Page 11 of This Laird of Mine

Moving back to the grass, Claire gripped the top handle in her left hand and the central handle in her right. She held the blade close to the ground and swung at the swath of tall grass in front of her. To her delight, the blade sliced through the narrow patch of grass. She tried again, widening her stroke, but the grass only bent beneath the assault this time.

The blade was sharp enough, she knew from the first stroke. Pressing her lips together in determination, she tried again, returning to the small stroke she had made at first. Again, the grass fell to the left of the blade. A sense of accomplishment moved through her at the small path she had created. She continued scything, moving the blade from right to left, twisting her body in rhythm with each stroke.

Her arms ached at the unusual and contained movements, but she didn’t care. She was doing something productive that she hoped would help her win Jules’s favor.

“Stop.” The harsh word hung in the air.

Her movements ceased. Her muscles tightened and her nerves leapt. Jules.

In a suspended moment, she became aware of two things. One, Jules stood behind her. Two, with the soft swoosh of the blade arrested, a loud and persistent hissing sound came from in front of her.

Before her mind could reconcile the sound, she was hauled back against Jules’s chest. The scythe flew from her hands just as a brown snake with a black zigzag stripe along its back struck where she had been standing a heartbeat ago.

“A snake?” A scream wedged itself in her throat, but she held it back.

“An adder.” Jules’s rich baritone cut through her terror. He scooped her up in his arms and strode back toward the manor.

Claire suddenly became aware of the muscular arms that held her against an equally solid chest. Over his shoulder she looked back. The snake slithered toward them, then stopped at their retreat. The snake coiled into an S-shape once more, prepared to strike should they change their direction.

“What were you doing?” Those captivating blue eyes searched hers suspiciously.

She swallowed. “I was trying to cut the grass.”

He looked unamused. “There are snakes in the grass.”

“Was it poisonous?” she asked hesitantly, her heart still pounding.

“Yes.” He took a deep, exaggerated breath.

“Then why did you save me?” she asked with a frown. “If it had bitten me, all your ‘wife’ problems would be at an end.”

His heated glare sent a shiver over her flesh. “Had it struck you, you would not have died, but the next three days would have been very painful, painful enough that you might have wished you had died.” He set her down and stepped back, his face blank. “You are safe now. Stay out of the grass.”

She mourned the loss of his warmth. Her legs trembled beneath her, but she would never let him see such a weakness. She straightened. “Thank you.”

He nodded as he turned away.

“How long have you been back at Kildare Manor?” she asked in an effort to keep him with her. Suddenly being alone seemed worse than being subjected to his anger.

“Only a few days.” He stopped walking and turned around. “Why?”

She shrugged. “I merely wondered—”

“Why the place is so run down?” Though the words were edged, there was an amused gleam in his eyes that said he wasn’t as angry as he sounded.

She looked askance at him. “It is not my place to judge you. I know you have suffered the loss of your father and your brother three weeks ago. I cannot imagine the pain you must be feeling.”

He frowned and the light in his eyes vanished. “I had been absent from their lives for many years. As far as I was concerned, they died years ago.”

“Then we have at least that in common.”

His body uncoiled slightly at the words. His brow puzzled. “You mentioned you had no family.” He frowned. “And yet, you received a missive from them earlier today.”

She paled. “The missive was from friends who I consider family.”

It was a lie, and from the look on his face he knew it but asked instead, “Then what happened to your family?”

“They all perished in the plague of 1666.”