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“No, of course not.” Though, for some reason, it did disappoint her a little. Perhaps because she was well used to spending time with landowners, and this would be another new experience for her. But he did not seem like the rich men of England. And it was not just his rolling accent that did it. “I… I just fear that we are taking up too much of your, no doubt, important time.”

He shook his head. “I think I can take the time out of my day to aid a sick woman. I am no’ so heartless as that.”

Minerva’s eyes widened. “I did not mean offence. Forgive me. I just regret we are inconveniencing you. Of course, you do not resent giving your aid. I would never assume as much. That is… I mean…”

He laid a hand over hers, shocking her into silence. The warmth of hands that were slightly rough and not at all like that of a gentleman’s rushed through her veins, making herheart skip a little. He glanced at where their hands touched and withdrew his quickly.

She put both hands in her lap, aware that the heat in her cheeks had yet to diminish. She could still feel the callouses on his palms where they had touched her hand. Why would a landowner have such rough hands? Maybe there was more to this man than riches.

“It is well enough, Minerva. You do not need to explain yourself.”

She smiled. There was something appealing about the sound of her name rolling across his tongue in that brogue.

“So, where is it you are travelling to?” he questioned. “Will your delay impact your plans?”

Minerva looked into those dark eyes. She released a breath. Would it hurt to tell him all? Why did she even want to? Maybe it was the large, raw strength in those hands that were currently tracing the notches of the table or the way there seemed to be hidden depths in those impossibly dark eyes. Or perhaps it was simply that she needed to tell someone, anyone, outside of her family. She itched to tell someone that she had been brave enough to begin to conquer her fears. After all, they were in the middle of nowhere in the Scottish Highlands. Who was to know if she told him?

“I am to travel to Malmara. My grandpapa used to stay there as a boy. I’ve been asked to go there to fetch something,” she explained.

The creases on his forehead deepened. “Something? That is a little vague.”

“Well, apparently, I shall know when I get there.” She lifted a shoulder.

“And why have you been tasked with the collection of this item? Surely, there is someone else in your family who can dosuch a thing? ‘Tis a long way for a wee lass to travel with just a maid for company.”

“Unfortunately, my brothers are busy with their own… Tasks.”

“Tasks?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. What a strange thing to have to explain. “My grandpapa passed away a few months ago. With no sons to inherit, he willed his inheritance to me and my siblings. There are four of us,” she explained. “But there are terms to the inheritance. And part of those terms for me was the journey to Scotland to collect this unknown object.”

Mr. Sinclair rubbed his fingers against his forehead. “To gain your inheritance, you had to travel to Scotland? What sort of a grandfather would do such a thing to his granddaughter?”

Minerva smiled softly. “Believe it or not, my grandpapa thought he was helping me. I do not travel usually. Not even out of London. I have not done so since I was a little girl. “

“Ah.” He gathered up the two empty bowls of stew and stacked them one on top of the other. “So, he was trying to give you courage.”

“Precisely. I am a… nervous traveler.” She gave a little anxious giggle that made him smile. “I cannot quite believe I have made it this far.”

“And are your siblings’ tasks as difficult?” He stood, carried the bowls over to the sink, and began scrubbing them.

Minerva pushed back her chair and followed him. To watch him scrub the plates and pots seemed almost magical. For one, which was not something she observed often, but she certainly never anticipated a man of his presumed wealth would do such tasks, and for two, his hands worked with quick efficiency, and she got to admire them once more. They were the sort of hands that one knew would feel firm and capable on the dance floor when curved around one’s bodice.

She blew a loose strand of hair from her face, mostly in the hopes of cooling it down. She needed to cease such thoughts about this helpful stranger. With any luck, Mary would be better on the morrow, and they could be on their way. It would not do her any good to be thinking of this handsome stranger whilst she was meant to be tending to her maid.

“May I help?” she offered. She hardly knew what she was doing, but it did not seem polite to sit and watch.

His dark brows lifted, but he motioned to a cloth. “Use that to dry them.” He pointed toward a shelf. “That is where they all belong.”

Minerva picked up the cloth and helped him dry the plates and pots and pans. “To answer your question, I believe my siblings would tell you that their tasks are just as difficult.”

“And you do not believe they are?”

“Well, I have sympathy for my brother Seth. He is to be engaged within the next two months. Whilst I understand my grandpapa’s reasoning behind this task, I do not think Seth should be forced into marriage.”

“Yes, I can understand why you would not support such a thing. Lord knows there are enough miserable arranged marriages in the world.”

She eyed him. “That sounds as though you speak from experience.”