Page 17 of To Bed the Bride
Chapter Eight
It was the stable boy who told her about the stranger the next day.
“Mrs. McElwee said that he had a way about him, miss. Gave her a smile, he did, and made her think of her own young and wild days. Her words, miss, not mine.” The stable boy had ducked his head down as if that would hide his smile.
“A stranger?”
“Yes, miss. Keeps to himself, though, and hasn’t been seen in the village. But Mrs. McElwee saw him walking down the road toward the village.”
“Did she?”
Mrs. McElwee had always been the source of information about the area, ever since Eleanor was a little girl. If anything happened around Hearthmere, Mrs. McElwee was sure to know it.
A stranger? Could he have been playing at being a shepherd the other day?
“What else did Mrs. McElwee tell you, Robbie?”
“That he’s been staying in the duke’s cottage, miss. The one the shepherd uses when he’s not with the sheep.”
“Has he? Where is this cottage?”
Robbie, thankfully, was filled with information about that, too. Once she mounted, she had the stable boy hand up the basket. Bruce was refusing to stay inside, and popped his head out to see what was happening around him. How could anyone stay angry at that face?
Armed with directions, she set out to find the man.
At least the afternoon was a fair one, with not a hint of clouds in the sky. The wind was little more than a breeze, brushing back the tendrils of hair from her face, making the puppy’s ears sit up straight.
Bruce had kept her up the night before. At first she thought something was terribly wrong because of his plaintive whining. She had checked him carefully to ensure that he had no injuries. Finally she decided that the only reason he was crying was that he must miss his mother.
“There is nothing I can do about that,” she told him.
When he jumped up on her bed she was startled. However, since his whining stopped, she let him stay. It was a curious sensation, sleeping with an animal. She had never done so before. He was a very warm, soft little bundle of fur who insisted on being right next to her no matter what position she took. She kept waking when he moved.
He had found one of her shoes this morning and had sicced himself on it like it was a bone. When she’d admonished him and taken away the damaged shoe, he hadn’t looked the least bit chagrined. He’d only gone after the other one.
She wasn’t entirely certain that he was eating properly. She had fed him twice, once last night and then this morning, but was that enough? The puppy hadn’t come with any instructions.
No, the shepherd simply must take Bruce back. He must miss his littermates and his mother. Poor thing, to be taken away at such a young age. How young were puppies when they were separated from their families? She didn’t know the answer to that question, either.
Maud had a lovely gait at a modest trot. The mare seemed relieved not to have anything to do with the sheep today, too, if the toss of her head was any indication. Riding with the puppy was not as easy as Eleanor had hoped. Maud was evidently not in favor of dogs, either. The puppy, however, was becoming used to his transport in a basket. He sat with his head up, surveying everything he saw. From time to time he would bark at something that captured his attention.
As they reached the crest of a hill, she saw the river before them as well as a cottage sitting like a mushroom on the landscape. Bruce subsided a few minutes later and curled into a sleepy ball at the bottom of the basket. Eleanor kept the cover open so she could keep an eye on the puppy.
There was smoke coming from the chimney, which meant that someone was home.
She really shouldn’t be feeling any type of excitement. She was simply returning Bruce, that’s all. Besides, the stranger might not be the person she sought after all.
Once at the cottage she moved to the mounting block, leaned over, and put the basket with the sleeping puppy down, then slid off Maud’s back. She wrapped the reins around a small post located there, picked up the basket, and made her way down the gravel path to the cottage door.
Her knock on the door was answered but she couldn’t understand the words. Was he saying to go away or come in? She pushed down the latch and opened the door slowly.
“Hello?”
The puppy chose that moment to bark. She glanced down to find that he had awakened and was viewing the world with his customary air of expectancy.
Should she take him outside first?
Suddenly she was face-to-face with the shepherd. Or the man who’d pretended to be the shepherd. If anything, he’d grown more handsome since she’d seen him last. His hair was still unruly, however, as if he had thrust his fingers through it. He stood there, attired in clothing not appreciably different from what he’d worn two days ago, but without the blood. There was an ink stain on his sleeve. One hand held the door while the other clutched a sheaf of papers.
