Samantha James by Every Wish Fulfilled

dotted the pastures.
    No, he thought slowly. Nothing about her was as he expected.
    Just then she turned down a narrow, dusty lane lined with juniper bushes and fruit trees. It ended before a low-slung cottage with a steep, thatched roof. A hound stretched out beside the garden lifted his long nose high in the air. His nostrils twitched as he caught a familiar scent—and an unfamiliar one as well.
    Beside him, Heather tugged gently at the reins; the curricle rolled to a halt. Damien jumped down and reached back to assist her. She did not disdain his touch, yet neither did she speak. The dog rose and loped over. She called him by name, reaching down to scratch his mangy coat.
    “Hello there, Samuel. Where is your mistress?”
    The mutt’s mistress had just appeared in the cottage doorway, shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun. When she saw the curricle, she gave a cry of delight.
    “Miss Heather! Whatever brings you here?”
    The woman was big and rawboned, older than Heather by a number of years—and heavy with child.
    Damien remained where he was as the two women embraced heartily. “I told you I’d stop by to check on you this week, Bridget.” Heather chuckled, then glanced at Damien. “Bridget andher husband, Robert MacTavish, farm this section of land,” she told him. “Bridget, this is Damien Lewis, my new estate manager.”
    Bridget dropped into a clumsy curtsey. “It’s pleased I am to meet you, sir. I only wish my husband, Robert, were here to meet you as well, but he’s helping out at the blacksmith’s shop in the village.”
    Damien inclined his head. “Then perhaps I’ll see him yet today, Mistress MacTavish.”
    In the meantime, Heather had turned back to the curricle. “I have something for you, Bridget,” she said over her shoulder. As she spoke, she tugged two large baskets from beneath the seat. Damien quickly stepped back to lend a hand. She slanted him a glance from beneath silky, dark lashes.
    “Would you be so kind as to take these inside the cottage for Bridget?”
    “Certainly.” He lifted the basket from the curricle and stepped toward the doorway. “Mistress MacTavish, if you’ll just mind the door for me…”
    Bridget hurried to oblige. Heather trailed behind them. Inside the cottage, Damien set the baskets on a small worktable in the kitchen.
    “Oh, my,” Bridget breathed. “What is this, Miss Heather?” Bridget scurried forward. She reached out to flip aside white linen napkins, one after the other. “Cheese and bread…a ham—oh, and bacon, too! Oh, we’ll be feasting for weeks!”
    “And I didn’t forget your favorite—two jars ofCook’s strawberry jam from last harvest.” Heather’s eyes were twinkling.
    “Oh, Miss Heather, you shouldn’t have.” She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her apron. “It may be some while before Robert and I can repay you—”
    Heather shook her head. Her hands clasped the older woman’s. “Don’t fret about that, Bridget. All that matters right now is that you take care of yourself and give birth to a healthy babe. Then, when you’re ready, your position at the manor house will be waiting for you. Now tell me, are you doing as I asked? Are you resting for a time every morning and afternoon?”
    Bridget’s head bobbed up and down. “Oh, yes, ma’am. Twice a day, regular as clockwork.”
    “And are you able to put your feet up on a pillow? It will help when you sit as well, Bridget.”
    “I am, Miss Heather. And do you know, my ankles have not been nearly so puffy.”
    “That’s good, Bridget.”
    “But my back…oh, it pains me somethin’ awful at times.”
    Heather’s features were compassionate. “I know, Bridget. But it’ll soon be over, and, I daresay, it’ll be worth all the discomfort.” She squeezed Bridget’s hands. “It’s time we were on our way. I’ll come see you again next week, I promise.” She patted the woman’s swollen belly. “Now take care of yourself and that little