Alasdair loaded the sack of flour and a few household goods into the back of his small wagon, laying the smaller supplies on top of the sacks of grain for his horse and seeds for planting. His new property at the edge of the moor by the lake was coming along nicely, especially after the few hard weeks of labor he’d put into it. He’d replaced the chinking along the interior and exterior of the stone house, replaced some of the wood timbers inside, re-thatched several sections of the roof, and had even cleared a narrow path for Beitris so she could roam from the house down to the edge of the lake without getting lost or hurt.

Thoughts of Beitris gave him pause. As he brought furniture from his father’s house to their new home, Beitris and Elspeth had also been busy turning the structure into a home. He couldn’t deny that the cold, drafty stone house was now a welcoming, warm, and cozy domicile.

Elspeth had stated that, at least for now, she would prefer to remain by Beitris’s side, helping her adapt and adjust to her new home, its surroundings, and her transition into wifehood, whatever that meant. He and Elspeth had come to a truce of sorts, one that involved basically ignoring one another. Alasdair often felt Elspeth’s disapproving glare boring into his back, and he would turn, lift an eyebrow, inviting her to say something, to speak her mind, but when she was around Beitris, she never did.

Alasdair had no doubt that Beitris felt the tension between her best friend and her new husband, as he often found her sitting very still, her head tilted at that unique angle that let him know she could hear everything, sensing everything going on around her. Truth be told, Alasdair was quite impressed with Beitris and her ability to adapt. On numerous occasions when by himself, he had closed his eyes and tried to navigate the house, the shoreline of the lake, and even out in the fields, but he couldn’t endure the darkness for more than a few moments. Was it the same for her? From what he remembered, Beitris had not been born blind. She had gotten sick as a toddler or very young child. Did she even remember being able to see?

He had asked Elspeth one morning as she gathered eggs from the small lean-to he had devised as a temporary henhouse. Elspeth had brought her small flock of chickens and her rooster to the stone house, and he had accepted them. Alasdair sensed that Elspeth didn’t want to come to the house empty-handed. While at first, he had felt put out, angry and frustrated by Elspeth’s presence, he couldn’t deny the affection between the two women. It was as if they knew each other’s thoughts, Beitris often finishing Elspeth’s sentences, or Elspeth getting something for Beitris before she even asked for it or, perhaps even before she realized she needed it.

Once the ladies had put the household together, arranged furniture, kitchen supplies, and bedding where Beitris wanted it, Beitris had explored the house for hours, touching this, feeling the contours of that, memorizing where everything was situated. Even though she hadn’t needed to, Elspeth cautioned Alasdair against moving things without letting Beitris know. He had grumbled back at her, stating that he didn’t need her to tell him that. He was no simpleton. She had merely smiled, lifted her chin, and turned away.

He’d been so busy making repairs and getting the farm ready for planting that he hadn’t had much time to spend alone with Beitris. For now, they slept in separate bedrooms, Alasdair taking the larger one, Beitris the smaller one. Maybe it was for the best. For his part, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He knew that their marriage wouldna be considered legally binding until it was consummated, but the thought of… No, he didn’t want to think that way.

He couldna deny that Beitris was a lovely woman with a figure that often had him watching her, reflective, wondering what it would be like to bed her, but their relationship was tenuous enough as it was. He didn’t want her frightened of him. He wanted her to feel more comfortable around him, and so far, she seemed perfectly content to keep a distance. When he did touch her hand, or she brushed up against him, he’d feel her stiffen, as if she abhorred him. He saw no reason for it, especially since she couldn’t gaze upon his disfigured face. He had sworn to himself that until she made the first move, hinted that she wanted more of their marriage, he would keep his distance. He was no novice when it came to courting women, although he’d never courted one seriously. He’d dallied with several women over the years, but none quite like Beitris.

He had learned a few things over the past couple of weeks about his new wife, not nearly as much as he wanted to know, but again, he strove for patience. She wasn’t exactly shy, but she rarely broached conversation. Most of the time, she and Elspeth sat quietly in front of the fireplace at night, Elspeth reading to her while Beitris would either sit quietly or work on sewing, mainly mending holes in shirts and socks, which his clothes had many. He found it fascinating to watch her as she used her fingers and a heightened sense of touch to feel along the holes or tears with care, judging the placement of her needle, making her stitches, checking with her fingers again, frowning in concentration. Of course, she couldn’t thread the needle, and left that for Elspeth. And when Elspeth left, when he and Beitris lived alone, as he knew that someday they would, who would thread the needles for his wife then? He figured that was another thing he would have to learn—in secret, of course.

Alasdair had never thought about a blind woman being able to sew, but she was quite adept at it. He’d learned other things about her too. She could cook. As long as she knew where the supplies were, used the same instruments for measuring, mixing, and cutting, one would never know she was blind.

The first time she had used a knife to slice carrots, he had stared in dismay, cringing every time the knife blade slashed downward. Elspeth had seen him, grinned, then nodded, reaffirming that her friend was perfectly capable. He watched as she touched the side of the blade to the end of whatever she was cutting, using her fingers to measure depth or thickness. Chop, chop, chop. Again, her sense of touch was exquisite, her fingers somehow connecting with her brain and whatever it was she saw in her mind or imagination as she cooked.

So, while he gradually grew to admire her capabilities, he also hesitated in trying to get more personal with her. Was it mere curiosity that drew him to her? What did he feel for her? That was the crux of the matter, and one that he didn’t want to delve into too deeply at this time. He needed—

“Alasdair!”

He turned and eyed the sheriff of the county, Colin Ramsey, as he approached. He frowned as the former Highland clan warrior originally from the northwest of the county walked closer, eyeing his face, barely bothering to hide his grimace. He rarely had dealings with the sheriff, had actually steered clear of the law for years, even before he joined the Jacobite movement and left home, trading his plow for his swords and mace. He offered a nod of greeting.

“Word is that ye married Beitris Boyd a few weeks back.”

Alasdair nodded again. He had wondered how long it would take for the news to make its way through town. Longer than he thought. He felt sure Elspeth or Beitris’s father would be announcing the news far and wide. Apparently not. He wondered about that. A purposely kept secret or nobody’s business?

The sheriff looked around, then eyed the supplies in the back of his wagon. “Can I talk to ye for a moment, Alasdair?”

Alasdair frowned and instinctively cast his gaze around also, following the lead of the sheriff. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

The sheriff lowered his voice and stepped closer to Alasdair. “Ye and I have known each other since we were young, haven’t we, Alasdair?”

“Aye.” That much was true. While Alasdair and Colin had not exactly been what ye would call friends, they were acquaintances. When Colin had arrived in the village at seventeen years of age, the two of them had occasionally clashed and even engaged in fisticuffs a time or two. Since adulthood, however, both he and Colin had gone their own ways. Still, he had not changed much. The rounder planes of his face had slimmed and hardened over the years, his short and closely trimmed beard a deeper color than his hair, his dark green eyes still the same, though the wrinkles at the corners of them spoke of years of squinting into the sun as well as, perhaps, laughter. Colin had always had a good sense of humor when they were young, a prankster. As the sheriff now, Alasdair doubted he had much time for shenanigans.

It was only after he’d returned that he’d learned that Colin had become the sheriff of the county, that he too had been away for a few years fighting with clan relatives up north, that he also was a warrior, but this was before the time of the Jacobite rebellion. Alasdair didn’t want people asking him questions about his past, and he didn’t ask about Colin’s.

“Thought ye’d like to know that the English government has condoned the infiltration of agents throughout Scotland, and even into my county, looking for those who fought with Bonnie Prince Charlie. Just warning ye, Alasdair. If a few coins pass into the wrong person’s hands…”

Alasdair sighed with frustration. Would someone in the village give him away? Betray him to the English? Hadn’t he sacrificed enough already? He wanted to be left alone. His thoughts returned to the battlefield at Culloden and how the English soldiers had searched among the wounded, killing the rebels with apparent glee. He glanced at Colin. “How do ye know they’re in yer county?”

“Just rumors.” He shrugged. “But if they’re not here now, they may be here soon, passing through, asking questions. I just wanted to warn ye, Alasdair, to be on guard. Ye might want to avoid coming into town for a while, send someone else for supplies.”

Why was Colin warning him? He was an officer of the law. Then again, the law was often a questionable thing these days, with wavering loyalties, differing beliefs, both religious and political.

Alasdair nodded, thanked Colin for the warning, and then finished loading his supplies and rode out of town. This might prove problematic. For now, he would do as Colin suggested with that thinly veiled warning of his.

By the time he reached the stone house on the edge of the moors, the sun had faded, casting the surface of the lake a glistening dark blue, the ducks and geese paddling to shore, some already nestled in the reeds and along the grassy banks of the shoreline, heads tucked under their feathers for the night. As he pulled the wagon into the yard, he saw Elspeth coming from the lake, carrying a bucket of sloshing water. She glanced at him and proceeded toward the front door until Alasdair stopped her.

“Elspeth, wait.”

Elspeth turned toward him with a frown. Alasdair gestured, and she placed the bucket on the ground and then approached the wagon.

“What is it?” she asked, searching his face.

She didn’t cringe at the sight of his scars, didn’t stare at them anymore. Her curiosity had been assuaged the day that she’d spent at the new house helping Beitris put it into some semblance of order as Alasdair carted furniture, bedding, and personal items from his father’s farm up here. If she saw the ugliness of the now healed—yet still puckered—scar tissue, she didn’t remark on it. Never had.

“Beitris needs the water,” she said, waiting impatiently, arms crossed over her chest.

Alasdair couldn’t help but shake his head at the implied belligerence, the open dislike she had toward him. He didn’t know why. Maybe because he had taken Beitris away from her? But he hadn’t, not really. She was here, wasn’t she?

“Elspeth, ye keep a close watch on Beitris for the next few days. Dinna let her go into the woods. Try not to stay out in the open more than necessary either.”

“Why?” Elspeth queried. “We need to gather herbs and flowers, not only for cooking, but for the medicine box. We have to prepare the garden for planting.” She stared up at Alasdair, searching his eyes. “What happened?”

He sighed. “Ye know I joined the rebellion.” Of course, she did. That’s where he’d been wounded and scarred. “I’ve heard rumors that spies are infiltrating the country, looking for rebels who fought under Bonnie Prince Charlie.”

“Here?” she scoffed, waving a hand at the desolate landscape around them. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere, Alasdair. Why, it takes nearly an entire day to ride into town and back.”

“Nevertheless, ye will be cautious.”

“They’re looking for soldiers, like ye, Alasdair. Do ye really think that they would harm Beitris?”

Did he? “I dinna know, and I dinna want to take the chance. She is married to me now. And ye also live on my property. It would do ye well to be cautious. To be wary and prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” she asked, for the first time, fear entering her voice.

“I dinna know,” he said honestly. “But from now on, I will stay close to the farm. Ye and Beitris will have to go into town for any supplies we need. When ye do go, avoid talking to people if ye can, even if they’re curious and asking questions about Beitris or my relationship with her. Word has spread through the village that we were married several weeks ago.” He looked sternly at her, eyebrow raised.

She grunted, a definitely unladylike sound as she stiffened her back and lifted her chin, her eyes blazing up into his. “I don’t gossip, Alasdair. I have said nothing about the marriage to anyone. I don’t talk about Beitris, and I certainly don’t waste my time talking about ye.” She turned and then hesitated, gazing up at him over her shoulder. “It wasn’t a big secret, yer marriage. At least not a purposeful one. Just because no guests were in attendance doesn’t mean that word didn’t get out and ye just heard about it now. Besides, the preacher knew. Beitris’s father knew. Even though ye didn’t post any banns, ye had to sign a marriage decree, both of ye did. It’s on record.”

That much was true, and while he never intended for their marriage to be kept a secret—why should it?—he was now wary. If the English soldiers came looking for him and found Beitris instead… “Just look after her,” he said.

“Aye, I will watch after my friend as I have always done. But protecting her? Keeping her safe? It’s yer duty now, Alasdair.” She picked up the bucket. “I have always tried to protect her and will continue to do so.” She entered the house, closing the door none too softly behind her.