The Devil’s Due Boucher, Rita (ebook reader for pc TXT) 📖

she had noticed. “I prefer the open when the weather is fine,” Duncan said shortly.

“That is as may be,” Kate agreed, gesturing with an upraised hammer toward the mountains, “but you ought to know that clear skies are a tenuous prospect to depend upon in these parts. There are thunderheads upon Beinn Airidh Charr. And winter will come before we know it.”

“Get down off the roof, Kate,” Duncan told her, his heart pounding at his throat as she rose and stepped casually along the ridge.

“The master’s suite is rather large,” Kate informed him, making no sign that she had heard his command. “In fact, I had considered repairing it first, since a great portion of the roof above it is sound. However, it will be the very devil to heat because of its huge size. I vow, you could carpet it with grass and raise sheep in there.”

Although her remarks seemed offhand on the surface, Duncan became more than a little suspicious at the third reference to the room’s spaciousness. Had Fred been talking too much? “Then bring up the sheep, by all means,” Duncan said. “For I dinna have intention of moving.”

Kate shrugged. “You are the master here. If it pleases your lordship to sleep with the cow, who am I to naysay you?”

“Who indeed?” Duncan asked.

“However, since I have taken the obligation of caring for you upon myself, I cannot allow you to risk your health to ill weather,” Kate continued, wondering whether she was crossing the boundaries of prudence by challenging him.

The obligation of caring for you.

Duncan turned the phrase over in his mind, trying to decide if her use of caring outweighed the employment of obligation. “You cannot allow! When did it become your province to naysay me, madame?”

Although it was difficult to discern from his expression, there was something in his tone that encouraged her. “Naysay you, milord, I would not dare!” Kate said.

Duncan softened at the tentative smile that accompanied the denial. Perhaps she did not hold him in contempt as much as he feared. “I had thought that we had dispensed with the use of ‘milord,’ Kate,” he ventured.

“If you wish to act the seigneur, sir, then I shall address you as one,” she replied.

“Saucy wench, get down from there.”

“Stubborn mule, I shall not until I am done!” she replied, the anxiety within her gradually dissolving. The revelations of secrets and the exchange of confessions was always a chancy affair, either the cement that bound or the blow that shattered. She had spent a good part of the previous night worrying that he might wake with regrets or take a perverse disgust to a whiskey-swilling hussy who would follow him into the night.

“I am your employer,” he reminded her.

“And I am doing my job of housekeeping,” Kate explained, setting another nail in place. “It was not my intent to dispossess you, Duncan. I will take but a few more minutes and then we may all rest in comfort,”

“No, not a few minutes. Now. Get down, Kate, immediately,” Duncan demanded. “I will move the ladder closer.”

“Not quite yet, milord,” Kate said, frowning at his dictatorial tone. “I have no wish to sleep with water dripping on my head tonight. A few more shingles and I shall be done.”

“Now, Kate!” Duncan said. “It is far too dangerous.”

“Nonsense, ‘tis no more than fifteen feet up, but a hop compared to the roof above the tower,” Kate retorted, pointing to the steeply pitched roof that sloped to gird the small turret above the servant’s hall.

“You were up there?” Duncan asked, feeling the pit of his stomach roiling at the thought of Kate climbing on that perilous incline. It was at least forty feet to the ground.

“It is not nearly as difficult as it might seem.” Kate laughed, edging her way to the next loose piece of roofing. “I have been climbing trees since I was knee high to a macaque. My Papa often used to say that the monkeys in India must have tutored me.”

She and her father had lived in India when she was a child. That narrowed down the possibilities insofar as regiment. Duncan added that bit of information to his store as he went to get the ladder. If she would not come down, he would have to go up and get her. However, the moment he set his foot on the first step, the wood splintered.

“I would not attempt it,” Kate warned. “Tis a miracle that that rickety old thing can bear my weight.”

“Do you often rely on miracles?” Duncan eyed the aging ladder in disgust.

“When I must,” Kate said solemnly, bringing a skewed shingle back into position before fastening it in its place. “I have lately found that miracles seem to occur in direct proportion to need. There! That is the last of them.” Her foot felt for the rung and found it. Edging herself off of the roof, Kate was on the third rung when she heard the cracking sound. She threw herself forward, trying to grab hold of the ridge, but it was too late. She was sliding, then falling. From the bedroom window overlooking the courtyard she heard Daisy scream.

“Kate!” He reached for her, bracing himself as she dropped, but when the force came, it still knocked him from his feet, taking the breath out of him.

“Milord!” Kate rolled to her knees, totally unhurt. “Milord . . . are you alright?”

“Milady! Kate!” Daisy called anxiously from above.

“No harm done to me at all,” Kate said, with a wave of her hand. “Barely a bruise. ‘Tis his lordship that I fear for.”

Having determined that Kate was uninjured, Duncan kept his eye closed, enjoying the touch of her hand on his cheek. He could feel her breath as she bent nearer.

“Duncan, please look at me,” she begged. “I am so sorry, so very sorry.”

The guilt in her voice forced him to open his eye, but her closeness was a temptation. He smelled the clean fresh scent of her hair,