum and Rose still slept, so she put a stew of mutton and barley to simmer over the fire and turned to the next task. She took some pride in the fact she wasn’t as awkward as she’d been just yesterday as she milked the cow. Then she turned the bawling calf in to feed from its mother. She signed. At least the chores were not as onerous as they’d been in the beginning. She might come to like being a simple Highland crofter. Feeling energized, she tidied the cottage and rubbed down the wooden plenishings. And when at last she finished, she sat by the fire with her feet near the flame for warmth and her hands fashioning bannocks to fry on the griddle.
* * * *
The sight of the girl by the fire was the first thing that met Callum’s gaze when he woke. The fire cast an orange glow about her, and he lay quietly, unwilling to break the peaceful scene. She’d put aside the wimple countrywomen wore for modesty, and her golden hair tumbled down her back. As she worked, it fell forward across her shoulders in tendrils, so she pushed at it impatiently. Finally, she reached for a length of cord and tied it out of the way.
Callum sighed with regret for he’d lain imagining burying his hands and face in that swirling mass. But now his attention was caught by her clearly etched profile, as fine and delicate as one of the precious porcelains his mother had treasured. Save the porcelains had been cold and untouched by the world around them. The girl’s profile was lined with the warm light from the fire, and her cheeks were flushed with warmth. He thought of placing his tongue against that flawless round cheek and tasting the essence of her. Aware of where his thoughts were taking him, he moved restlessly on the bed, turning away from the temptation she presented.
“You’re awake, then,” she said softly, startling him, for he thought he’d made no sound. “Do you feel well enough to rise and walk a bit?” She rose and came to the bed.
“Not yet!” he answered harshly for he’d not have her know what devils
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