how much he wanted this family, wanted to be embraced by this woman, by her children.
Withdrawing his hand, Gavin turned his back on Sara, in hopes of controlling this clawing longing. He would not allow himself to be dependent upon another again. He would care for her and her children and they would be duly appreciative in return. He would not allow himself to need them or their affection. The risk was too much. Closing his eyes against the image of her sleeping form, Gavin ordered himself to sleep. Unfortunately for him, he never was good at taking orders.
Chapter 3
Competition Arrives
The cool grey fingers of the pre-dawn sky slid through the edges of stone and glass, clutching at Sara’s calves and thighs. Each frigid digit cooled her cheek and neck with their caress, mimicking Gavin’s touch the previous night-Sara sat up chilled. Tis no time for regret s , Sara thought to herself as she glanced back at the slumbering form of her new master.
Slipping from beneath the covers, Sara padded to her desk chair, pulled her woolen wrap from its back, and swaddled herself in its frigid warmth. Sara could not seem to shake this chill. Poking the dying embers, she blew life into the tiny flames at the base of the chimney's hearth, then added a few thin branches for fodder. With a brief glance at Gavin's sleeping form, Sara slipped behind the privacy screen and dressed quickly. The chickens would have lain, and the cow would need to be milked. She felt certain that the rest of the household could attend to these tasks, but if she could do so first, she would have a good hour to herself to think.
Shuffling from the room, Sara sat on the first step to put on her leather slippers. She now had to spread her legs wide to make room for her belly when bending over to pull on her shoes. Sara felt lucky that she was tall enough to make room for the child within her. She knew not how she would manage if her belly poked out much farther. Standing, she padded down the stairs and through the kitchens to reach the chicken coop.
In truth, Sara hated taking the eggs from the hens. Millie had taught her the proper technique when she was eight and had finally reached the height necessary to reach the top tier of nests. Slide thy hand beneath the nesting hen; ye have to move smoothly. If ye hesitate or rush, if thy movements cause any distress in the churlish fowls, they will reprimand thee with several sharp stabs at thy wrist with their beak.
Years of practice had rendered her skilled but never alleviated the racing heart and dislike of the feathered beasts. They would flutter, peck, and peer at her with their beady eyes. She disliked the way she could not predict their actions. She much preferred the chomping, stamping, swishing of the cows to these tiny, bleating birds.
Twelve nests and five eggs later, Sara emerged from the coop unharmed. Tis the pregnanc y , she told herself. Now that she herself was nesting, the chickens recognized a fellow mother and allowed her access to their brood. Nevertheless, she would happily turn the chore back over to Millie come the morrow. She felt ridiculous being intimidated by such frail and simple creatures.
Sara returned to the kitchen and placed the full egg basket on the table, in plain view. Entering the storage closet, Sara picked up two milk buckets and swung them merrily on her way to the stable. They had only two cows, more than enough for four people, but not nearly enough to support twenty-five. She had forgotten to ask Gavin just how many men he expected...perhaps he would not have as many as all that...she would ask at breakfast. Sara felt relieved that she had a topic of conversation. Humming to herself Sara picked up the three-legged stool from the corner of the stable and made her way to the back where the two cows were penned.
Both stood, eagerly anticipating the meager offering of oats she provided. “I am sorry girls, but we have to conserve our stores,” Sara
Withdrawing his hand, Gavin turned his back on Sara, in hopes of controlling this clawing longing. He would not allow himself to be dependent upon another again. He would care for her and her children and they would be duly appreciative in return. He would not allow himself to need them or their affection. The risk was too much. Closing his eyes against the image of her sleeping form, Gavin ordered himself to sleep. Unfortunately for him, he never was good at taking orders.
Chapter 3
Competition Arrives
The cool grey fingers of the pre-dawn sky slid through the edges of stone and glass, clutching at Sara’s calves and thighs. Each frigid digit cooled her cheek and neck with their caress, mimicking Gavin’s touch the previous night-Sara sat up chilled. Tis no time for regret s , Sara thought to herself as she glanced back at the slumbering form of her new master.
Slipping from beneath the covers, Sara padded to her desk chair, pulled her woolen wrap from its back, and swaddled herself in its frigid warmth. Sara could not seem to shake this chill. Poking the dying embers, she blew life into the tiny flames at the base of the chimney's hearth, then added a few thin branches for fodder. With a brief glance at Gavin's sleeping form, Sara slipped behind the privacy screen and dressed quickly. The chickens would have lain, and the cow would need to be milked. She felt certain that the rest of the household could attend to these tasks, but if she could do so first, she would have a good hour to herself to think.
Shuffling from the room, Sara sat on the first step to put on her leather slippers. She now had to spread her legs wide to make room for her belly when bending over to pull on her shoes. Sara felt lucky that she was tall enough to make room for the child within her. She knew not how she would manage if her belly poked out much farther. Standing, she padded down the stairs and through the kitchens to reach the chicken coop.
In truth, Sara hated taking the eggs from the hens. Millie had taught her the proper technique when she was eight and had finally reached the height necessary to reach the top tier of nests. Slide thy hand beneath the nesting hen; ye have to move smoothly. If ye hesitate or rush, if thy movements cause any distress in the churlish fowls, they will reprimand thee with several sharp stabs at thy wrist with their beak.
Years of practice had rendered her skilled but never alleviated the racing heart and dislike of the feathered beasts. They would flutter, peck, and peer at her with their beady eyes. She disliked the way she could not predict their actions. She much preferred the chomping, stamping, swishing of the cows to these tiny, bleating birds.
Twelve nests and five eggs later, Sara emerged from the coop unharmed. Tis the pregnanc y , she told herself. Now that she herself was nesting, the chickens recognized a fellow mother and allowed her access to their brood. Nevertheless, she would happily turn the chore back over to Millie come the morrow. She felt ridiculous being intimidated by such frail and simple creatures.
Sara returned to the kitchen and placed the full egg basket on the table, in plain view. Entering the storage closet, Sara picked up two milk buckets and swung them merrily on her way to the stable. They had only two cows, more than enough for four people, but not nearly enough to support twenty-five. She had forgotten to ask Gavin just how many men he expected...perhaps he would not have as many as all that...she would ask at breakfast. Sara felt relieved that she had a topic of conversation. Humming to herself Sara picked up the three-legged stool from the corner of the stable and made her way to the back where the two cows were penned.
Both stood, eagerly anticipating the meager offering of oats she provided. “I am sorry girls, but we have to conserve our stores,” Sara
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