Page 35 of Falling for Her Highland Steward
“I admit I am disappointed, milady,” he sighed. “But so be it.” He took her hand, kissed it, and left. Erin poured another glass of wine, threw it back in one draft, then slumped into a chair and closed her eyes, trying to think of nothing at all. It was impossible. Caillen always filled her mind’s eye whether she wanted him to or not.
Caillen was stroking the velvet nose of the big gray stallion with the enormous feathered feet when Laird Logan arrived, looking angry enough to kill. His expression of annoyance deepened when he saw Caillen touching his precious horse.
Caillen had not seen him, but as he turned at the sound of the laird’s footsteps, their gazes met and an almost primal crackle of animosity arced between them. They were two dominant male animals who were fighting over the favors of one female, two stags locking horns over a doe. The doe in question was Erin, and both men knew it, even if Caillen could not say so.
“Good evening, M’Laird,” Caillen said politely, trying to reduce the heat in the air between them a little. It would not look good if the servants saw him having a brawl with a laird.
“Do not touch Ash!” Logan Grieve growled. “He is mine and will only letmelay a hand on him.”
Caillen raised his eyebrows. “Really? He looked quite happy when I stroked him. Maybe I have a magic touch.”
Logan sprang forward and pushed Caillen’s shoulder. It was a powerful push, but Caillen had braced his feet on the floor and stood his ground, then grabbed the laird by the neck.
“I think that perhaps you had better learn some manners, Laird Grieve,” he warned, before hurling the other man away from him. Grieve landed on his backside on the hard wooden floor, then raised himself stiffly to his feet.
“When I marry Lady Erin, I will be both the stewardandthe laird here,” he hissed. “So your services will no longer be required, Master Johnstone. If I were you, I would start looking for a new position!”
Anger and jealousy flared up in Caillen’s stomach like an ugly two-headed monster. “Has she accepted you then?” he asked as casually as he could.
For the first time, the laird hesitated. “It is only a matter of time.”
“Of course it is.” Caillen’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Travel safely, M’Laird. Goodnight.”
Logan Grieve said nothing but gave Caillen a poisonous glance over his shoulder as he galloped away.
Erin groaned as a perfunctory knock announced the arrival of Caillen, who marched into the room and confronted her as she lay on her couch with her eyes half-closed.
“Can I have no peace tonight?” she complained angrily. “For God’s sake, Cal! First Logan Grieve, and now you! Say what you have to say and go. I want to go to bed.”
Caillen sat down and faced her. “Please do not marry him, Erin,” he begged.
Erin groaned, then sat upright and glared at him. “If I hear anyone say that again, I will not be responsible for my actions!” she cried. “And why should I not? Give me one good reason.”
“He is not for you. Something about him tells me there is rottenness inside him.” It was the best he could come up with on the spur of the moment, and Erin saw through it at once.
“Are you clairvoyant now, Caillen?” she scoffed, laughing. “Do you have the Sight?” She stood up to pour herself more wine, then decided against it. Her head was swimming already. “I am afraid I am not convinced by this feeling of yours. You will have to do better than that. Why are you so determined that I should not marry him anyway? Were you going to ask me to marry you?”
Caillen directed his gaze downward so that Erin could not see the truth in his eyes. He wished he could ask her, as Michael wanted him to, and as he desperately wanted to, but he could not give up his honor, and he could not risk Stephen’s life.
“Anyway, you may as well be the first to know.” Erin sat down close to him, and he raised his eyes to look into hers. “I am going to marry him. He says he loves me, and he looks sincere. I am not in love with him, but I like him, and liking is enough of a foundation to build on. It was with Nairn, and I need his money.”
Caillen opened his mouth to say something, then he saw the hard determination in Erin’s face. He could not beg anymore; it was fruitless, and she was beginning to despise him.
“Goodnight, milady,” he murmured.
16
Strangely, Caillen rose from bed the next day feeling rested and refreshed. The weather was becoming colder, and soon there would be snow on the ground. Oddly enough, although going out in the open air was more of a physical challenge in cold weather, Caillen had always preferred winter to summer. He had worked on a farm before, so he knew that winter was when the land slept and renewed itself for the hard labor of spring. Then it would be expected to be ready for another year of planting, growing, and harvesting before it could rest again.
During the coldest season of the year, indoor work had to be done, such as the mending of farm implements, the making of new ones, and repairing thatch on the cottages. In fact, everything that had been damaged during the year was fixed. Animals were slaughtered and butchered, then the meat was dried and salted or pickled in brine to keep fresh for the winter. Vegetables were dried and pickled too. There was always something to be done.
Caillen had just been doing his least favorite task, though—the scattering of manure on the fields to prepare them for spring sowing—when Erin summoned him. He had a hasty bath, changed into fresh clothes, and went to the study with his hair still damp, still not at all sure that he had managed to rid himself of the stench of the farmyard.
In contrast to his usual habit of walking in and sitting down without being invited, he bowed and stood in front of Erin’s desk in a stance that would have been appropriate for a servant.
“Milady,” he said in an expressionless voice.
Erin stared up at him for a moment. “Sit down, Cal,” she ordered, frowning in puzzlement. “Why are you being so formal?”
