Page 6 of To Bed the Bride
“All I want to do is pass,” she said to the dog. “You needn’t look at me like I’m your lunch. Go away.”
The dog didn’t stop growling. In fact, he took a few steps toward her. If the sheep hadn’t been milling so close she would have backed away.
“I mean it,” she said in a more forceful tone. “Shoo!”
“He’s only doing his job.”
She looked up to find a man standing there holding a crook, and a knapsack, watching her.
“You’ll never get him to move with a command likeshoo,” he added.
Eleanor was torn between feeling ridiculous and being justifiably annoyed.
“This is a public thoroughfare,” she said. “One not set aside primarily for sheep.”
“I agree.”
“Then you need to move them so that I can get by,” she said.
“Wouldn’t it be easier for you to simply go around?” His accent was that of Scotland. Stronger than hers, given her five years in London.
He was smiling at her. A very charming smile as it turned out, one that she told herself not to notice overmuch.
Although he was dressed in a cream-colored shirt, open at the neck and rolled up at the sleeves, he didn’t look like a shepherd. First of all, he didn’t have a beard and his black hair was closely cut. Except for his attire, which included loose trousers showing several stains—one of which appeared to be blood—he looked like any of the men she’d met during her two seasons.
She didn’t make a habit of paying attention to a strange man’s appearance, but this shepherd made it somewhat difficult not to notice him. He had a rough-hewn appearance: black hair ruffled by the wind, a broad face with strong features, a nose that was almost too large for his face, and a mouth still arranged in a smile. His was a stubborn chin that warned her this encounter might not go to her satisfaction. Nor did he look the least bit abashed by the situation.
Surely he knew that she was his employer?
“Our sheep are never moved here,” she said. “You’ve taken them too far afield.”
“Have I?”
“You have. You should rectify this situation immediately. No one needs to know.”
“Don’t they?”
She shook her head, wishing he would do something about the dog. Every time she directed her attention somewhere else, the dog moved closer to her. If she wasn’t careful, the border collie would be only inches away.
“You needn’t be afraid of him.”
Anyone with half a brain would be cautious of a growling dog, especially one as large and as ferocious as that one. To make matters worse, now there were two dogs, the second one circling around and actually coming closer to her and Maud than the first animal.
“You really must call them off,” she said. “Right now.”
“Do you always give strangers orders? I’ve counted three so far.”
“I’m your employer,” she said. “I’m Eleanor Craig of Hearthmere.”
“Are you, then? I’m pleased to meet you, Eleanor Craig of Hearthmere, but you’re not my employer.”
“Of course I am, and those are my sheep. Now do something about them,” she said, trying not to look at the dogs. Instead, she focused her attention on the shepherd, surprised when his smile faded.
“You really are frightened, aren’t you?”
She wanted to protest that she wasn’t afraid, but it seemed ludicrous to make that claim when she could feel herself shaking.
“Are you going to command them to move?”
