Page 9 of A Land So Wide

T he barn was warmer than Greer had expected.

The tang of sawdust and fresh paint hung in the air.

As one of the largest barns in Mistaken, its construction had been an audacious statement, an earnest hope for good things to come.

There would be harvests to store, new animals to house.

Bounties were on their way, and the Andersans were ready to receive them.

The air buzzed with lighthearted merriment. After a short, intense summer of tending crops, readying for the harvest and Reaping, and preparing for the dark months of winter to come, everyone gathered now with unusually high spirits, bolstered by the barrels of ale supplied by Roibart Andersan.

Bales of hay, softened with layers of quilts and furs, were laid out in conversational arrangements.

Dozens of lanterns and oil lamps gave the cavernous space a happy glow.

In the middle of the main floor were long tables heavy with food.

Smoked salmon and tender jerky were displayed on ceramic platters.

Wooden bowls overflowed with roasted vegetables and late-season berries.

An entire length of one table was dedicated to fruit pies and nutty, dark breads.

The storm clouds had rolled away, leaving behind a dazzling night sky, and nearly everyone in Mistaken had turned out.

Though most of the women stayed inside, the men congregated in the yard around the ale, refilling their cups and laughing uproariously.

Several lads had brought fiddles and pipes and were challenging each other with zesty runs.

For the younger crowd, there was a marked undercurrent to the evening, a pulsing, pressing urge to see and be seen.

With the Hunt so near, many were using this night to woo would-be partners while sizing up potential competition.

Frilly dresses peeked out from long woolen cloaks.

Hair had been slicked and pinned and ribboned.

Cheeks were pinched to alluring shades of pink.

Everyone was full of smiles and gaiety, as if vying to be the brightest and most dazzling.

All of the good cheer set Greer’s teeth on edge; her own thoughts were drowned out by the sounds and shouts of everyone else.

From across the barn, she heard Lotte Morag, a Steward’s wife, whisper that she was with child again.

Outside, along the far edge of the tree line, hidden by the cover of darkness, came the muffled, breathy moans of two sweethearts fumbling against each other.

Beside the bonfire, a group of boys ran through the list of Hunt participants, comparing the girls’ looks and the width of their hips.

Their conversation was sprinkled with bursts of wicked laughter.

Inside her mittens, Greer’s fingers danced with agitation. She longed for a mug of mulled cider. Spirits often helped dull the roar of so much sound. But first she needed to find Ellis. When she was with him, everything quieted, distilling to only the most important of details.

Where was he?

A pack of young men wandered into the yard, and Greer scanned their number. They were led by Lachlan Davis, Hessel’s favored suitor.

Greer hadn’t liked him in childhood, when he’d dipped the end of Louise’s long braids into wells of ink at school, and she liked him even less now.

A kinetic energy danced through his short, muscular frame, a caged restlessness that always verged toward mean-spiritedness.

With his dark hair and even darker eyes, he reminded Greer of a compact wolverine, endlessly prowling and always on the hunt.

The boys slapped at one another’s backs, chests puffed and proud. Their eyes were already glassy from swigs of the whiskey Greer could hear jostling within hidden flasks.

Ellis was not with them.

Lachlan’s eyes roamed over the barnyard, intent and assessing. Greer ducked behind one of the thick posts supporting the weight of the loft, but not quickly enough. She wanted to groan as she heard his footsteps.

As Hessel Mackenzie’s only child, she knew many had set their sights upon her, hungering after the comforts and wealth the mill brought in and willing to overlook her peculiarities to get them.

Over the summer, grand gestures of intent had been made: bouquets of flowers, parcels of ribbons, little gifts of needles and thread, her favorite sweets from the general store.

Greer had refused them all.

“Good evening, Greer Mackenzie,” a voice called out, toying and teasing. “You’re looking most lovely tonight.”

“Oh, Lachlan,” she said, turning to face him. “I was just…I was just admiring the new barn. It’s a marvel, isn’t it?” Her voice felt too high. It was obvious she’d been trying to avoid him.

Lachlan peered up at the rafters appreciatively. “Ours will be better.”

“Ours?” she echoed, recoiling at his audacity.

A swoop of dark hair fell over his brow as his eyes landed on her. “Oh yes. It will need to be bigger than this one. Much bigger. I have so many plans.”

“For…a barn?”

“And us,” Lachlan added, nodding. His lips turned up and Greer couldn’t shake the image of a marten, moving in for the kill. “Never in all my life have I so longed for a summer to end,” he admitted. “But it’s nearly over. Come first snow, we’ll be tucked away in a little cabin of our own.”

“A little cabin with an enormous barn,” she clarified, deadpan.

He beamed.

“You truly think you’re going to catch me, Lachlan Davis?”

He took a step forward, his confidence easy and unearned. “I know I will.”

Greer’s gaze drifted toward the open doors, where Hessel stood with a group of Stewards. She could hear Ayaan recounting the negotiations with the merchant captain, but her father’s focus was fixed squarely upon her. And Lachlan. And the pair they made.

“I spoke with your father at some length today.” Lachlan adjusted the angle of his body as though to include Hessel within their conversation, but also using the movement to shift closer to Greer. She could feel the heat of his breath linger in the hollow of her throat. “Did he mention it?”

She shrugged lightly. “He talks about so many young men these days, it’s impossible to keep track.”

Lachlan blinked, taken aback, before breaking into a snort of amusement. “You’re in jest! Good. A wife who can make you laugh will make for a happy home.”

He took her hand in his, fumbling around the bulk of woolen mitten. Greer felt the weight of an audience upon her and scanned the barn. There, on the other side of the room, a group of girls studied Lachlan’s grasp with unchecked interest, their lips thin with resentment.

She knew Lachlan was considered the best catch of the Hunt, the boy every girl hoped would follow after her with fixed determination.

Almost every girl, Greer thought, squirming free of his brazen touch.

“Have you been practicing?” she asked.

Intrigued, he raised his eyebrows. “Practicing?”

“For the Hunt.”

His smile was indulgent. “I’ve been hunting my whole life. Tracking you won’t be too different, Greer Mackenzie.”

The truth of his statement left a puddle of unease pooling within her, but she pushed past it. “Then let’s try it. Right now.”

Lachlan glanced about the barn. For the first time that evening, he looked apprehensive, unsure of his footing. “You want…you want me to hunt you…here?”

Greer nodded as if she was proposing nothing more than a mischievous dare. “On the day of the Hunt, the girls have one half-hour to hide. Give me five minutes tonight.”

“Five minutes,” he repeated slowly.

Greer could almost see the fantasies his mind spun. “Would three suit you better? I’m sure other girls would be much easier to track, if you think me too much of a challenge.” She nodded toward the group of girls still watching them.

“Five is fine. Make it ten,” he said with gallant loftiness.

“Ten, then.”

“And when I win?” Lachlan asked, lowering his voice with suggestion. “When I catch my prize, what shall she give me?”

Greer leaned in, lowering her voice. “Anything you like.”

His breath caught; his pupils dilated. “Anything?”

“I’d head outside and start the counting if I were you.”

He was gone in a clattering of eager footsteps.

Greer turned and spotted a pair of women watching the scene play out with narrowed, disapproving eyes.

“So much goodness,” the older one said with a tsk, “wasted on such a girl.”

Greer longed to throw a pithy retort back at the sour-faced widow, but the clock had begun, and she could feel every passing second.

Ducking from their glares, she slipped to the back of the barn and lost herself in the maze of tack rooms and equipment storage.

All she wanted was to find Ellis and pull him away from the festivities.

As if he were summoned by her thoughts, she heard Ellis’s voice call through the noise of the gathering, as clear as a bell, as unmissable as the Bellows: “Greer.”

She turned, thinking he must be behind her, but the corridor was empty.

“Come find me,” he continued, and a flush of warmth rushed over her.

They’d played this game throughout childhood, wasting away summer afternoons in sun-dappled meadows. Ellis would hide within the tall grasses and wildflowers and whisper to her, knowing she could hear his every word. Knowing she would always follow after him.

Greer loved that her peculiarity, her ability to hear far and wide, was never a source of bewilderment for Ellis. He never thought it odd, never found frustration with it. He embraced the quirk as readily as any of Greer’s attributes, the color of her eyes, the freckles across her face.

Greer searched the stalls and birthing pens, but they were empty, save for piles of fresh straw and a trio of children playing their own hide-and-seek. She peeked in room after room, mindful of each minute Lachlan was counting.

“Wrong level,” Ellis whispered.