His Scottish Pet: Dom of the Ages Read online

  The girl slowly opened her blue lips, closing her eyes as she did so. He gently placed the morsel on her tongue and watched tears run down her cheeks as she chewed. Her reaction softened his heart. “That’s it, lass,” he encouraged. He continued to feed her a few more pieces, but put the rest away for later, taking none for himself. “We need to get your body used to food again.”

  He followed the food up with sips of fresh water. He tilted her head back gently to help her drink. She had eyes the color of moss with a depth that was cavernous to his soul. He looked away and muttered, “You’ll be fine.”

  Ryce ordered her to lie near the fire and placed the blanket over her thin frame. Despite the protection of the cave and the fire, her teeth were chattering. No wonder, there was no meat on the girl to hold in heat. Without any explanation, he gathered her into his arms and covered both of them with the blanket, tucking it securely around her.

  She became stiff in his embrace, which made him chuckle. “Have no fear. I prefer women with meat on their bones.”

  By the time the fire died, she was asleep. He closed his eyes, but could not drift off himself. The waif was going to complicate his life in ways he could not manage.

  Ryce unconsciously snarled in frustration and felt the girl stir. He remained quiet and she snuggled closer to him, falling back into a fitful slumber.

  How could he keep his secret from her? There was no possible way to keep it hidden with her living in the same quarters. The only option was to get rid of her before she had a chance to discover his curse.

  “You will not ruin what I have created here, little lass,” he whispered softly. He listened, and noticed her breath remained steady. He had to admit, the girl had a strong will. She was tougher than he thought and might survive after all.

  ****

  At the break of dawn, Ryce woke her up. Without a word, he pointed to the horse. He was determined to get her to his cottage. It meant he would have to ride Eventide hard, for it was his intention to make it before nightfall.

  The girl never complained, and ate obediently whenever he took a few moments to water his steed. He explained as he hand-fed her, “Your body is desperate for meat. It is good to see you keeping it down.” Naturally, he only gave her tiny rations. More than that and it would end up back in the dirt as she retched. Fortunately for her, he’d had extensive experience with starvation and personally knew how much a stomach could take before it protested violently.

  As the sun began to settle down on the horizon, the girl spoke her first words to him. “It’s gloaming.”

  “What?” he asked, still unfamiliar with some words of the Scottish dialect.

  She pointed to the sinking sun. “Gloaming.”

  “Ah… well, yes, it is almost dusk and we still have hours to go. I am determined to get you to a warm place tonight.”

  She asked softly, “Whit’s yer name?”

  “Master Leon, lass. You shall call me by that name alone.”

  “Aye, Master Leon.”

  He smiled at the Scottish lilt she added to his name. “And your name?”

  “Chrisselle Buchanan.”

  “A fine Scots name.”

  “Aye,” she said forlornly, slumping against the saddle.

  He’d momentarily forgotten her circumstances in an attempt to make idle conversation. Her family was dead and her people had abandoned her. He could think of nothing worse—at least not for her.

  Ryce changed the subject. “We are lucky the rain finally stopped.”

  She said nothing, but nodded her head against his chest.

  When it became too dark to see, he dismounted his horse and continued on foot leading the animal. He knew the area well enough to chance the dark passage. He and Eventide stumbled several times in the inky black. He understood he was risking harm to his stallion, but the drive to get home overrode his vigilant nature.

  Ryce was relieved when he finally spotted the cottage. “A warm meal and bed is almost yours, Buchanan,” he announced.

  “Ma name is Chrisselle, Master Leon.”

  He immediately corrected her, needing to establish distance. “While you are under my roof you shall simply be known by your clan name.”

  She was silent. He wondered what she was thinking. Was she worried he would harm her, or was she too distraught to appreciate how vulnerable she truly was? He decided to keep her unsure of his intentions, hoping to discourage her from questioning him. It was imperative that he find a safe place for her before complications ensued.

  He had her start a fire while he took care of Eventide. His horse needed extra attention after such a demanding journey. Ryce talked to the beast as he watered and combed the stallion in the stable. “You did well today. The girl needed warmth and sleep. She’ll recover because of you.” He curried the dark grey flank of his prized horse. “It’s a fine mess, I know. Maybe I should have left her to her fate.” His quick hands finished the job and he covered the steed in a blanket. “Just a little food tonight. I don’t need you getting sick, too.” He slapped Eventide’s shoulder when the beast nickered. “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty for you in the morning.”

  Ryce entered the small stone dwelling, glad to see she was standing next to a healthy fire. He grabbed a pot and left to fill it with creek water, then returned putting it over the fire. “Tonight will be a meager meal, but that’s probably all you can handle.” He broke up the last remaining deer meat and added the few pieces from his cupboard, throwing it all into the pot. “A little warm soup will do you good, Buchanan.”

  The girl looked like she was about to fall over. He dragged a chair next to the fireplace, noticing that she stiffened when he touched her shoulder. He ordered her to sit. She sank into the chair gratefully, but he could tell she was all nerves.

  Good, he thought. I don’t want her getting comfortable around me. He looked at her matted hair and shook his head. There was no way to untangle such a mess. He pulled out his knife and approached her. The wide-eyed look she gave him was comical. “You cannot lay your head anywhere in my home until you are properly cleaned. It cannot be done with this rat’s nest for hair.” She did not protest when he grabbed a hank of hair and began cutting through it. Halfway through his butcher job, however, he noticed a tear running down her cheek.

  “No need to cry. You will look a sight better without it.”

  “Nae, I wull look like a…” She barely choked out the last word. “Laddie.” Then the tears started falling.

  Ryce shook his head, but kept hacking away. He realized it wasn’t just the hair she was mourning the loss of. “Hair grows out, until it does you can be grateful for the ease of care.” She began sobbing softly. “Enough!” His tactics were heartless and that was fine with him. He could not afford to concern himself with her.

  Gathering the pile of dark red tangles off the floor, he opened the door and threw them outside for the animals. At least her hair would be of some use.

  Ryce turned back to her and had to stifle his laughter. She looked pathetic with her red-rimmed eyes, that gaunt little face and her short hair sticking up in ridiculous angles.

  “First you eat, and then you bathe before bed.” He took the hot soup off the fire and poured it into a bowl before going out and refilling the pot with creek water to boil for her bath. Even if he thoroughly cleaned her, it was pointless if she still wore the clothes. He groaned inwardly, knowing what that would mean.

  Jovita…

  He stormed back into the house, suddenly angry at the girl for causing him this unwelcomed pain. When he saw she hadn’t eaten the soup, he barked, “Eat!” He said it with such force that she immediately grabbed the spoon on the table and began shoveling it into her mouth. “Not so fast,” he growled, “you’ll make yourself ill.”

  She obediently slowed down, averting her eyes. He ignored her and wrestled the wooden wash tub to the middle of the room. He made sure the water was warm enough before he ordered her to bathe. “Good. With hot soup inside your stoma
ch and a warm bath, I am sure you will be able to get a good night’s rest. Now strip and get into the tub.”

  The girl looked at him in horror as she crossed her hands over her chest. “Nae. I cannae!”

  “I don’t want you, fool! Do what I say.”

  She shook her head vigorously.

  Ryce sighed in disgust, but realized she was in the right. “Fine. I will turn my head. Strip and throw your clothes in a pile over here.” He pointed next to the fireplace. “You can jump in the tub.” He turned his back on her and waited. It took several moments, but he finally heard her slip into the water. When he turned around, she was sitting cross-legged in the small tub, covering her breasts defiantly.

  He strode over to her pile of rags and threw them into the fire.

  “Whit ye doin’?” she cried, scrambling out.

  “Getting rid of the filth,” he answered, unintentionally staring at her naked body when he turned to address her. Her bony frame made her look like a child, not a young woman.

  She scurried back into the tub, mumbling, “I hae neathin’ now…”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks again and he wanted none of it. “I have some clothes far more appropriate, Buchanan. Stop crying and clean up.” He left for the barn to give her privacy and to retrieve the dreaded garment.

  Ryce walked directly to the last horse stall, listening to Eventide nicker as he passed. He stared at the trunk hidden in the shadows of the furthest corner. He’d carried the trunk with him wherever he settled, despite the fact it only brought heartache and guilt.

  He approached it, wishing he could prevent the inevitable, but he refused to hesitate as he unlocked the loathed trunk with the key attached around his neck. He slowly opened the lid, drinking in the faint smell of her. He closed his eyes and remembered.

  Jovita. God, how I miss thee…

  He saw her innocent smile, the joy that radiated from her brown eyes, those lips that knew him so well. A flash of blood smeared the vision and he abruptly opened his eyes.

  “No.”

  Ryce pulled out the sky-blue dress and slammed the trunk shut, preventing further memories. He strode back to the cottage angrily. The girl’s presence was causing him needless pain. She had to go, the sooner the better—whatever the cost.

  “Dry off and dress, now!” he barked, throwing the dress to the floor beside her.

  He turned away, not wanting to acknowledge the waif who had introduced emotional ambiguity into his life. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as he waited for her to comply.

  Ryce was not prepared when he turned and saw her in Jovita’s dress. Even though it hung on her like a sack and her hair was short like a boy’s, she was beautiful.

  He snarled with the taint of a hundred years of pent-up agony. “Don’t ruin that dress, girl!” Ryce rushed out the door, unable to bear her presence any longer. Must. Get. Rid.

  He hiked into the darkness, oblivious to his surroundings. Soon, however, he heard the hooves of Eventide echoing against the rocks behind him. The horse was more like a pup than equine.

  “Go home,” he shouted.

  The hooves picked up their pace, and he soon felt a blow to his back—Eventide’s greeting when he was concerned for his master.

  Ryce couldn’t stop from chuckling as he turned around and swatted Eventide. “You nuisance! I should trade you in for something more useful, like a donkey.”

  The horse punched him in the gut with his head this time.

  “What? Were you afraid your master would get lost so you followed me?” Ryce changed direction and headed back to the cottage in order to end the equine assault. “We’ll have to get rid of her as soon as possible. I can’t stand to look at her in that dress.”

  The steed nickered as if he understood and gave Ryce another hit with his muzzle, knocking him off balance.

  He slapped the horse. “Enough, Eventide.” To himself he added, “She will not complicate my life.”

  By the time Ryce returned, he had regained his detached composure. There was no need to take it out on the girl. She had done nothing to deserve it. He opened the door to her frightened yelp.

  “It is only I,” he stated calmly. Looking at her pale, gaunt face he realized how drained she was. Sympathy for the young woman pricked at his heart. He pulled out an old undershirt and handed it over to her. “It’s the best I can do for nightclothes. I will sleep in the barn. It is important that you remain warm and get plenty of rest.”

  Before she could reply, he ripped a blanket off the bed and exited the cottage. The last thing he needed was the local community finding out he was housing Buchanan. The community here would not stomach the idea of a ‘Saxon’ taking advantage of one of their own, even if she was an abandoned waif.

  He lay down in the hay and attempted to sleep, but his stomach growled loudly and would not quiet. Tomorrow I hunt, he promised himself. Then I visit Avril and find a home for the girl. He focused on that heartening thought until his eyes became heavy.

  Just one more day…

  Naughty Seamstress

  He woke at the crack of dawn and headed out. In two hours he had killed four squirrels. Unlike the locals, Ryce had hundreds of years of hunting experience to draw upon. He gutted and skinned the animals and cooked one, tearing at it hungrily before heading back to the cottage. He found Buchanan dressed and waiting for him.

  He avoided looking at the dress, choosing to stare directly into her eyes instead. “Did you sleep?”

  “Aye, Master Leon.”

  “Excellent. With fresh food in that belly, you should be yourself in no time. I will be out today. Cook the meat and eat what you can. I’ll see if I can’t conjure up some vegetables to go with the rest.” He held out the carcasses to her.

  Buchanan hesitated.

  “You do know how to cook.”

  She bit her lower lip and nodded.

  “Fine. I won’t be back until late. Sleep as much as you need, your body has a lot of recovering to do.”

  He founded himself glancing over her briefly, and noted how the color of the gown complemented her hair. He found it irritating and snapped, “Be careful with that dress.”

  Buchanan smoothed the soft material with her small hands in appreciation. “I will do my best, Master Leon.”

  Jovita used to do that…

  Ryce quelled the memory. “When I return I expect to have found you a permanent home.” He was surprised to see her eyes widen and tears started to emerge. There was going to be none of that! He grabbed his haversack of tools in a rush and left.

  The sooner she is out, the better for both of us. It unsettled him that she was acting as clingy as Eventide.

  He made the trek to Avril’s small cottage on foot. It was not a long journey, although she was somewhat isolated from the community. From what he’d been told, she preferred it that way. Kegan had informed him that when Avril was a young girl, her family had been attacked by a band of rebels who’d left her for dead. Despite the unsightly scars on her face, she was a respected member of the community, well known for her cloth-making skills, but she remained unattached.

  Ryce called out as he approached her home, not wanting to alarm her. He wasn’t sure she would consent to see him and was relieved when the door opened. He saw a look of recognition before she stepped out to greet her visitor.

  The woman was long and lean. The sun shining on her milky skin brought out the natural rosiness in her cheeks. Truly a fine specimen of a woman, even with the deep scars on the right side of her face.

  “Whit brings ye haur?” she asked, her lips slowly curling into a smile.

  She must feel the connection, he thought. This was going to be simpler than he anticipated. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Master Ryce Leon.”

  “I ken of ye,” she said with a coy glance, sizing him up.

  “I’ve been told you make exceptional cloth.”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you sew as well?”

  “That I dae.”


  He looked deep into her sparkling green eyes and suggested toyingly, “I am in need of your services.”

  She pursed her lips in a seductive manner, but answered, “I cannae help ye.”

  Ryce cocked his head. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He paused for a second before turning to leave, quite aware she was staring a hole into his back. He glanced back at her and nodded towards the barn. “I heard from Widow Kegan you have a horse that needs its hooves trimmed.”

  “Aye, Bonnie could use a trim.”

  “As pardon for disturbing you, may I offer my service?”

  She attempted to hide her smile. “I suppose… She’ll kick if yer nae gentle.”

  Ryce pulled out the tools from his sack and said smoothly, “No worries, lass, I know my way around a mare.” He added, “You can return to your work. I’ll leave when I’m finished.”

  She stared at him for several minutes before stepping back into her home.

  Yes, this is going to be easy.

  Ryce spoke soothingly to the sorrel mare as he ran his hands over her. “That’s it, girl, I’m only here to help.” The mare’s ears twitched as she followed his voice. It wasn’t long until she willingly lifted her hoof to him so he could begin his work. “The clipping is simply noise, Bonnie. No need to fear it.”

  By the time he’d moved to the second hoof, Avril had returned and was standing at the entrance of the barn. Ryce looked up and said in the same tone he used with the mare, “Do not take another step unless you want what I am offering.”

  “How do I ken whit yer offerin’?”

  He gave her a smirk before returning to the horse. He heard her move towards him, the hay making a rustling sound as her skirt dragged across it. She was apprehensive, he could feel it like a cloud around her.

  “Stand to my right, and don’t move,” he ordered calmly.

  Avril giggled self-consciously, but did his bidding. Soon she began critiquing his work. “You’re not doing it right. Don’t you see it’s uneven?”