Free A Scottish Love by Karen Ranney Page B

with hot water, she carried them one by one into the Clan Hall.
    The stone floor was sufficiently hard—and dirty—that she had little to think about other than her chore. Helen worked beside her, with Fergus periodically replacing their dirty water with clean.
    When she reached the wall, she moved to the side to help Helen.
    “Now that’s a sight. The Countess of Morton scrubbing.”
    She stopped, frozen to the spot, on her hands and knees with a scrub brush in her hand.
    Of course, it was Gordon. Colonel Sir Gordon. What a ridiculous title. Of course, he’d arrived now, when perspiration was rolling off her forehead and her dress was uncomfortably damp under her arms.
    Of course, she was filthy.
    She didn’t look up and she didn’t comment. Let him say what he would, a response wouldn’t get the floor clean. He said something to Fergus that she couldn’t hear, but when both men laughed, she gritted her teeth.
    Miserable man.
    She glanced at Helen. If she looked as bad as Helen, she was in a deplorable state indeed. Since she didn’t hear anything further, she risked a glance behind her. Both men had disappeared from the doorway.
    “Do you think he’s brought food?” Helen whispered, looking as hopeful as Shona suddenly felt.
    “If he has, then he can say anything he wishes about me,” she said, rising to her feet.
    She glanced down at her dress. In addition to water spots, it looked as if she’d scrubbed the floor with the skirt. Her fingernails were brown, her face warm and no doubt flushed. She probably had streaks of dirt on her face as well, and she knew her hair was a mess because some tendrils had escaped the rag she’d used.
    Stiffening her back, she looked around the room.
    “We’ve done as much as we can do here,” she said, as Helen finished up her section of the floor and stood.
    “Perhaps we’ll have a small tea?” Helen asked.
    Shona’s stomach rumbled at the thought.
    She nodded, leading the way to the Lower Courtyard, praying that Gordon had indeed brought provisions.
    Provisions?
    He’d brought the whole of northeast Scotland with him.
    The wagon he, Fergus, and Old Ned were offloading looked to be filled with enough baskets, jars, and canisters to feed them all for a month. In addition, there were two sides of beef.
    Did he think they were starving?
    Her initial relief was tempered by a dawning awareness that he’d known, exactly, what sort of difficulty they were facing. Embarrassment began a march from her toes, warming her skin as it traveled upward to blossom in her cheeks.
    She should have refused his largesse and sped him from the courtyard with a word or two to let him know that she wasn’t to be pitied.
    There were others to consider, however. Fergus, who’d not yet fully recovered from his wounds. Helen, who’d been rescued from poverty and hopelessness only to be thrust back into it again as her companion. She’d not been able to pay Helen for months now, and the other woman’s only comment was that she was happy to have a roof over her head and sustenance.
    Sustenance she hadn’t even been able to provide.
    When he mounted the steps, a side of beef slung over one shoulder, she moved aside. Any comment she wanted to make, was desperate to make, was silenced by his generosity.
    She would have to thank him, and not only did that thought rankle, but it was something she’d have to practice.
    Would her lips even form the words in his presence?
    Seven years earlier, she’d been dependent upon his charity. She hadn’t liked it then any more than she did at this moment.
    She closed her eyes and prayed for patience and restraint, neither easily accomplished since Helen moved to stand beside her, relaying the inventory in an awe-filled whisper.
    “It looks like a canister of chocolate, Shona. Chocolate! Do you know how long it’s been since we had chocolate?”
    “At least two years,” she said, opening her eyes. It did, indeed, look like a canister of chocolate