He turned to Katie. “This is Mistress Stirling. She will be acting as land steward in my absence.”
Mr. MacDuff looked start
led at the two of them. “Ye will not be staying, then, laird?”
“Nay. I must see to my own clan. I will be leaving in a few weeks, with Mistress Stirling in charge.”
Mr. MacDuff scratched his head. “She’s a woman.”
“Aye.” There didn’t seem to be much more for the MacNeil to say, since that fact was an obvious one.
The man shook his head and pulled forward a woman who stood behind him. “This is my wife, Leanna.”
The woman appeared not much older than Katie but had the worn look of someone who dealt with young children all day. Said young children spilled from the cottage. The eldest, a boy about six years, followed by a lass of about four and a wee lad of about two toddled after them.
“These are our children.” Mr. MacDuff touched the head of each one. “Blaine, Rose, and Adam.”
The little girl he’d introduced as Rose held a squirming kitten in her arms. She walked up to them and held the animal out to Katie. “This is for ye, my lady.”
The sweet little thing was as black as night, with eyes so blue, they matched the sky. “Nay, thank ye anyway,” MacNeil said at the same time as Katie said, “Thank ye. I will take good care of it.”
He glowered at her. “We have enough pets, Mistress Stirling.”
“’Tis a gift, my laird. To me.”
“We cannot accept it, Mistress.” They stood facing each other, her spine straight, his eye beginning to twitch.
Wee Rose looked back and forth between them and burst into tears.
Chapter Eight
“In two days we’ve acquired a goat and a kitten. If this keeps up, there won’t be any room for people at the castle,” MacNeil groused as they rode away from the MacDuff cottage. He studied the kitten perched on Katie’s lap.
“The wee lass was crying her little heart out. How could we turn her down?” Katie snuggled the tiny ball of fur against her chest, bringing Evan’s eyes right where he didn’t want them to be: her full bosoms, nicely outlined in her worn gown, where the cursed animal snuggled. He wondered how it would feel to be snuggled up against her. He quickly turned his attention to the road, dismissing that outrageous thought.
“Who is next on our list, my laird?” Katie nodded toward the paper he held.
“I believe, since we will be working together for quite some time, that ye may address me as Evan and I address you as Katie. All of this ‘my laird’ and ‘mistress’ is becoming cumbersome.”
“Aye. ’Tis true.”
Even though using their given names wasn’t the best idea, since he didn’t want to encourage any sort of closeness between them, it would make their interactions a bit simpler. That’s the only reason.
Soon he might believe it.
“The next cottage belongs to the Widow Fiona MacDuff. She makes tartans, stockings, and tams that she sells at the marketplace. She must do a good job, because her rents are all paid up.” He made a turn to the right, and Katie followed him over a small hill to the cottage in front of them—a small, snug, well-kept house.
They approached the door, and Evan knocked. The wind whistled around them, reminding him that time was passing, and winter would be setting in soon. He must get this finished and be on his way. Katie tightened her shawl around her and shivered. After a minute or so, he knocked again. Still no answer.
“Perhaps she’s gone to visit a neighbor?” Katie looked around as if to see if the woman was on her way home.
The door slowly opened, and an older woman stood there. Her silver hair hung down around her shoulders, she was flushed, and her eyes were a dull bloodshot hue. “Are ye the new laird?” He barely heard the words that came out of her mouth, so raspy were they.
“Aye, Mrs. MacDuff, I am Laird MacNeil.”
She opened the door wider, and they were greeted by pungent smells and a chaotic mess. Bowls with dried food sat on the table; more were piled in a large bucket. A halfway full cauldron hung from the fireplace with rancid food.
Katie pushed past him. “Mrs. MacDuff, I believe ye are quite ill.”