The Hiring Fair
Part of The Wild Rose Press' "Help Wanted Series"
By Laura Strickland
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Genre: Historical Romance
Brutally
dispossessed during the Highland Clearances, Tam Sutherland comes to the hiring
fair at Oban, Scotland hoping to find a job for the season. But his maimed
right hand, inflicted by the same cruel factor responsible for his parents’
deaths, means he’s one of few men available when the beautiful woman makes her
surprising announcement: she’s looking not for a hand but a husband, not just
for the season but forever.
Annie MacCallum is
under threat from a brutal factor also, back at her home farm—one who preys on
unmarried women. If she’s to protect all those who rely on her, including her
beloved animals, she must have a husband, if only in name. Secretly glad when
the attractive Tam takes up her proposition, she doesn’t realize she’s dragging
him into a situation that will trigger old demons. Nor does she expect to give
him her heart.
In a low tone he
asked, “This marriage you ha’ in mind, will it be legal wi’ no banns being
read?”
“Father Alban is an
old friend of my uncle, and I ha’ spoken to him of this. He will accommodate
me.”
“Aye, and what will
your uncle think o’ this scheme of yours?”
“Very little, I
imagine. He is dead.”
Sutherland
contemplated that without comment.
St. Lyon’s church
loomed ahead, appearing all at once out of the swirling snow. Annie turned to
Jockie.
“You lead Old Rake
round back and join us inside where you can get warm, eh?”
Jockie nodded and
clattered off.
Annie turned to
Sutherland and looked into his face, only to be struck again by how handsome he
looked. But that had naught to do with anything, and she could not let it sway
her good sense, not when she’d come so far.
“Before we go
inside, I want to be sure I ha’ your understanding. This is no’ an ordinary
marriage but something more in the manner of a hiring, which is why I came to
the fair in the first place.”
He inclined his
shaggy head toward her slightly. “A hiring wi’out wages. That is against the
law, you do ken.”
She swept him with
her gaze. “And are you a man to adhere to arbitrary laws? I confess, I did no’
get that impression.”
“And,” he returned,
“are you a woman who needs to hire a husband?” He echoed her. “I confess, I did
no’ get that impression.” He returned her stare, slow and attentive. “You are
certainly bonnie enough to snare a husband the usual way.”
To her surprise,
Annie felt a wave of heat course through her. “I do no’ want a usual kind o’ husband.
I want one who will tak’ my orders and stay clear o’ my bed. Be sure you are
that man before we go inside and speak these vows.”
One of Sutherland’s
eyebrows quirked up. “I was right at the outset; you are mad.”
“So we ha’ already
determined,” Annie agreed, beginning to grow edgy again. What if he refused at
this late moment? Where would she find a substitute, with the market now
deserted and the snow falling? Besides, she discovered she did not want a
substitute; for reasons she did not quite understand, she wanted this man and
no other.
“There is a story
behind this,” he said mildly. “I confess, I would like to hear it.”
“Perhaps you shall,
but not now—there is no time.” Annie drew a breath and sought to deny the fear
rising inside her, the fear that he might walk away from her after all.
But that curious
smile crossed his lips again.
“Are you coming wi’
me?” she pressed.
“It seems a damned
clever way to secure the services of a farm worker whilst paying no wages,” he
said. “But aye, for all that, I will come along wi’ you.”
Born in Buffalo and
raised on the Niagara Frontier, Laura Strickland has been an avid reader and
writer since childhood. To her the spunky, tenacious, undefeatable ethnic mix
that is Buffalo spells the perfect setting for a little Steampunk, so she
created her own Victorian world there. She knows the people of Buffalo are
stronger, tougher and smarter than those who haven’t survived the muggy summers
and blizzard blasts found on the shores of the mighty Niagara. Tough enough to
survive a squad of automatons? Well, just maybe.
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