Page 43 of How to Be a Scottish Mistress

The castle herb garden was located near the kitchen, in an area protected by high, stone walls. Fiona had only recently discovered it, and the privacy it afforded. She had been dismayed upon seeing the condition of this important household asset. Underwatered and choked with weeds, the precious herbs were scrawny and wilting—a possible explanation for the often bland fare served in the great hall.

Bending to her task with vigor, Fiona dug with the tip of her finger at the base of a very large weed, realizing she’d have to soak her hands in warm water in order to get rid of the dirt beneath her fingernails. No matter. The mindless work was a godsend. It kept her hands busy, served a useful purpose, and took her out from under the watchful, critical eyes of the other women.

Since hearing the news of King Edward’s death earlier this morning, Gavin had been cloistered with his men. She doubted she would see him until it was time for the evening meal. ’Twas just as well. All it took was a few minutes in his company and passionate thoughts she could not control were conjured in her mind. It took but a scant minute more for her to act on those thoughts—a teasing smile, a seductive glance, a sensual kiss and she was lost.

It was an unsettling reaction, something she needed time and distance to explore and examine. For that was the only way she would ever come to understand it.

The gate swung open, and to her amazement, Gavin walked through, a purposeful stride to his step. “I’ve been searching everywhere fer ye,” he said.

“Well, I’m not hiding,” she replied defensively, not wanting him to realize that was precisely what she’d been doing.

“I never said ye were.”

Fiona flushed and turned her head away. “’Tis a crime to let such precious bounty whither from neglect. I’ve been working for two days and should be done with the job in another two. Provided there aren’t too many interruptions.”

Hoping he would take the hint and leave her to finish her task, Fiona gathered the pulled weeds, condensing them into one pile. But instead of moving away, the earl came closer, casting a shadow over her.

“Ye’ll have to finish this another day. Though why ye would want to is a puzzlement. As I recall, there are pages aplenty in this household. Isn’t weeding the kitchen gardens one of their jobs?”

Straightening, Fiona rose self-consciously from her kneeling position and vigorously rubbed the knotted ache at the base of her spine. “Tending herbs requires knowledge that most young boys do not possess. They’re likely to pull out as many herbs as weeds.”

“Oh, so it’s skilled labor, is it, playing in the dirt? Something fit only fer a lady?”

Fiona tried to assume a formal, dignified air, but the boyish glint in Gavin’s eyes made it difficult. “’Tis honest labor,” she said lamely.

“I never said it wasn’t. I merely questioned why ye had chosen to do it.”

“I enjoy the solitude and being out-of-doors. I also like being able to easily see the fruits of my labor.” She waved her hand elegantly over the large plot where it was instantly apparent which sections she had tended and which had yet to be weeded.

“Ye’ve done enough fer one day,” Gavin said as he held the gate open for her.

His meaning was clear, yet Fiona balked at obeying. There were still hours and hours of daylight left. If she kept working at her current pace, she could clear an entire section before the evening meal.

“Yer frowning,” Gavin observed. “Is something amiss?”

The question thrust Fiona into a quandary. This wasn’t merely about the weeding. It was about her freedom, her ability to make her own decisions about how she spent her time. Should she press the point now? Or wait for a better opportunity?

Then again, did she even have a point to make? She had agreed to be his mistress, devote herself to his pleasures. Being surly and arguing would hardly bring the earl any pleasure. She might not be his slave, but she was subject to his whims.

“I’ll start working again early tomorrow,” Fiona said, deciding not to avoid a direct confrontation.

“And I’ll tell Hamish to send a few of the pages to help,” Gavin added.

Fiona’s back stiffened, but she managed a slight smile. Gavin must have noticed, since he quickly added, “The lads will work under yer supervision.”

“Thank you.” Her reply was not as gracious as it could have been, but Gavin gave no indication that it angered him. Or perhaps this time he took no note of it?

Fiona’s mood improved as they walked through the bailey. Having Gavin at her side afforded her the immediate respect of anyone they passed, though Fiona felt compelled to make eye contact with each and every person, to show that she was not timid. Or worse, ashamed of her position in the household.

If I act like a lady, they will treat me as such.

“I had planned to leave immediately, but I see ye’ll need a few moments to refresh yerself,” Gavin remarked, gazing down at her hands.

Fiona curled her dirt-encrusted fingers into a fist, hiding them from view. “I’m to accompany you? Where?”

“Ye’ll see.”

His cryptic smile gave her no further clue. But any resentment she felt at being ordered about quickly faded. They were leaving the castle—together. An afternoon of freedom!

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