That black horse we used for packin' up here is the most cantankerous beast alive," Jake grumbled, rubbing his arm.
Ian lifted his gaze from the initials on the tabletop and turned to Jake, making no attempt to hide his amusement. "Bit you, did he?"
"Damn right he bit me!" the older man said bitterly. "He's been after a chuck of me since we left the coach at Hayborn and loaded those sacks on his back to bring up here."
"I warned you he bites anything he can reach. Keep your arm out of his way when you're saddling him."
"It weren't my arm he was after, it was my arse! Opened his mouth and went for it, only I saw him outter the corner of my eye and swung around, so he missed." Jakes's frown darkened when he saw the amusement in Ian's expression. "Can't see why you've bothered to feed him all these years. He doesn't deserve to share a stable with your other horses-beauties they are, every one but him."
"Try slinging packs over the backs of one of those and you'll why I took him. He was suitable for using as a pack mule; none of my other cattle would have been," ian said, frowning as he lifted his head and looked about at the months of accumulated dirt covering everything.
"He's a pack mule," Jake replied. "Mean and stubborn and slow," he concluded, but he, too, was frowning a little as he looked around at the thick layers of dust coating every surface. "Thought you said you'd arranged for some village wenches to come up here and clean and cook fer us. This place is a mess."
"I did. I dictated a message to Peters for the caretaker, asking him to stock the place with food and to have two women come up here to clean and cook. The food is here, and there are chickens out in the barn. He must be having difficulty finding two women to stay up here."
"Comely women, I hope," Jake said. "Did you tell him to make the wenches comely?"
Ian paused in his study of the spiderwebs strewn across the ceiling and cast him an amused look. "You wanted me to tell a seventy-year-old caretaker who's half-blind to make certain the wenches were comely?"
"Couldn'ta hurt 't mention it," Jake grumbled, but he looked chastened.
"The village is only twelve miles away. You can always stroll down there if you've urgent need of a woman while we're here. Of course, the trip back up here may kill you," he joked referring to the winding path up the cliff that seemed to be almost vertical.
"Never mind women," Jake said in an abrupt change of heart, his tanned, weathered face breaking into a broad grin. "I'm here for a fortnight of fishin' and relaxin', and that's enough for any man. It'll be like the old days, Ian-peace and quiet and naught else. No hoity-toity servants hearin' every word what's spoke, no carriages and barouches and matchmaking mamas arrivin' at your house. I tell you, my boy, though I've not wanted to complain about the way you've been livin' the past year, I don't like these servents o' yours above half. That's why I didn't come t'visit you very often. Yer butler at Montmayne holds his nose so far in t'air, it's amazin' he gets any oxhegen, and that French chef o' yers practically threw me out of his kitchens. That what he called 'em- kitchens, and-" The old seaman abruptly broke off, his expression going from irate to crestfallen, "Ian," he said anxiously, "did you ever learn t' cook while we was apart?"
"No, did you?"
"Hell and damnation, no!" Jake said, appalled at the prospect of having to eat anything he fixed himself.
Ian lifted his gaze from the initials on the tabletop and turned to Jake, making no attempt to hide his amusement. "Bit you, did he?"
"Damn right he bit me!" the older man said bitterly. "He's been after a chuck of me since we left the coach at Hayborn and loaded those sacks on his back to bring up here."
"I warned you he bites anything he can reach. Keep your arm out of his way when you're saddling him."
"It weren't my arm he was after, it was my arse! Opened his mouth and went for it, only I saw him outter the corner of my eye and swung around, so he missed." Jakes's frown darkened when he saw the amusement in Ian's expression. "Can't see why you've bothered to feed him all these years. He doesn't deserve to share a stable with your other horses-beauties they are, every one but him."
"Try slinging packs over the backs of one of those and you'll why I took him. He was suitable for using as a pack mule; none of my other cattle would have been," ian said, frowning as he lifted his head and looked about at the months of accumulated dirt covering everything.
"He's a pack mule," Jake replied. "Mean and stubborn and slow," he concluded, but he, too, was frowning a little as he looked around at the thick layers of dust coating every surface. "Thought you said you'd arranged for some village wenches to come up here and clean and cook fer us. This place is a mess."
"I did. I dictated a message to Peters for the caretaker, asking him to stock the place with food and to have two women come up here to clean and cook. The food is here, and there are chickens out in the barn. He must be having difficulty finding two women to stay up here."
"Comely women, I hope," Jake said. "Did you tell him to make the wenches comely?"
Ian paused in his study of the spiderwebs strewn across the ceiling and cast him an amused look. "You wanted me to tell a seventy-year-old caretaker who's half-blind to make certain the wenches were comely?"
"Couldn'ta hurt 't mention it," Jake grumbled, but he looked chastened.
"The village is only twelve miles away. You can always stroll down there if you've urgent need of a woman while we're here. Of course, the trip back up here may kill you," he joked referring to the winding path up the cliff that seemed to be almost vertical.
"Never mind women," Jake said in an abrupt change of heart, his tanned, weathered face breaking into a broad grin. "I'm here for a fortnight of fishin' and relaxin', and that's enough for any man. It'll be like the old days, Ian-peace and quiet and naught else. No hoity-toity servants hearin' every word what's spoke, no carriages and barouches and matchmaking mamas arrivin' at your house. I tell you, my boy, though I've not wanted to complain about the way you've been livin' the past year, I don't like these servents o' yours above half. That's why I didn't come t'visit you very often. Yer butler at Montmayne holds his nose so far in t'air, it's amazin' he gets any oxhegen, and that French chef o' yers practically threw me out of his kitchens. That what he called 'em- kitchens, and-" The old seaman abruptly broke off, his expression going from irate to crestfallen, "Ian," he said anxiously, "did you ever learn t' cook while we was apart?"
"No, did you?"
"Hell and damnation, no!" Jake said, appalled at the prospect of having to eat anything he fixed himself.
( Judith McNaught )
[ Almost Heaven ]
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