Page 1 of Rebellious Highland Hearts: Short Story Collection

A REBELLIOUS HIGHLAND HEARTS

SHORT STORY

THE HANDCART LURCHED to a halt. Turning, to see that the small wooden wagon had listed sideways, causing the barrel she’d been towing home to topple over, Eara Mackay issued a salty curse.

She’d only had that infernal wheel mended a few months earlier. Dun Ugadale didn’t have a wainwright—the nearest tradesman skilled in repairing carts and wagons was in Ceann Locha—and so she’d asked the elderly village ironmonger instead to replace the rusted pin and help her remount the left wheel. Auld Finlay was losing his sight, and his fingers were swollen with use and age. He’d done his best—only it wasn’t good enough.

Muttering more curses, Eara let go of the rope she’d been towing the cart with and stalked around to inspect the damage.

It was a drizzly morning in late August, and there was a bite to the air, hinting that autumn approached. She’d been traveling down a narrow path that led from the spring located to the southwest of Dun Ugadale and had almost reached the rocky outcrop where the broch perched.

The clouds had lowered this afternoon though, obscuring the high lichen-and-moss-encrusted walls from view.

Fortunately, Eara had stoppered the barrel. Using spring water, rather than the brackish water from the village well, made a huge difference to the taste of the ale she brewed. Her frequent trips to the spring were time-consuming yet essential. And this was the only cart she owned.

Staring at where the wheel sat at an odd angle, Eara balled her hands into fists at her sides.

Curse this rickety cart to Hades, she was tired to the marrow of dealing with obstacle after obstacle.

She hadn’t been happily wed to James, yet he’d taken care of any problems that arose with the business. She hadn’t realized just how much responsibility he’d shouldered until she found herself alone after his death. Her friend Rose often helped her in the mornings with the brewing of ale, but there was so much she still had to cope with alone.

Her frustration spilled over into anger then, and she let out a string of the filthiest curses she knew and kicked the wheel.

Pain exploded in her toes, and she yelled out. She was wearing worn leather boots, but the impact jarred her toes nonetheless. Hopping around on one foot, she continued to swear.

“God’s blood, woman … ye are making enough noise to raise the dead.”

Eara’s cursing choked off, and, still standing like a crane on one leg, she glanced over her shoulder to see a man on horseback rein in behind her.

Kyle MacAlister’s moss-green eyes twinkled in amusement as he watched her.

Moments passed, and then a grin stretched the bailiff’s face.

“Find my predicament amusing, do ye?” Eara shot back, indignant. It was fortunate that she liked the bailiff, or she’d have snarled at him.

Kyle shook his head before swinging down from his horse. “I thought I told ye months ago to get that wheel mended?”

“I did,” she replied ungraciously, wincing as she placed her bruised foot on the ground and gingerly tested her weight upon it. “But Auld Finlay’s eyesight isn’t the best these days.”

“There’s a good wainwright in Ceann Locha.”

Eara stiffened. “I’m aware of that,” she replied with a sigh. “But how was I ever going to get my cart down to him?” Or afford to pay him , she added silently.

Kyle met her eye then. “Ye could have asked me to help,” he pointed out gently. “Ye know I would have.”

Their gazes held for a few moments before Eara cut hers away, embarrassed.

Aye, she was aware of the bailiff’s interest in her.

After coming to her rescue earlier in the year, the last time the wheel had come off her handcart, he’d then visited her bothy a few days later to buy some ale. It was a sunny eve, so they’d sat outside in the garden for a short while before he went on his way. He’d then asked her to dance at Beltaine, and although she’d enjoyed the experience, and the flirting that had gone along with it, Eara had deliberately kept her distance from Dun Ugadale’s bailiff ever since.

With long brown hair and laughing green eyes, Kyle was attractive enough to turn many a lass’s head. His close-cropped beard emphasized the strength of his jaw, and Eara had found herself admiring his tall and rangy frame when they’d danced together.

He was just the sort of man she’d enjoy a tumble with, just the sort of man she could lose her wits over.

But ever since James’s death, she’d been careful with men. She lived alone in the bothy she and her husband had once shared and had several nosy neighbors. She sold ale to some folk directly from her door, as well as at the twice-weekly markets, and didn’t want to get a reputation for selling other ‘favors’ as well. Her rapport with many of the villagers had been tense over the summer, while Father Gregor had lived among them, and she was wary of providing fodder for the gossips.

“Come on, Eara,” the bailiff said, breaking the silence between them. “Let’s see if we can get yer cart on the road again.”

Nodding, Eara stepped back to allow him to approach the wheel. “Ye seem to be making a habit of coming to my aid,” she noted.

“I wouldn’t call ‘twice’ a habit,” he replied. “But luckily for ye, I’ve business with the laird this afternoon.”

Hunkering down, Kyle inspected the wheel. He then reached behind it and plucked something out of the dirt. “It’s the same problem as before … the pin has come loose.” His gaze narrowed. “As I warned ye, the axle is rusted … the pin will keep falling out as it worsens. The whole thing needs replacing.”

Eara drew in a deep breath and tried to ignore the tightening in her chest. She couldn’t afford that.

“I’ll need ye to lift the cart, lass,” Kyle said then, “but first, I’ll get this barrel off so ye don’t hurt yer back.”

“Don’t bother,” she muttered. “I’m strong enough to lift the cart.” And she was. Eara was used to heaving sacks and barrels on a daily basis. To prove her point, she moved to the rear of the cart and raised the base up.

A moment later, Kyle had slid the wheel back on and secured the pin. “That’ll do for now,” the bailiff announced, wiping his hands upon his braies. “But it needs the wainwright’s skill.” He paused then, his gaze flicking over her face. “I’ll take ye, if ye like?”

Eara swallowed, wishing the man would drop the subject. “That’s kind of ye, Kyle … but coin is tight at present. It’ll have to wait.”

His brow furrowed, and he took a step toward her. “Is business not thriving?”

“Well enough … things are certainly better now that Father Gregor has gone.”

The bailiff pulled a face at the mention of the troublemaking priest. “I know he turned folk against Rose … but not ye too?”

“Aye, well, I’m an alewife … we’re strange women, didn’t ye know? Not to be trusted. When Maisie MacDonald and her friends turned against Rose, many locals stopped buying from me.” Eara halted there, her mouth pursing. “And although most of my customers have returned, the hefty price of barley makes it difficult to carve out a living.”

Kyle inclined his head. “Ye brew the best ale I’ve ever tasted, Eara.” There wasn’t a trace of teasing in his voice now. “It would be shame to see ye shut up shop.”

Eara gave a soft snort, even as warmth flushed through her. His words were kind and appreciated, yet they didn’t change anything. With another sigh, she moved around to the front of the cart and picked up the rope. “I’d better get on … and ye shouldn’t keep Iver Mackay waiting.”

“He can wait,” the bailiff replied. “Here, ye lead my horse, and I shall tow the cart for ye.”

Heat rolled over Eara. The man’s gallantry was starting to embarrass her. “There’s no need. I can—”

“There’s no doubt ye are a capable woman,” Kyle interrupted smoothly. “But that doesn’t mean ye have to do everything on yer own. Here … give me that rope.”

Jaw clenched, Eara complied. It was clear the bailiff was as stubborn as her and wasn’t going to give up.

They swapped sides, and she took the reins of his stocky dun gelding.

Together, they headed off down the narrow path, circuiting the rocky outcrop. Presently, the path took them past the kirk. The surrounding graveyard was wreathed in mist, and the pitched roof of the kirk pierced the low cloud. It looked empty, forlorn, this afternoon.

“Has the laird found a new priest yet?” Kyle asked. Like Eara, he was surveying the kirk as they passed by.

“Rose told me they’ve found one … although he’s coming from Inverness. Father Euan should be here within a month.”

“Well, let’s hope he’s a kindly soul like Father Ross then. We don’t need another bigot amongst us.”

“Aye,” she agreed with a decisive nod. “I look forward to being able to attend services again.”

“I usually go to the kirk in Ceann Locha with my bairns every Sunday,” Kyle said with a smile. “Although they complain that Father Macum is dull enough to rot yer thought cage.”

Eara laughed. “Aye, I’d heard as much.” She eyed him then. “I’d forgotten ye have bairns.”

His mouth quirked. “Aye, three wee lassies. I have help raising them, for my brother and his wife share our cottage … but they can be a handful all the same.” His usually merry gaze shadowed then. “They’ve all grown a little wild after their mother died.”

“How long ago did ye lose her?” Eara asked. In truth, she often forgot that Kyle was a widower too, for he had a cheerful manner and didn’t seem embittered the way some men became when they lost their wives.

“Two and a half years now,” he replied. “Freya and I both indulged our daughters … although the bairns have inherited their Ma’s strong will.”

Something tugged at Eara then, regret and sadness. She and James were wed over five years, yet her womb had never quickened. She’d longed to have a bairn but had told herself it wasn’t meant to be.

“I can tell from yer face that they bring ye joy,” she murmured.

His mouth curved, even if sadness still lingered in his eyes. “More than words can say.”

They walked in silence then, making their way through the village to the small bothy where Eara lived. A sign hung from the gate, with a broomstick etched upon it—the mark of an alewife’s residence.

Handing the bailiff his horse, Eara met his eye. “Thank ye, once again, Kyle, for yer help.”

He winked at her. “It’s always a pleasure, lass.”

Eara snorted, folding her arms across her chest. She wanted to think of a witty response, yet couldn’t. The bailiff had a way of unbalancing her. Instead, she watched as Kyle moved around and mounted his horse once more. Then, gathering the reins, he met her eye. “My offer to take yer cart to the wainwright still stands.”

Eara tensed, shaking her head. “Thank ye, but—”

“Why don’t ye allow me to cover the cost of the repairs … ye can repay the debt in ale, if ye like?”

Eara’s stomach clenched. The man was like a dog with a bone. She could tell he wasn’t going to let the matter drop. However, ever since James’s death, she’d been wary of accepting ‘help’ from men. It often came with an expectation she would allow them to woo her, or that she’d offer them sexual favors. “Yer kindness is noted,” she replied, reaching for the gate. “But I must decline.”

Kyle cocked an eyebrow. “Just think on it, Eara. Promise me that.”

Eara huffed a sigh. Surely, he’d forget his offer with the passing of the days. She’d be wise to appease him so he’d let the matter drop. “Very well.”

“Fresh ale!” Eara called out. “Just half a penny to fill two skins!”

“Go on then.” A squat, balding man with a paunch halted before her stall and reached into the leather pack he carried. “Fill these up.”

“Good day, Bruce,” she replied with a relieved smile. It had been a slow morning, and she still had three-quarters of a barrel of ale perched on the trestle table next to her.

The twice-weekly market took place in the village square, a cluster of stalls selling fresh produce, eggs, cheese, meat, and livestock.

Eara was the only one selling ale, yet that didn’t make plying her trade any easier.

“How’s yer wife these days?” she asked the farmer. Bruce MacDonald worked fields just south of the village, although his wife had taken poorly of late. The woman was afflicted with stiff and aching joints, and barely left the house.

Bruce sighed, making it clear that the situation hadn’t improved. “She gets by, lass … thank ye for asking.”

Eara took the two empty bladders he passed her and filled them. She’d just stoppered the second when she spied a tall man with long brown hair and a short beard making his way through the crowd toward her.

He held the hands of two bairns and carried the third upon his shoulders.

Eara’s foolish heart kicked hard in her chest.

It had been nearly a week since she’d seen Kyle MacAlister last, yet she hadn’t expected to encounter him at the market. The bailiff didn’t usually attend, and she’d never seen him with his daughters before.

The lasses all had impish faces and wild brown hair like their father’s. Yet, as they drew near, she saw that only the youngest had his green eyes. The two eldest had eyes the color of oak.

“Here ye are, lass.” The farmer pressed a half penny into her hand. “I’ll see ye next week.”

“Ye will, Bruce,” Eara replied, pretending she hadn’t seen the bailiff’s approach. “Give my best to Fiona, as always.”

The farmer loaded the two skins into his pack and moved off, just as Kyle stopped before her stall.

Eara shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to smooth the apron she had on over her kirtle or to adjust the tall pointed cloth hat she always wore to market—one that distinguished her from the other stallholders.

The family were all dressed well, and she felt a little shabby in comparison.

However, Kyle didn’t appear to care, for he flashed her a wide smile. “Eara … may I introduce ye to Bridget, Mairi, and Una.”

All three lasses studied her with wide eyes and solemn faces.

“Good morning,” she greeted them with an embarrassed smile.

“Good morn,” one of them—who appeared the youngest, perched upon Kyle’s shoulders—chirped, while the other two favored her with bashful smiles of their own. “Ye have pretty hair,” the lass added then. “It’s the color of straw.”

Eara smiled. “Thank ye … Una?”

“Are we buying ale, Da?” Another sister asked then.

“Aye, Bridget.” The bailiff unslung a bag from his back and passed it to Eara. “There’s four skins in there to fill, if ye please.”

Eara nodded, relieved he was here to purchase from her and not to flirt. It wouldn’t be right anyway, not with his daughters listening in.

She got to work filling the skins, aware that Kyle and his daughters were all watching her.

She was halfway through filling the second when he cleared his throat. “Have ye thought on my offer?”

Heat flushed over Eara. Aye, she had. Constantly. Pride warred with necessity. She needed that handcart, and the bailiff didn’t seem the sort to take advantage of a woman on her own.

Even so, after James, she was weary of giving any man something to hold over her. She hated how dependent she’d become on him during their marriage, and how he’d used it to control her. Life was far harder these days, yet at least she didn’t have to tell anyone where she was going or how long she’d be there. She didn’t need to worry about having supper on the table at a certain hour or fear that she’d offended her man.

James had often sulked for days if she displeased him. It had become wearying indeed. After his death, she’d been plagued with guilt—as, although she’d loved her husband, she found she didn’t miss him.

“I have,” she said after a lengthy pause. “Does it still stand?”

Their gazes met, and his mouth curved. “Aye.”

Eara sighed. “Well then, I accept.”

“Good.” His gaze never left her face as his smile widened. Eara’s breathing grew shallow. Lord, had she made a mistake in agreeing to this? The man was too comely by half. “I shall fetch ye and the cart tomorrow morning, shortly after dawn.”

Kyle MacAlister was a man of his word. Shortly after the rooster in Eara’s garden crowed, the bailiff appeared at her gate.

Emerging from her bothy, with a woolen shawl about her shoulders, for the morning was cool, Eara’s gaze traveled to the wagon behind him, and the garron drawing it.

She’d expected to see him on horseback.

Her surprise must have shown on her face, for Kyle flashed her one of his disarming smiles. “It’ll be easier if we load yer cart onto my wool wagon … this way, ye can spare yer legs the walk too.”

Eara found herself smiling back. She wasn’t afraid of a long walk, although the journey to Ceann Locha, and back again in one day, was a tiring one. She appreciated the gesture.

“Very well,” she replied. “Let’s fetch my cart and be on our way.”

A short while later, they were rattling down the road out of the village, around the eastern walls of the broch, and heading south along the coast. It was a road that Eara had taken many a time, although it was a while since she’d traveled like this, sitting on a wagon.

She and Kyle perched up front, while he held the reins. There wasn’t much space, and they sat with their thighs touching. The heat of his legs against hers was both exciting and disconcerting. Yet if Kyle was affected by their proximity, he didn’t let on.

“The morning air is getting a bite to it,” he noted as a sea breeze whipped around them off Kilbrannan Sound.

“Aye.” Eara drew her shawl closer still, glad for the warmth his nearness afforded her. She had a slight frame and had always felt the cold. “I never look forward to winter.”

“Few of us do,” he replied. “Although, since I left my brother to the sheep farming so I could work as Mackay’s bailiff, the cold months haven’t bothered me as much as they used to.”

Eara eyed him. “So, ye enjoy yer new position then?”

“Well enough.”

“Even when ye have to threaten folk who won’t pay their rents?”

He snorted. “Is that what ye think I do?”

She favored him with an arch look. “No one looks forward to a visit from the bailiff.”

He gave her a slow smile in response. “Even ye , Eara?”

There was an intimacy in his tone, an undercurrent of sensuality, that made her pulse quicken. Aye, there was no denying she was attracted to him. She had been for a while now. Whenever their paths crossed, they often enjoyed light-hearted banter. Yet underneath, there was a tension between them, an awareness, that was steadily growing with each encounter.

He felt it, and so did she.

“The arrogance of ye,” she muttered with a toss of her head, doing her best to ignore her body’s reaction to him. “Don’t ye get to thinking I sit around waiting for ye to turn up at my door.”

“I know ye aren’t the sort of woman to pine over a man or to sit idle,” he replied, still smiling. “But do ye like it when I visit?”

“Maybe,” she said lightly.

His smile widened in response.

“This will take me a few days to mend,” the wainwright announced, after looking at the handcart. “The axle needs to be completely replaced.”

Eara sighed. She’d suspected as much. Her belly tightened. How much was this going to cost Kyle?

“Send word to me once it’s done, Fergus,” the bailiff said. “Do ye need part payment now?”

The wainwright shook his head, his craggy face splitting into a smile. “No, when I’m done will suffice. I know ye always pay up, lad.”

Leaving the wainwright’s workshop, Eara glanced over at him. “Ye should have asked him how much it would be.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I don’t want him charging ye too much.”

“He won’t. Fergus and I are good friends.”

Eara nodded, although she still wasn’t happy about this. Reaching up, she massaged a tense muscle in her shoulder.

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Kyle stepped close, crooking a finger lightly under her chin so that she met his gaze. “Ye need that cart to be sturdy … for yer livelihood.”

“But how am I supposed to repay ye?”

The old fears were rising, choking her. Yet the feel of his hand on her skin was distracting. She found herself staring at his mouth. His bottom lip was fuller than his top one, with a sensual curve she suddenly wanted to explore.

Stop it, she chastised herself. Such thoughts would lead her into trouble.

“I told ye … some ale free of charge every week will be sufficient.”

“That could take a while to repay.”

His gaze held hers. “I’m not in any hurry.” He paused then, removing his finger from under her chin. “Are ye?”

Eara swallowed. “No,” she whispered.

“Then there isn’t a problem, is there?” He took her arm and looped it through his, leading her down the street and back to Ceann Locha’s busy port. “Come, noon approaches. Let’s get ourselves something to eat at the Ardshiel Tavern , and then I’ll take ye home.”

Seated opposite each other at a corner table as they ate roast mutton and freshly baked bread, washed down with a tankard of ale, Eara and Kyle conversed like old friends.

He told her of how his late wife, Freya, had been his childhood sweetheart. They’d both wed at seventeen, although it had been a few years before she’d had her first child.

The lung sickness that had taken his wife had driven a spike through his happy existence. Indeed, his daughters had taken Freya’s death better than Kyle did, for they had the love of their father, aunt, and uncle to help them recover from their grief. However, Kyle struggled. Sheep farming lost its appeal soon after, which was why he’d been relieved when Iver Mackay offered him a job. He’d been in need of a fresh start.

In turn, Eara admitted that she’d felt guilty after James died. His death had been sudden, a drowning when he’d been out fishing on the sound with his brother, but once the shock had passed, relief had filled her.

“He could be … controlling,” Eara said softly, dropping her gaze to her tankard, where she swirled the dregs of her ale. It was good, although a little bitterer than the ale she brewed. “But I didn’t realize how suffocated I felt until after he was gone.” She glanced up to find Kyle watching her. His expression was unusually serious, and she tensed. “Does that make me a bad woman?”

He raised his eyebrows. “No.”

“But a widow should miss her husband. I didn’t. At night, I found myself thanking the Lord that I was free.”

“Ye were young when ye wed, Eara. Ye can be forgiven for realizing ye’d chosen badly only after it was too late. Ye wouldn’t be the first.” He leaned back in his chair, regarding her, his gaze hooding. “But not all men try to crush a woman’s spirit, ye know?”

Eara’s heart did a little flutter. “Don’t they?”

In her experience, they often did. Her parents were both dead, carried away by fevers nearly a decade earlier, yet she remembered how dominant her father had been, and how cowed her mother was. Her friend Rose had once been terribly put upon by her menfolk, although she was now blissfully happy with Kerr Mackay, the Captain of the Dun Ugadale Guard. Rose had told her that Kerr treated her as his equal in all things. Indeed, Eara had been surprised when he didn’t seem bothered about the fact that Rose spent most mornings helping Eara with her work. All the same, Eara thought their relationship an exception.

“No,” Kyle replied gently. “Some want a partner to share life’s ups and downs with … to chase away the loneliness of long winter nights. Someone to worry about and look out for.” He broke off then before giving her a small, slightly embarrassed, smile. “I know I do.”

It was growing late in the afternoon when they reached Dun Ugadale village. The days were shortening now, and the brisk breeze of earlier in the day had turned colder still. Dark clouds raced across the sky, promising rain to come.

The worsening weather didn’t bother Eara though. She’d felt lighthearted all the way home. Thanks to the bailiff, her handcart was being fixed properly. The wainwright had promised them that the cart would be ready in a few days, and Kyle had offered to go with her to retrieve it.

“Ye have helped me greatly today, Kyle,” she murmured, as she climbed down from the wagon. “Thank ye.”

“My pleasure, lass.”

Their gazes met, and Eara sucked in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “Since I’m repaying ye in ale, would ye like to come in for some supper? I might as well feed ye too.”

She’d been working up to this invitation the entire ride back from Ceann Locha and had finally gotten up the courage to issue it. However, she’d spoken with casual indifference, as if it mattered not to her if he refused. The bailiff lived a short ride south of the broch, and she imagined he was now weary and keen to return home to his brood.

She braced herself for his refusal, surprised when he replied, “Aye, Eara … thank ye.”

“Ye aren’t missing yer daughters?” she asked, a challenge creeping into her voice.

Kyle met her eye. “I always miss them when I’m away … but their aunt will ensure they’re fed and tucked safely in bed this eve.” He paused then, his mouth quirking. “Besides, when a beautiful woman invites me to supper, I’d be a fool to refuse.”

Their gazes held, and Eara’s pulse quickened. “Ye have a way with words, Kyle MacAlister,” she murmured. “My mother always told me to be wary of men with gilded tongues.”

He snorted. “She must have been cynical … there’s nothing wrong with complimenting a woman.” He paused then, his gaze still holding hers. “As long as it’s sincere.”

Warmth flowered around Eara, creeping up her neck as she turned and pushed open the gate.

Kyle led his pony and cart inside her garden, unshackling the garron and tying it to an apple tree. Meanwhile, Eara got to work indoors, lighting the second of the two hearths inside her bothy.

The first hearth, the largest, had a large cauldron perched atop it. That was where she brewed her ale. The second fire pit, much smaller, had a couple of stools next to it; this was where Eara cooked her meals.

The musty smell of grain filled her cottage, from the sacks of barley that sat neatly against one wall. As Eara struck her flint, watching as golden sparks landed on the tinder she’d set, something warm and sinuous wrapped itself around her ankles. Glancing down, her gaze settled on Ember, her cat.

“Good eve, lass,” Eara murmured, stroking the cat’s back. “Missed me, did ye?”

“That’s a well-fed feline,” Kyle noted as he entered the bothy, ducking his head to avoid cracking it on the lintel.

“Aye,” Eara chucked the portly black cat affectionately under the chin. “It’s all the rodents she catches in here. An alewife can’t be without her faithful mouser.” The fire caught then, tender red-gold flames flickering up and illuminating the shadowy interior. Glancing up, she noted that Kyle was observing her cottage. Of course, even though he’d bought ale from her door a few times, she’d never actually invited him inside.

Her cheeks warmed then, and she wondered what he thought of it. “It’s humble, I know,” she murmured.

“Aye … but well-kept,” he replied, meeting her eye. “Yer home is welcoming, Eara.”

Her mouth curved. She’d done her best with what she had over the years. Hangings made of dyed sheepskin covered the mud and stone walls, and bunches of dried herbs and flowers hung from the rafters. Despite that she stored the sacks of barley she used for brewing in here, she tried to keep her living space tidy. Now that she was satisfied her mistress was home, Ember had curled up in a basket near the hanging that shielded the sleeping alcove from view.

It pleased Eara more than she expected that Kyle liked her bothy.

Putting more twigs on the fire, she watched as the small brick of peat she’d placed in the center of the hearth started to smolder. “Supper will be simple, I’m afraid,” she announced, rising to her feet. “I hope ye like oatcakes, cheese, and dried sausage?”

Leaning against the doorframe, arms folded as he watched her, Kyle smiled. “My favorite.”

Eara raised an eyebrow. She was sure it wasn’t.

She moved across to a workbench to the right of the door and opened a wooden bread box, extracting the oatcakes she’d made the evening before. They kept well for a few days so would be fresh enough to serve to guests.

“Can I help?” Kyle asked.

Eara cut him a surprised look. “How?”

He gestured to the wheel of cheese she’d just taken down from a high shelf. “Shall I cut a wedge or two from that?”

Eara inclined her head, not sure she’d heard him correctly. In all her years with James, he’d never once offered to help her prepare meals. Her first urge was to brush his offer away, yet she checked it.

Let him assist—it would mean they’d eat sooner.

Nodding, she indicated to a knife hanging on the wall. “Thank ye.”

They worked together at the bench, preparing two wooden trenchers with food. They didn’t speak, yet it was a companionable silence.

I could get used to this , Eara thought before catching herself. She was starved of male company indeed if a little kindness had her going weak at the knees.

Eara poured them each a cup of ale before they took their trenchers across to the fire. There they ate their suppers, with their food perched on their knees, their cups of ale by their sides.

Kyle ate heartily, enjoying the simple meal. Taking a sip from his cup, he then sighed. “Ye really do make the best ale on the Kintyre peninsula, lass.”

Eara huffed a laugh. “That’s quite a claim, MacAlister. Have ye sampled all of them?”

“My new job takes me quite a distance,” he replied, his green eyes twinkling. “Ye would be surprised how many alehouses I’ve visited over the past year.” He paused then, his expression sobering. “I’m in earnest though … ye have a rare talent.”

Eara shrugged. “Perhaps … although I do find the job wearying at times.”

He nodded. “It’s a lot for a woman alone to shoulder.”

“Rose helps out,” she replied hurriedly, suddenly defensive. “That eases my workload, a little.”

“Aye, but if ye had a husband working at yer side, ye would have less to worry about.”

Eara’s gaze narrowed. “Would I?”

He continued to hold her gaze, unbothered by the challenge in her voice. “Aye, ye would.” Kyle put aside his trencher and drained the last of his ale. He then leaned forward, his expression intense in the flickering firelight. “I know ye are wary of shackling yerself to anyone again … to have any man become yer master … but what if ye found a husband who wanted to work alongside ye, someone who had no interest in dominating ye or turning ye into his servant?”

Eara’s pulse fluttered. “Such a man doesn’t exist,” she scoffed, trying to mask her reaction to his words and the intensity of his gaze. She too had finished her meal and had been nursing her cup of ale, although her fingers now tightened around it.

“Aye, he does,” Kyle replied softly. “He’s sitting right in front of ye, lass.”

Eara wanted to give a rude snort, to wave away his declaration with her hand. But she found she couldn’t.

The air between them crackled as if a summer storm were about to unleash itself overhead.

Inhaling shakily, she fought the urge to drop her gaze and stare intently at the fire instead.

“Is that an offer of marriage?” she asked finally, breaking the silence between them.

“Aye,” he said huskily. “I want to be part of yer life, Eara. What would ye say to letting me share this cottage with ye?”

Her lips parted, her breath gusting out of her. “But what about yer daughters?”

“They’d live here … with us.”

An incredulous snort did escape then. “This bothy is far too small for a family.”

“Ye have a large garden, Eara … I can extend this dwelling and make it suitable for all of us.”

Eara lifted her cup to her lips and drained the rest of her ale in a couple of gulps. Lord, she needed something to fortify herself right now. “It sounds as if ye have already thought on all of this at length,” she said, her tone sharpening. “Ye say ye don’t wish to control me, but ye are already making plans on my behalf.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not the truth. I’m just speaking plainly. I have three daughters, Eara. I would never leave them behind.”

“I wasn’t asking ye to.”

“Ye would make a fine mother.”

Something fluttered deep inside her ribs at these words. A long-suppressed desire for family and belonging. Eara quashed it. “Maybe, but is that how ye see me, as the woman who will take care of yer brood, who’ll wash yer braies? There was I thinking ye were silver-tongued. I clearly was mistaken.”

Kyle made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. “No, I—”

“Enough of this talk.” Eara set her cup down and rose to her feet. “God’s teeth, MacAlister. Ye haven’t even kissed me, and ye are talking about moving yer daughters in here. I think it’s time ye—”

“I can remedy that, lass.” Eara never finished her sentence, for Kyle launched himself off his stool, stepped around the hearth, and hauled her into his arms.

An instant later, his mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her indignance.

The kiss was fierce, bruising, and once the jolt of shock passed, Eara reacted.

No, she didn’t shove him back and slap his face. It wasn’t anger that barreled into her, but wild, stomach-churning hunger. Instead, she sank against Kyle, her fingers curling into the padded gambeson he wore.

His mouth was hungry, skillful, his tongue plundering her mouth.

Eara groaned. She’d never been kissed like this. Ever. Her head swam, her knees went weak, and her legs would have given way entirely if he hadn’t been holding her up.

Kyle gentled the kiss then, his hands sliding up to cup her face.

The shift caught Eara off-guard. One moment he’d been devouring her, the next he was savoring her as if she were a fine wine. She started to tremble as need ignited deep in her belly.

A man who could kiss like this was dangerous to a woman’s sanity.

He turned her wits to porridge. Suddenly, she couldn’t even remember what she’d been angry with him about. All fears of letting herself get close to anyone vanished. All she wanted was to taste him, to touch him.

Eventually, he ended their embrace. Hands sliding to Eara’s shoulders, Kyle drew back, resting his forehead against hers for a long moment, as if gathering his own wits, before drawing back so that their gazes met.

Eara stared up at him, lips parted, desire pounding through her veins.

“I’m sorry, Eara,” he rasped. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Aye, but ye did,” she murmured huskily.

His green eyes guttered. “Do ye think me a beast?”

She swallowed. “No.” It was the truth; all she wanted was for him to kiss her again, for him to set her body alight as no one else ever had.

He sucked in a deep breath before reaching up and stroking her cheek. He then caught a lock of her fine pale-blonde hair, wrapping it around his fingers. “Ye are so lovely, lass. When I first met ye, I thought ye were fragile … yet I soon learned that appearances deceive. Ye are tough, yet with a vulnerability ye try to hide.” His throat bobbed then. “But I see it.”

Silence fell while they stared at each other.

Part of Eara wanted to deny his words, to tell him he didn’t know her at all. But he was right.

She was lonely. She was tired. Suddenly, she couldn’t summon the strength to pretend otherwise. As much as she tried to deny it, there was something about Kyle MacAlister that made her feel safe.

“I want to be part of yer life,” he continued, his voice roughening. “Aye, I’m not without faults … and I have three strong-willed daughters who will likely drive both of us mad … but my interest in ye is earnest. I’d rather drive a stake into my eye than hurt ye.”

That was quite a statement, and for a few moments, Eara merely stared up at him. “I don’t understand why ye’d want to live here with me,” she murmured, finally finding her tongue. “Ye have a farmhouse of yer own, with plenty of space to accommodate a wife.”

Kyle sighed. “That dwelling holds too many memories,” he said with a shake of his head. “I plan to hand it over to my brother. He already runs the farm, so he might as well own it.” He released her lock of hair, his thumb grazing her jawline instead. “It’s time for a fresh start … for me and my girls.”

Eara shivered at the heat and need his light touch roused. “And what about yer position as bailiff?” she asked, desperately trying to concentrate.

His lips lifted at the corners, even as his gaze remained intense. “A bailiff’s time is largely his own. I’m busy during certain periods of the year and quiet at others. My work’s ebb and flow would allow me to help my wife run her business.”

Eara’s heart did a little kick at these words. “God’s blood,” she murmured. “Ye really are in earnest about this?”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything, Eara.” He paused then. “But what matters now is what ye want.” Both his hands returned to her shoulders. “I’ll admit, I delivered that proposal with all the grace of a sledgehammer … but rest assured, I’ll not push ye into anything. If ye wish me gone, I shall leave ye be.”

Silence fell once more, swelling between them. A nerve flickered in Kyle’s cheek, yet he said nothing else.

Eara’s pulse throbbed in her ears. This was it, the moment she had to make her choice. Fear was still there, dragging sharp claws down her back, but Kyle’s hands held her firm.

She had to be honest with herself. What did she really want?

“I’ve had one or two proposals of marriage over the years,” she admitted finally, her mouth curving just a little. “Yet that was most definitely the worst of them.”

Kyle grimaced. “I was nervous.”

Eara arched an eyebrow. “Ye were?” It was hard to believe the full-of-himself bailiff ever lacked confidence.

He swallowed. “Aye. Ye turn me into an awkward fool, Eara Mackay. I’ll admit it. If ye hadn’t yet realized … I’m besotted with ye.”

Something melted inside her at these words, joy fluttering up. “Well, in that case, I should admit that ye turned my head a long while ago,” she murmured as her hands slid up the hard wall of his chest. She felt the thunder of his heart under her right palm. Kyle wasn’t lying; he was nervous. “And I’ve been fighting what I feel for ye ever since.” She paused then, watching tenderness light in his expressive moss-green eyes. “I accept yer offer, Kyle. I shall be yer wife.”

A smile flowered across his handsome face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Kyle’s breath gusted out of him as if he’d been holding it, waiting for her answer. “Ye will?” His voice held a faint note of insecurity as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

The Mackay’s bailiff wasn’t as sure of himself as folk thought. He’d been ready for her to spurn him.

“Aye,” she whispered.

“Ye won’t regret it, lass.” His hands cupped her face once more. “I swear I shall do all I can to ensure yer happiness.”

The roughness of the callouses on his palms made Eara’s breathing hitch. She wanted those hands on her naked skin, loving her, making her his. Her pulse started to race at the thought. Reaching up, she traced her fingers down his strong, bearded jaw and was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath.

His gaze hooded, and the air between them grew heavy with desire once more. “So,” he said after a long pause. “When do I start?”

Eara inclined her head. “Start what?”

His green eyes twinkled. “Helping ye brew yer delicious ales, of course.”

Eara laughed. She then went up on her toes, her lips grazing his. “All in good time, MacAlister,” she murmured. “But right now, why don’t ye kiss me again.”

The End