course not. I believe I met one of your pig farmers."
"You did?" the housekeeper said.
"Aye. He said his name was Ian, but he also called himself the Border Lord."
Mrs. Elliott scooped up her apron and sneezed into it with the gusto of a tavern keeper. Turning her back, her shoulders shook with the force of the sneezes. Slipping one hand free, she waved it at Miriam, curtsied, and rushed out of the room.
"You should be ashamed," said Alexis, staring at the empty doorway.
"I must know more about him. The Border Lord knows both the earl and the baron. He could be useful."
Alexis shook her head." 'Tis a crime for a mind to work so deviously at this hour of the morning."
After so many years, the familiar barb didn't prick at all. "'Tis not, so long as I succeed."
Miriam finished the ham and was describing to Alexis the tartan of the Border Lord when Alexis said, "Shush!" and picked up her tankard.
Mrs. Elliott returned, her eyes still watering and her nose as red as a China poppy. "Forgive me, my lady. 'Tis the time of year." She began separating the comb from a crock of honey.
Grasping the tried and true tactic of aggression, Miriam said, "Before you left you were telling me about the pig farmer who goes by the name of the Border Lord."
The sieve slipped into the crock. The cook sniffed and held her apron at the ready. "I don't generally deal with the farmers. We have markets here, so everyone can trade freely." Her voice sounded strained.
"But you know where he is."
"Aye," she choked out, and again hid her face in the apron. Through the cloth she said, "There's a swineherd in Sweeper's Heath." Then she dashed from the room once more.
Miriam's spirits soared. She would find the Border Lord, and in the light of day. "I take it," said Alexis in weary resolution, "that we're going on an excursion to the quaint little village of Sweeper's Heath."
Miriam was already mapping out a strategy for dealing with the mysterious Border Lord when she said, "Aye, but first we must visit the weaver."
"Why did I bother to ask?" said Alexis, with a royal wave of her hand. "We always visit the weaver before we see the swineherd."
Puzzled, Miriam said, "We've never been to a swineherd."
Alexis got to her feet, mumbling, "I had such hopes for you. You were such a bright child."
Duncan yanked up the full black periwig and slammed it on his head. He had intended to spend the day with Malcolm, for according to Mrs. Elliott, the lad was taking his role of indulged brat much too seriously. But thanks to that meddling, I-never-forget-anything redhead, Duncan had to forgo his fatherly duties and chase her down before she made the grievous mistake of looking for a swineherd who didn't exist.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Perverse, too. He'd dreamed up the story to mock Miriam and her lack of a sense of humor. The plan had backfired, and a moment's satisfaction last night had become a joke on Duncan. He wanted a different sort of satisfaction from her, one that prohibited clever repartee and involved tussling naked and nibbling on the delicacies of the flesh.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Enter at your own risk," Duncan grumbled.
Angus strolled inside, his thick hair still bearing the imprint of the visored helmet he now held in his hand. "What is it, my lord?"
Duncan stifled his anger and frustration; he had only himself to blame. But Blessed Scotland, he hated being one step behind in a game of his own creation. "Do you remember when I told you what occurred in the garden with Lady Miriam?"
"Aye, my lord. I remember every detail." His lips twitched in the effort to hide a smile. "First you stomped into my quarters with a hard-on to rival an oak branch and your lady crackers aching. Then you confessed that you told her you were the Border Lord and a pig farmer. Oh, and you quaffed two pints of ale in the doing."
"How is it," Duncan said, trying to keep his voice calm and his anger in check, "that the duke of Cromarty, who rules all of the
"You did?" the housekeeper said.
"Aye. He said his name was Ian, but he also called himself the Border Lord."
Mrs. Elliott scooped up her apron and sneezed into it with the gusto of a tavern keeper. Turning her back, her shoulders shook with the force of the sneezes. Slipping one hand free, she waved it at Miriam, curtsied, and rushed out of the room.
"You should be ashamed," said Alexis, staring at the empty doorway.
"I must know more about him. The Border Lord knows both the earl and the baron. He could be useful."
Alexis shook her head." 'Tis a crime for a mind to work so deviously at this hour of the morning."
After so many years, the familiar barb didn't prick at all. "'Tis not, so long as I succeed."
Miriam finished the ham and was describing to Alexis the tartan of the Border Lord when Alexis said, "Shush!" and picked up her tankard.
Mrs. Elliott returned, her eyes still watering and her nose as red as a China poppy. "Forgive me, my lady. 'Tis the time of year." She began separating the comb from a crock of honey.
Grasping the tried and true tactic of aggression, Miriam said, "Before you left you were telling me about the pig farmer who goes by the name of the Border Lord."
The sieve slipped into the crock. The cook sniffed and held her apron at the ready. "I don't generally deal with the farmers. We have markets here, so everyone can trade freely." Her voice sounded strained.
"But you know where he is."
"Aye," she choked out, and again hid her face in the apron. Through the cloth she said, "There's a swineherd in Sweeper's Heath." Then she dashed from the room once more.
Miriam's spirits soared. She would find the Border Lord, and in the light of day. "I take it," said Alexis in weary resolution, "that we're going on an excursion to the quaint little village of Sweeper's Heath."
Miriam was already mapping out a strategy for dealing with the mysterious Border Lord when she said, "Aye, but first we must visit the weaver."
"Why did I bother to ask?" said Alexis, with a royal wave of her hand. "We always visit the weaver before we see the swineherd."
Puzzled, Miriam said, "We've never been to a swineherd."
Alexis got to her feet, mumbling, "I had such hopes for you. You were such a bright child."
Duncan yanked up the full black periwig and slammed it on his head. He had intended to spend the day with Malcolm, for according to Mrs. Elliott, the lad was taking his role of indulged brat much too seriously. But thanks to that meddling, I-never-forget-anything redhead, Duncan had to forgo his fatherly duties and chase her down before she made the grievous mistake of looking for a swineherd who didn't exist.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Perverse, too. He'd dreamed up the story to mock Miriam and her lack of a sense of humor. The plan had backfired, and a moment's satisfaction last night had become a joke on Duncan. He wanted a different sort of satisfaction from her, one that prohibited clever repartee and involved tussling naked and nibbling on the delicacies of the flesh.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Enter at your own risk," Duncan grumbled.
Angus strolled inside, his thick hair still bearing the imprint of the visored helmet he now held in his hand. "What is it, my lord?"
Duncan stifled his anger and frustration; he had only himself to blame. But Blessed Scotland, he hated being one step behind in a game of his own creation. "Do you remember when I told you what occurred in the garden with Lady Miriam?"
"Aye, my lord. I remember every detail." His lips twitched in the effort to hide a smile. "First you stomped into my quarters with a hard-on to rival an oak branch and your lady crackers aching. Then you confessed that you told her you were the Border Lord and a pig farmer. Oh, and you quaffed two pints of ale in the doing."
"How is it," Duncan said, trying to keep his voice calm and his anger in check, "that the duke of Cromarty, who rules all of the
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