Laird of Ballanclaire by Jackie Ivie Read Free Book Online

charred ropes as she neared his ankles, but little wounded skin. That made the peeling easier and quicker.
    “You’re a lass. That’s a good thing in the current state of my affairs. I shudder to think what this would be like with a young lad working . . . where you’ve been.”
    Constant looked up at his body, past the apron-draped backside, the cheesecloth-covered back, and took in black-framed lines of suffering etched on his face.
    “We probably shouldn’t talk this way,” she said.
    “You’re shy,” he replied.
    She looked back down. “We go to church,” she said finally.
    “What?”
    “You asked what we do for entertainment. We go to church.”
    “Too much singing, threatening, and complaining takes place at church. That is hardly entertainment. Think of something else.”
    “Well . . . we get together when we can. Now that it’s harvest time, we do it more often.”
    “Tell me about these get-togethers,” he requested.
    “They’re for socializing.”
    “What on earth do you colonists call socializing?”
    “We meet at each other’s homes; discuss the latest gossip, the newest dress patterns. Who is engaged, who is expecting a child. News like that.”
    “Oh. Sort of like a ladies’ tea.”
    “It probably would be like that if we had enough money to afford the exorbitant tax. We haven’t had tea in months.”
    He groaned. “Must we return to that again?”
    Constant looked up from her ministrations. He was facing forward again, slumped over the log.
    “We also have barn raisings. We attended one last month, at the Jacob Pryor place.”
    “Barn raising? That sounds like work.”
    “Oh, it isn’t. It’s great entertainment. The men compete in teams, to see who can get a side up the fastest and the best made.”
    “Do you ever do anything together?”
    “I just told you we do. A team is more than one.”
    “I mean male to female, as in dancing. Do you never have balls?”
    “Balls?”
    “Where everyone dresses formally, puts on airs, and nae one is required to do more than dance and speak pretty words?”
    “Sounds stiff and very British to me,” she replied.
    He made a sound close to exasperation. Constant ignored it. She had one leg completely peeled. She mopped at her forehead before starting on the other knee.
    “I think they have fancy-dress balls in the city. I’ve heard tales. I’ve just never attended one.”
    “Why na’? Are you too young?”
    “I have too much to do, and no fancy dress.”
    “I’ve decided my method of payment to you, Constant, my love. I’ll see you clothed elegantly and beautifully, and then I’ll escort you to a fancy-dress ball. I promise.”
    She blew out a sigh. “You’re going to leave, remember? That was our bargain. You’ve got a garrison to return to. Laws to uphold. Taxes to collect. Colonists to bully. Trouble could break out any moment. We won’t be allowed to dance. We’ll be near-enemies. Why, I’ve as much chance of dancing with you at a ball as I have of . . . of . . . well, of wedding my own beau at this point.”
    “What’s wrong with the fellow?”
    Constant started peeling at his other knee, disgusted to be saying anything. “I outgrew him,” she answered.
    “Is he your age?”
    “Yes.”
    “Give him a couple of years. He’ll sprout. Most lads do.”
    “There’re at least four other girls trying to catch his eye.” She tried to keep the wistful note from her voice but knew she didn’t succeed. “I haven’t got a couple of years. I probably don’t have but another season before he’ll be engaging himself to one of them, instead.”
    “Good riddance to him, then! If he canna’ see the prize right in front of his nose, then he deserves to lose it.”
    Constant smirked. “Besides, we don’t need balls. We do other things to get together. We have quilting bees. I belong to three of them.”
    “What is a quilting bee?”
    “It’s a group who go from house to house, chatting and socializing and putting