“Is that you, Marion?” asked her mother.
“Aye.” Having escaped to the safety of her home, Mari feared, from the tone of her mother’s voice, a request would soon follow.
“Sally is ill. Would you please do the milking?”
Mari inwardly groaned, but said in a pleasant tone, “Aye, Mum.”
“But mind you, stay clear of those Highlanders.”
“Aye.”
She stood at the door for a moment, heaved a sigh, and set out for the field, where she gathered the cows and led them back to the shed. Before long, Callum was there, too conveniently timed for mere chance. He grabbed a spare milking stool and sat beside her. Mari cast a deliberately indifferent glance, and began milking the poor cow with marked vigor and flushed cheeks, yielding little milk but increasing frustration.
“Easy, lass.”
Gently, he put h
