Free Never Kiss a Laird by Tess Byrnes

are I do not know where.”    As she chirruped at the horse and urged her back into motion, her eye
was caught by a movement in the hedgerow that ran along the lane.   Pulling back on the reigns, Sally looked more
closely, and saw a small, cloaked form huddling in the meager shelter afforded
by the bushes.
    “Hello!” Sally
called, and the cloaked figure turned reluctantly around.   A small pinched face, surrounded by damp
brown curls looked up at her with an apprehensive expression.   The girl looked to be a little younger than
Sally.   Her cloak, which was made from
serviceable, rather than fashionable, grey fabric, was muddied and wet, and
Sally did not think it could be providing any warmth at all.
    “Can I be of any
assistance?”   Sally asked, trying to
sound harmless and reassuring.
    “No, ma’am,” the
girl replied in a quiet Scottish brogue.   “I’m sorry if I startled your horse.   I was trying to find a bit of shelter from the rain.”
    “You look
wet-through,” Sally sympathized.   “Do you
have far to go to your destination?   If
you can climb up behind me, I’d be more than happy to take you with me.”
    To her dismay,
Sally saw two big tears well up in the girl’s eyes, and tip over to run down
her thin cheeks.  
    Sally slipped
her leg over the pommel and slid to the ground.   She approached the small figure, and took the chilled hands in her
own.   “Whatever is the matter?”   she asked gently.
    “You’re not to
be bothered with my troubles, ma’am,” the girl whispered miserably.
    “Nonsense,”
Sally said bracingly.   “Come, we can’t
stand here in this weather.   I have a
cottage nearby, and we can go there and talk much more comfortably before a
fire.”
    She could see
the girl wavering, and allowed her no time to cavil.   Pulling Beauty over to a nearby stump, she
climbed into the saddle, and reached down to pull the waif up behind her.   The girl was a few inches shorter than Sally,
and very slight, and she fit neatly on Beauty’s back behind the saddle.   She wrapped her arms around Sally’s waist,
and within a very few minutes, the horse arrived at Whitethorne cottage.
    Miles came out
to greet his mistress, whose arrival he had been expecting for more than an
hour.   “I was starting to worry about
you, Miss Sally.   That storm came on
without any warning at all!”   Relief
sounded in his voice as he approached to take Beauty’s bridle.   Noticing the small form behind Sally on the
horse he continued, “And who do we have here?”
    Sally felt the
girl flinch, and she spoke quickly.   “I
have met a friend who needs a place to weather this storm.   Help her down, Miles.”
    The groom easily
lifted the girl down, and then his mistress.   “There’s a fire in the sitting room, Miss, but I think you’ll still find
it uncomfortably cold.”   He looked at the
stone cottage with disfavor, shaking his head.
    “It will be
better than nothing, Miles,” Sally said hopefully.   She put an arm around the sodden little figure
and shepherded her into the cottage.  
    The small
sitting room was furnished with a hard settle and a horse-hair chair which were
set in front of a large stone fireplace.   A fire crackled merrily in the grate, and despite Miles’s gloomy
prediction, the room was much warmer than the draughty hallway.    Sally pressed the girl down onto the settle,
and untied the strings of her cloak.  
    “Let me take
this into the kitchen,” she said to the girl.   “My maid can brush it and dry it before the fire there.”
    Sally entered
the kitchen to find her maid sitting at the table with a collection of
vegetables spread out before her.
    “I have no idea
how to turn this into supper for us,” Millie said, looking up at her
mistress.   “Do you think I should boil
them, or roast them in the oven?”
    Sally picked up
a beet, and turned it over in her hand.   “I wish I knew.   Is there a cook
book here, by any