When she nodded happily, he strode outside. The morning fog had dissipated. As the sun rose higher, illuminating the front elevation of the house, he was better able to assess how much work would be required to make this place livable.

In the morning sun, refurbishing it lookedpossible .

Hugh believed he could do a lot of the work himself. Perhaps this wasn't such a daft idea. Yes, work like this could deaden a man's body and burn off a woman's energy. This place might just be his salvation—

Jane shrieked.

Not a heartbeat later, Hugh was sprinting for her.

Jane hiked up her skirts and dashed out of the house, bent on nabbing the Peeping Tom she'd caught spying on her through a cracked windowpane.

She turned the corner and found Hugh steadying the peeper after he'd apparently run into him. The miscreant's hat flew off, revealing a spill of long black hair. A girl? Yes, dressed in a bulky hat and clothing. She was likely eighteen or so, short, with a strong build and incongruous freckles.

Jane pointed her finger. "She was watching me dress."

"I was no'," the girl lied.

"You most certainly were." Jane was furious. She'd seen the peep's jaw drop and they'd met eyes—Jane had clearly caught her red-handed—then she'd hied away. Jane had sensed a presence for some time, but had thoughtHugh was watching her.

The girl had seen a show indeed.

"Why would I be looking at ye dress? I'm a girl, can you no' see?"

Provincial, she mouthed to Hugh, but he scowled at her. After steadying and releasing the girl, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Been using the land, since no one else was." She hiked a thumb over her shoulder toward the dilapidated stables. "Those are my chicken coops beside the stable and my turnip patch in the back. My horse, too," she said. Jane spied a swaybacked pony, pulling weeds with very long teeth in a broken down corral.Corralled? As if it was going anywhere. "I'm yer neighbor of sorts, or as close as ye can get with this estate."

"What's your name?"

"Morag MacLarty—stress on the Mac, if it pleases ye. Are ye kin to Master MacCarrick?"

"I'm his brother, Hugh MacCarrick. My wife and I are staying on for the fall. We plan to fix up the place."

She nodded slowly. "My brothers have the windows Master MacCarrick ordered last year stored in our barn. And they've got a fine share of lumber they'd likely be willing to sell before winter."

"That's good news."

"And ye could hire them to help around here. Six of them, all strong as oxen." The girl gave Jane a once-over, then said in a pert tone, "And ye'll be needing help with the housekeeping?"

That little peeping witch…

"Aye. Are you interested?"

Morag nodded, and named her price for daily cleaning, cooking, and laundry. He countered, and they settled.

Without consulting her, he'd just hired a maid. Jane knew how to run a house, and knew that hiring servants was firmly in the woman's sphere of the home.

Hugh added, "But you'll need to ride over every day for at least two weeks. And I expect you to work as hard as we do."

She snorted at Jane. "Should no' be a problem."

"Why, you saucy little—"

"Jane, a word with you." As he grabbed Jane's elbow, he said, "Morag, what are the odds that we'll have a hot meal tonight?"

"If ye can get the hearth flue cleared of the squirrels, ye can count on it."

He nodded, then dragged Jane across the weed-clotted yard. Jane glanced back, just in time to see Morag stick her tongue out at her before turning toward the manor. "I don't want her, Hugh. She's impudent."

Hugh glared down at her. "Why have you taken such a dislike to her? For watching you dress? She's probably never seen anything like your Parisian silks and laces. Andbelieve me when I tell you that anyone would have stopped and stared. She would have to be curious."

Jane couldn't put a finger on why she bristled around the girl. Perhaps it was because Morag—or whatever her name was—clearly didn't like her. "She stuck her tongue out at me," she said lamely.

"The last owner to live here was a verra foolishEnglishman who was hard on all those around here. Keep that in mind." When she remained unconvinced, he said, "Once we get the inside habitable, the outside is going to keep me busy from sunup to sundown. Do you truly want to haul water and pluck chickens? Surely, you canna cook?"

Haul, pluck, cook.Not her favorite verbs, and not ones traditionally associated with Jane. Her idea of turning the house around by herself suddenly seemed very daunting and not quite as adventurous as she'd hoped. At that moment, they heard banging in the kitchen. The girl had found the cookware! Jane rolled her eyes at Hugh.

Hugh pressed his advantage, saying, "She can buy us supplies in the village as well."

Jane put her chin up. "It might be nice to have someone around—but only to help me asI work." She marched toward the manor, with Hugh following her. Inside, Jane made her manner brisk. "What can I do?" she asked the girl.

"I'm thinkin' no' much, by the look of ye."

Jane gave Hugh a meaningful look, but he just squeezed her shoulder. "Is there a ladder anywhere around here?" he asked the girl.

"In the stable, just behind my saddle and gear."

Taking Jane aside, he said, "You stay right in here. I'll be back directly," then set off for the stables.

While Hugh was gone, Jane attempted to help the girl—who, she admitted, got thingsdone —but Jane was under the impression that she only got in the way of Morag's cleaning. Her first clue was when Morag snapped, "Git yer scrawny arse out o' my way, English."

The squirrels sensed something was afoot with their chimney community, and began chattering their fury.

When Hugh returned with firewood and a damp blanket, Jane frowned. "You're not going to start a fire directly under them? There could be baby squirrels or injured ones or older ones—"

"Squirrel stew ismighty tasty," Morag interrupted.

Jane gave her a horrified look, then whipped her head around to Hugh. "Squirrel st-stew?"

He checked a grin. "Jane, I'm going to start a verrasmall fire, with damp wood that will smoke more than anything. Then I'll drape a wet blanket over the hearth opening down here. It'll give them enough time to run up to the roof."

When she still appeared unconvinced, Morag said, "Enough with the bluidy squirrels, English. Now, which do ye want to do? Dress chickens or scour pots?"

When Jane merely bit her lip, Morag said, "Pots it is." She nodded at an open closet full of them. "You can take all of them to the pump in the back and wash them. There's soaps and brushes in the shed off this kitchen."

Though Hugh wanted to help, Jane waved him away. "I can do it by myself," she said firmly.

"Doona go anywhere but to the pump and back. Agreed?"

"Hugh, really." At his unbending look, she muttered, "Agreed."

When she began hauling pots out to the pump, he moved to a window where he could see her. "We're going to need supplies," he told Morag. "But I doona want anyone to know we're here, nor any visitors out here."

"Why no'?"

He'd thought about telling her something ridiculous, like they wanted to surprise his brother with the renovation, but the girl was smart and, he sensed, trustworthy. "There's an Englishman who might come looking for us. A dangerous sort of man, and one we'd rather avoid."

She eyed him, knowing he was being less than forthcoming. He didn't care, as long as they understood each other.

"The sundries storekeeper will know ye're here, and that means the whole village will know. But no one outside of it will."

He added another piece of wood to the small fire he'd started. "The villagers doona like strangers?"