Highland Crossings by Laurie Alice Eakes

Author:Laurie Alice Eakes [Eakes, Laurie Alice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-60742-766-7
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2012-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 2

He was handsome, Seren would grant him that much. In a rugged, Scottish sort of way. If one found that earthy manliness attractive compared to Mr. Lamb’s genteel appearance. However, the stranger’s melodic brogue reminded her of Aunt Murdag and of her mother when she lost her temper, although a rare occurrence. Still to this day, though, her mother could coax Seren to sleep with a Gaelic lullaby.

Not that she wanted this man to sing to her.

Carefully readjusting the linen covering her tray of comfits she’d made for her mother’s birthday, Seren evaluated the Scotsman standing with his left leg slightly blocking Mr. Lamb from reaching her. He was considerate, she would grant him that, too. Based on the simplicity of his V-necked white shirt, well-worn buckskins and boots, tanned skin, and thick Scottish accent, she guessed he was a new immigrant. The last letter from her oldest brother had said several ships from Scotland had unloaded recently in Wilmington, with a couple more due soon.

Since he wasn’t leaving, she ought to say something.

“You think your father wishes us to speak?” she questioned, while ignoring Mr. Lamb’s lovesick gaze.

“Know, Miss Cardew. I know,” he said with more confidence in his melodic tone yet his dark brown eyes held uncertainty. “I was speaking to Him, and then ye—Lamb—the answer…” His words trailed off, likely because he realized how anomalous his explanation sounded.

Mr. Lamb cleared his throat. “Sir, how is it you know my fiancée?”

“I’m not his fiancée,” Seren corrected while not glancing away from the chiseled-cheeked Scotsman.

“You will be,” Mr. Lamb bragged.

She glared at the vexing lawyer-assemblyman. “I am not your fiancée. Unlike you, I clearly remember saying no. All six times this month already.” Praise the Lord, her brothers weren’t as daft-minded as this man. To think he represented the interests of Fayetteville residents in the General Assembly.

Though they were less than a handful of inches apart in height, the muscular Scotsman seemed to tower over Mr. Lamb, who wasn’t unattractive in his own right.

The Adam’s apple in Mr. Lamb’s throat bobbed. “I, ahhh…”

Since neither man seemed to have a coherent response, Seren muttered a “good day” and stepped around them to walk to the edge of the bricked pavement.

She waited for two buggies to roll past before holding the linen over her comfits and hurrying across the street. After passing Scott Mercantile, she paused to inhale the fragrance of the herb garden behind it then headed north. In the quietness of the tree-lined lane, she could only hear her heels click against the bricks and a few birds chirping. This town—this perfect ambiance—was something she could enjoy every day for the rest of her life.

Fayetteville was home.

And she couldn’t help but smile.

Home.

The sound of the word sated with the same sweetness as her candied violets. No matter what, she wasn’t moving again.

She passed the Morgans’ stately bricked house, turned left onto Maiden Lane, and then, slowing her pace, waved at Miss Keen who was still working in the garden in front of her small one-story stone home.

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