Free Lady Barbara's Dilemma by Marjorie Farrell Page A

Barbara?” asked Robin, who had wandered over to compliment the fiddler on his playing.
    “The winner of the pet show was a huge hairy spider, Robin.”
    Robin gave a shout of laughter. “Did you disgrace yourself? My sister has bravely faced snakes and toads, but she hates spiders,” he explained to Alec.
    “This is my brother, Major Stanley,” said Barbara. “Mr. Gower. My brother was the first to discover my fear of spiders,” she explained. “I got used to almost everything else he tormented me with, but never spiders.”
    “It is a small failing, Lady Barbara. And you rose above it bravely today,” Alec continued with mock gallantry. He had thought the major her brother from the striking resemblance. And he had checked her left hand during their dance, so she must be the earl’s daughter, he thought. Though what possible relevance that could hold for Alec Gower, fiddler, he didn’t know.
    “I think Daniel is ready for a glass of ale, Gower,” said Robin. “He is waving you over, and looks quite desperate.”
    Alec gave a slight bow to Barbara, thanked her for the reel, and ran up to the platform, his kilt swinging.
    “The squire was right. He is an extraordinary musician, don’t you think, Barb?”
    It took Barbara a moment to reply, for she was thinking more about his dancing and how wonderful it had felt to have him swing her around. The little bubble of joy was still with her. “Yes, Robin, yes. Extraordinary.”
     

Chapter 14
     
    The next morning, despite all her activity over the past few days, Barbara was up before anyone else. There was an early-morning mist hanging over the fields, and she tried to stay in bed and finish the novel she had been reading, but for some reason she was too restless to concentrate. She finally threw her book down and decided to go for a ride.
    It was a magical time to be out, for this early it felt as if the whole world were sleeping except for herself. With the mist swirling around her, Barbara followed the track alongside the wheat fields, enjoying a slow canter for almost a mile. There was a small copse at the end of the Ashurst fields, separating them from the squire’s property, and as she got closer to the trees, she began to sniff the air. She must be imagining things, probably because she hadn’t yet had breakfast, but she could swear she smelled bacon. The closer she got to the copse, the stronger the smell, and she decided that she was not hallucinating; some gypsy or tramp on Ashurst land, she thought, with a trace of annoyance. It was customary to ask permission, which the Stanleys usually granted, particularly after the Midsummer Fair. She would inform whoever this was that he was trespassing.
    She ducked her head as her horse moved through the small grove of trees, and was almost upon the little camp before she knew it. There was Mr. Gower, smiling up at her in delighted surprise.
    “Had I known you were coming for breakfast, my lady, I would have thrown a few more slices on the pan.”
    He hadn’t even gotten up, thought Barbara, but was sitting there for all the world as though she were the trespasser. With his shirt wide open, exposing the reddish hair on his chest and his kilt pulled up over his knees. How in the world did Scottish women keep their minds off men’s bodies? It was hard to ignore them, with so much of them showing. And what if there was nothing beneath his kilt…?”
    “We have no objection to the occasional traveler,” said Barbara, “but it is customary to ask permission to camp at Ashurst.”
    “Oh, is this still Stanley land, Lady Barbara? I must have mistaken the boundaries. The squire told me I could camp as long as I liked. I’ll move, if you wish, but not until I’ve had my breakfast, if you don’t mind.”
    The fiddler was speaking neither broad Scots nor “proper” English, but something in between. The light bun sounded natural, whereas his other accents had seemed exaggerations.
    “No, there is no need to