“Ach, lass, the sky does not bode well for ye leaving come morn. If the rains continue the bog betwixt here and Edinburgh will swell to a river, become impassable.”
When they woke to more rain on the second day, Hamish did his best to keep them from worrying. He’d taught Sarah how to separate hull from oat kernels using a stone pastel. At her side Ty and Peter tried their hands at whittling simple animals out of small blocks of dry pine. Mark and Jeremy were stripping bark from foot long hunks of sapling pine, which they’d make into buckets. Bryce was in charge of making the cheese.
Hamish put more wood on the fire then set a crock full of milk before Bryce and lifted the lid. “Ah, ’tis ready.”
Bryce wrinkled his nose. “It’s spoiled.”
Hamish, laughing, reached for one of the small crocks lining the shelf above Bryce’s head. “Nay, ’tis just clabbered. Now ’tis ready for rennet, which will turn the milk to curds and whey.”
Frowning, Bryce asked, “What’s rennet?”
MacDuff opened the small crock and poured several tablespoons of dried beige powder into Bryce’s palm. “Dump that into the milk and stir.”
Bryce sniffed the powder then did as he was told, muttering, “Is this some kind of plant?”
“Nay.” Hamish looked at him and winked. “’Tis the dried lining of a calf’s stomach.”
Sarah tried not to laugh as her students shouted, “Ewwwwwwww!”
As Jeremy nudged Mark and whispered, “The Lion’s joking, right?” Bryce looked at her in horror. “Miss Colbert?”
Sarah nodded, liking the boy’s moniker for MacDuff. He did look like a lion. “It’s true. And there’s no need to ewwww. You’ve all eaten rennet custard at home and liked the cheese Mr MacDuff gave you yesterday. Rennet provides the acid needed to turn milk into cheese.”
Ty, looking worried, asked Hamish, “Did you kill the calf?”
“Nay, the poor wee beast died during a late spring blizzard. Nearly broke my heart finding him that morn, but there was nay undoing it, so …” He shrugged.
When several continued to eww and shuddered, Sarah reminded them, “We eat veal and lamb at home, gentlemen. The parts not suitable for the table aren’t wasted but used to make custards, gourmet cheeses, leather products like lambskin blazers — which several of you own — pet food and fertilizer. It’s simply a case of waste not, want not.”
Beside her, Jeremy muttered, “That’s it. The minute we get home I’m going vegan.”
“Miss Colbert, he’s cheating again!”
Sarah, shielding her eyes against the brilliant sunlight, laughed. Hamish had Jeremy under one arm like a sack of grain as he bobbed and weaved his way down the makeshift soccer field he’d made in the hopes of easing the boys’ melancholy after two days of solid rain. Their soccer ball, made from straw and leather, had flattened and was tucked neatly under his other arm, the game having degenerated into a free-for-all football.
As he scooped up Mark, she hollered, “Get him, Ty! Grab his belt and pull him down!”
When Ty lunged and missed, Sarah raced towards Peter, their goalie, who stood before two sticks set in the waterlogged ground. Emulating Peter’s stance, she spread her arms and legs wide and shouted, “We got you now, Highlander!”
Hamish slowed and an evil glint took shape in his eyes. He put the boys down, then, laughing, charged straight at her. As he caught her by the waist and spun, Ty and Mark caught his belt and Hamish toppled, making a great show of being brought down, as much a boy at heart as her students.
“ Ooomph!” While her victorious students shouted, Sarah tried to catch her breath. MacDuff held much of his weight on his arms, but had a muscular leg nestled squarely between her thighs.
Oh my God! Is he aroused?
Grinning down at her, his blue eyes dancing with mirth, he asked, “Did I score, mistress?”
Oh yes.
She’d long imagined what a man’s heat and weight might feel like, but my, oh my, her imagination hadn’t taken flight nearly far enough. Her heart was racing, sending warmth and need sluicing through her.
“Miss Colbert, is it dinner time yet?” Peter wanted to know.
I neither know nor care, Peter.
“What are we having?” Jeremy asked.
Hamish, his hooded gaze fixed on her lips, slowly rose to his knees and cleared his throat. “Crowdie and havers,” he told them, “unless ye can garner more blackberries.”
Almost in unison they groaned.
When the boys walked off, Hamish slowly rocked to his feet and held out a large calloused hand to her. “We’d best get the rest ready. Ty alone can eat his weight in oats and honey.”
Dazed, she took his hand. “He’s … He’s grown very fond of you.”
“And I of him.”
“In ten months this is the first time I’ve seen him really smile. He’s blossomed under your attention.” And he wasn’t the only one. She too had blossomed. She laughed and pondered what might have been under Hamish MacDuff’s sometimes awkward, usually funny, and occasionally heated perusal.
Watching the boys, Hamish absently toyed with the broad brass cuffs decorating his wrists. “He longs for a father.”
Sarah nodded, only too familiar with that particular heartache.
“And they all lust to be home. Aye?”
“Yes, they’re homesick.” With their game over, the boys were again quiet, walking with slouched shoulders and worried expressions. Last night in the darkened croft she hadn’t been able to tell who’d wept in the wee hours of night but several had.
“And ye, mistress? Do ye lust to be home as well?”
Did she?
She no longer had any family, nor any close friends after caring for her mother for so many years. She’d applied for the overseas teaching position in the hope of finding a new beginning. Instead, her lonely life had simply changed addresses. Home was no longer the rented Chicago duplex she’d grown up in but a tiny rented flat in a grey London suburb full of strangers. Her days were still challenging and worrisome. Her nights filled with mundane television and Chinese takeout.
And then there was Hamish MacDuff. He was everything she had ever dreamed of in a man: strong, handsome, funny, not the least self-conscious. Tender and considerate. Firm when he thought it necessary. And he thought her pretty, followed her every movement with hungry eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. When she did look at him, he simply smiled as if he hadn’t a concern or desire in the world.
No, she didn’t lust to go home, but then it never mattered what she wanted. She just put her head down and did what was expected, what had to be done.
Knowing she had no choice but to do so again, she reached out and boldly took Hamish’s hand, threading her fingers through his, memorizing the feel of his touch, of his callouses and strength, of what might have been.
Hamish finished his tale of how he’d come to be in his glen and wished the lads goodnight. ’Twas time to speak his heart to the Spaniel.
He found her, arms wrapped about her shapely legs, sitting at the edge of his pool. Watching her curly hair billow like a dark cloud under the light of a full moon his chest tightened. God’s teeth, he longed to hold her, to claim her.
But then he was only a warrior without a liege. He had his sword and this glen but naught else to tempt her to remain. She was one of the gifted, a teacher, who could read and write, which he could not. Aye, she was well beyond his grasp, yet he wanted her. Wanted her as he’d wanted little else in his life, with a need so bone deep it hurt.