McHern cringed. “Don’t go getting your nettle up. You don’t want to go chasing a good man away.”
Sara slammed her hands on the table and stood, the bench near toppling over if Cullen hadn’t saved it.
“Me? Chase him away?” she asked, affronted. “He’d do well to keep me happy or it’ll be me leaving.”
“Don’t threaten your husband, daughter,” McHern warned.
Cullen remained silent, sensing that Sara was setting their plan into action, but when he caught the hurt in her eyes, it stung his heart and the need to shield her overwhelmed him and propelled him into action.
“Don’t raise your voice to my wife,” Cullen ordered, stepping around the table to stand face-to-face with McHern.
The older man shook his head, his eyes more weary than angry. “You’ll need a firm hand with her or she’ll drive you away.”
“Sara can’t drive me away. I love her.” His own declaration startled him, especially since it came so easily, without a shred of hesitation.
“Good, good, my son.” McHern smiled and encouraged him with a firm nod. “Remember that, always remember that, and it will serve you well and save you trouble in the years to come.”
Cullen heard his advice, but was more concerned with the astonished look in Sara’s rounded eyes. She didn’t believe his words, did she? He merely was adhering to their plan, wasn’t he? He hadn’t planned on announcing he loved her, had thought demonstrating it by holding hands, a kiss now and again while in the village, a protective arm around her waist, would be sufficient to give the impression that they were in love.
“Sara, feed your husband then take him to see your new home,” her father said with a satisfied smile. “And move in when it pleases you.”
“Thank you, Father,” Sara said stiffly.
It was as hard for McHern to accept his daughter’s gratitude as it was for Sara to give it, and the old man simply shrugged and walked off.
“You don’t make it easy for your father to love you,” Cullen said, sitting beside her and helping himself to a thick slice of honey bread.
“You declare your love easily enough,” Sara snipped.
“Isn’t that part of our bargain?” Cullen asked.
Sara stood, though kept her voice to a murmur. “I respect honesty above all things. You didn’t have to tell such a blatant lie. You could have phrased it differently.”
She walked off in an anxious flourish and was out the door before Cullen could blink. The woman could be frustrating at times, while other times impossible, and in between lovable. She was a riddle of sorts, which intrigued him, and had since he first met her.
He feared solving that riddle would take years, and he wondered if even then he’d ever find the answer. But he wouldn’t mind trying. If only he had the time. Time, however, wasn’t his friend. He had little of it, and what was left to him he’d dedicate to Sara’s safety.
He reached for another slice of honey bread and stretched to a stand. He’d best go be the good husband with the limited time allotted him, though honestly it was no chore, even when Sara bristled. He had yet not to enjoy her company, or ever found conversation with her boring. She possessed a quick mind, and though her tongue matched, he’d never seen her abrasive or malicious to anyone.
She was a good soul with good intentions, and a far more beautiful woman than anyone noticed, and he believed that was because she intimidated most people she met. Her tall height, her overpowering nature, and that bright red mane of hers captured the attention before the gentleness of her eyes was seen or the smoothness of her flawless skin was noticed…or how perfect her rosy lips were for kissing.
He shook his head and his reverie away and went to join his wife, reminding himself that this was all a ruse and he would soon be gone. He needed to do what needed doing and be done with it, as he had advised her from the start.
Cullen hadn’t been surprised to learn that Sara had left for the cottage without him, and after mounting his horse, it didn’t take him long to find his way there, the women of the village graciously offering help with directions.
He arrived just as a broken chair came flying out the front door of a good-sized cottage. It had a fine thatched roof, and two windows with broken shutters flanked the open door. A large garden overrun with weeds ran along the left side of the cottage, while a well-worn path cut its way to the front door.
Cullen dismounted and left his horse to wander over by Sara’s mare, who was busy drinking from a trough near a grove of oaks. He made his way carefully to the door, ready to step out of the way if any more furnishings should take flight.