whirring, harnesses jingling. Fields sped by. "Sinclair works his poor families to the bone. But in Kildalton, the children don't work in the morning. They attend school."
Her gaze whipped to him. "All of them?"
"Most. I provide the school and the teacher—nothing elaborate, or so my steward tells me. But no one forces the children to attend. I like to think their favorite subject is nature study. Imagine a whole crop of youth learning about fish and fowl." He preened. "That was
my
idea."
She waved a gloved hand toward a field that had been plowed in stick-straight rows. "Yet the farms in Kildalton prosper."
He dare not tell her how hard he and his tenants worked to implement new farming techniques and try new crops. Instead, he chose a defensive stand. "None of the farms near the wall do as well as they should, because of Sinclair's vile raiding."
"Does the baron also provide a school?"
Duncan had to work at stifling his anger. He flipped the reins. Summoning nonchalance, he said, "I can't trouble myself with his agenda. I have my own interests. Do you know about the ruins near the wall? 'Tis a wondrous place the Romans built. I've been exploring there since I was a child."
Successful diplomacy required a certain amount of com-promise from all parties involved. Duncan waited, hoping she'd do her part.
"Then you must have had an interesting childhood."
Again he wondered about her life. To which MacDonald clan did she belong? Where had she grown up? But his role didn't allow for familiarity with the queen's minion. His next words tasted bitter. "Oh, a very interesting childhood."
Hadrian's Wall came into view. Guiding the team off the road, he steered them toward a bracken-infested vale that contained two stone walls and a well.
"Behold… the remains of Virgin's Gate," he said.
She stepped from the carriage and approached the well. Peering over the edge, she said, "Hello…"
Spoken into the well, the word sounded hollow, distant. Duncan didn't move from the carriage, for his eyes and his senses suddenly fixed on her slender ankles and shapely calves. Her hips were narrow, too, he suspected. Silently he begged her to bend over just a bit more.
The dog joined her, front paws braced on the lip of the well. "Listen, Verbatim." She spoke playfully, smiling at the dog. "There's an echo in there."
Tail swishing, her regal head cocked, the dog listened in rapt attention.
Duncan sneaked up behind them. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he said, "Woof."
The dog yelped and jumped back. A startled Lady Miriam froze. "Quite diverting, my lord. Go find something, Verbatim."
The dog lumbered off. The woman turned toward Duncan.
His breath caught. She looked the picture of feminine charm, an alluring virgin. Or was she? The Border Lord would find out.
God, he wanted her.
"Tell me about the well."
She wanted to know about a stupid well.
His groin aching, Duncan didn't have to pretend to stumble on the rocky ground. In a voice pinched by longing, he said, "It was built in a.d. 120, but destroyed twenty years later."
"Who destroyed it and who fixed it?" She eyed the structure.
Duncan eyed her. "The Scots destroyed it. An engineer named Severus rebuilt it. This was a fort once. The Roman soldiers brought their families."
He dragged her along, showing her the spots where he'd found treasures, and laughing over the rubbish he'd carted home. She listened intently, even sifted through rubble for a treasure of her own—the handle to a teacup.
"Once," he said, sitting on the lip of the well and drawing her beside him, "after scavenging for the better part of a morning, I found what I knew to be a priceless vase belonging to old Hadrian himself. I was eight, as I recall, and destined for what I knew would be international acclaim." He chuckled so hard, his shoulders shook. "I hauled the heavy thing home and spent days cleaning it up. Only to discover that it was a chamber pot from a pottery concern in Worcester."
She
Her gaze whipped to him. "All of them?"
"Most. I provide the school and the teacher—nothing elaborate, or so my steward tells me. But no one forces the children to attend. I like to think their favorite subject is nature study. Imagine a whole crop of youth learning about fish and fowl." He preened. "That was
my
idea."
She waved a gloved hand toward a field that had been plowed in stick-straight rows. "Yet the farms in Kildalton prosper."
He dare not tell her how hard he and his tenants worked to implement new farming techniques and try new crops. Instead, he chose a defensive stand. "None of the farms near the wall do as well as they should, because of Sinclair's vile raiding."
"Does the baron also provide a school?"
Duncan had to work at stifling his anger. He flipped the reins. Summoning nonchalance, he said, "I can't trouble myself with his agenda. I have my own interests. Do you know about the ruins near the wall? 'Tis a wondrous place the Romans built. I've been exploring there since I was a child."
Successful diplomacy required a certain amount of com-promise from all parties involved. Duncan waited, hoping she'd do her part.
"Then you must have had an interesting childhood."
Again he wondered about her life. To which MacDonald clan did she belong? Where had she grown up? But his role didn't allow for familiarity with the queen's minion. His next words tasted bitter. "Oh, a very interesting childhood."
Hadrian's Wall came into view. Guiding the team off the road, he steered them toward a bracken-infested vale that contained two stone walls and a well.
"Behold… the remains of Virgin's Gate," he said.
She stepped from the carriage and approached the well. Peering over the edge, she said, "Hello…"
Spoken into the well, the word sounded hollow, distant. Duncan didn't move from the carriage, for his eyes and his senses suddenly fixed on her slender ankles and shapely calves. Her hips were narrow, too, he suspected. Silently he begged her to bend over just a bit more.
The dog joined her, front paws braced on the lip of the well. "Listen, Verbatim." She spoke playfully, smiling at the dog. "There's an echo in there."
Tail swishing, her regal head cocked, the dog listened in rapt attention.
Duncan sneaked up behind them. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he said, "Woof."
The dog yelped and jumped back. A startled Lady Miriam froze. "Quite diverting, my lord. Go find something, Verbatim."
The dog lumbered off. The woman turned toward Duncan.
His breath caught. She looked the picture of feminine charm, an alluring virgin. Or was she? The Border Lord would find out.
God, he wanted her.
"Tell me about the well."
She wanted to know about a stupid well.
His groin aching, Duncan didn't have to pretend to stumble on the rocky ground. In a voice pinched by longing, he said, "It was built in a.d. 120, but destroyed twenty years later."
"Who destroyed it and who fixed it?" She eyed the structure.
Duncan eyed her. "The Scots destroyed it. An engineer named Severus rebuilt it. This was a fort once. The Roman soldiers brought their families."
He dragged her along, showing her the spots where he'd found treasures, and laughing over the rubbish he'd carted home. She listened intently, even sifted through rubble for a treasure of her own—the handle to a teacup.
"Once," he said, sitting on the lip of the well and drawing her beside him, "after scavenging for the better part of a morning, I found what I knew to be a priceless vase belonging to old Hadrian himself. I was eight, as I recall, and destined for what I knew would be international acclaim." He chuckled so hard, his shoulders shook. "I hauled the heavy thing home and spent days cleaning it up. Only to discover that it was a chamber pot from a pottery concern in Worcester."
She
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