Page 97 of The Scot Beds His Wife
“Aye.” Leaving the harnessed mule where he stood, the stable master retrieved a length of leather with two brass rings on each side. “Several of the Mackenzie showed up this morn, claiming that ye hired them… I’ve a feeling we’ll still need to haul away a few corpses once yer husband finds them.”
Samantha squeezed her eyes shut, cursing the fact that she’d forgotten to amend her agreement with Mena to recruit men to help gather cattle. “Is there room for someone to ride shotgun, in that cart, Mr. Monahan?”
He eyed her cautiously. “Feeling more than a bit better, I wager.”
“Much better.” Instead of pressing her hands to heated cheeks, she retrieved the coat Locryn had lent her, as he was still loath to leave Calybrid’s side. “My… husband agrees I’m fit to ride.”
When she straightened, Eammon had turned back to secure the leather length to the animal’s bridle and harness. “Apparently,” the Irishman muttered under his breath.
“I heard that.”
He flashed her a charming, conciliatory grin. “No offense meant, lassie, I’ve been known to profane a few haystacks, meself, back in my day.”
She didn’t doubt that for a moment. “Does your mulehave trouble with tossing his head?” Approaching the animal, she touched its withers, and then stroked the bristly neck and velvet ears as she watched Eammon adjust the strap.
“Good eye. To be fair, this daft animal has trouble with everything.” Retrieving a sugar cube from his pocket, Eammon held it beneath the mule’s nose, then turned his shoulder and strolled toward the cart in the courtyard as though he didn’t care if he was followed. After a thoughtful moment, the mule sighed and turned to pursue.
“Useless beastie,” the Irishman groused, but he stroked the blaze between the silver mule’s eyes as he gave up the sweet rewards in his hand.
Mollified, the beast stood still as Eammon hooked the cart to his harness.
Samantha would have helped if she was able, but her tumble in the hay cost her leg more than she liked to admit. Not that she at all regretted it.
She allowed Eammon to boost her up onto the seat before he heaved in next to her, and she sank into the coat as they plodded down the lane in the winter’s chill.
“Daft ass isn’t half as smart as his mother,” Eammon said conversationally as they crossed the bridge and turned north toward Erradale. “But he’s young yet, and from the strongest stock in the empire.”
“You’re still breaking him?”
His mustache twitched with a frown. “Never liked that word, ‘breaking’ an animal. It means you’ve broken their spirit, doesn’t it? That’s not what I do.”
“What do you call it, then?”
“Mhúineadh.”
“That’s a lovely word. What does it mean?”
“I’m theirteacher,as Callum is their keeper. They call him the Mac Tíre. It means a Son of the Earth. It’s anancient privilege in my country, one the Monahans are proud of.”
“Teacher,” she echoed.
“Don’t misunderstand, girl. There is discipline involved, but there is trust to be built, and affection. A broken animal will never be as good to you as a loyal one. I taught Lord Thorne this as a child. Lord knows, his father never did. My boy, Callum, was born with this awareness, instinctually. And I think you were, too.”
“I don’t know about that,” she muttered, ever uncomfortable with compliments.
“Callum says you sit a horse like you were born on one, and you handle the cattle better than any Ross ever did. Did I not know better, I’d have thought him a bit sweet on you.”
“But you do?” Samantha asked with alarm. “Know better, that is.”
“Aye. His heart belongs to another.”
“Who?” she asked, before it occurred to her that it wasn’t her business.
His gaze skittered away from her. “Well… never you mind who.”
Used to the impatient honesty of hardworking men, Samantha didn’t allow his rebuff to dampen the moment. “You know, I never wanted to be a rancher,” she confessed. “Or to be tied to one place, dependent on the variables of nature and a herd. I despised the very idea. And yet, I came to the Highlands—er—backto Erradale, and I found a new appreciation for it. I was—am content in a way I thought I’d never be.”
“Maybe it wasn’t thevocationthat disagreed with you, lassie, but thelocation.”
