People laughed.

His accent was smooth-English, not Scottish. The sound of it melted into her skin as she turned around slowly to find its owner.

A man she'd never seen before stood by the bar, chatting with the pub's owner, Gareth. The stranger was neither tall nor short, with a medium build. He had dark brown hair and green eyes that she could see all the way from the door. He wore polished boots, new breeches, and a white shirt. His black jacket hung over his arm. Although well-heeled, he was not particularly handsome-at least not by Scottish standards-and yet everyone in the place was watching him, listening to him. She should have been warned by this, as the English were not well liked this far north.

But even Seamus stopped and stared.

"Ah, Edward," Gareth said. "You insult me. You know I never wash my mugs. Kills all the flavor!"

Edward. That was his name.

She moved deeper into the room. He looked her way and froze. His green eyes locked into hers. His gaze slid upward, to the top of her head, and then down her long silver streaks. She could not read his expression, but he seemed so… interested.

He glanced quickly at Seamus and turned back to his banter with Gareth.

Rose's heart was racing. She tried to recover.

"So, where are your horse traders?" she asked Seamus.

He looked around and then pointed. "Over there. I may have to pry their attention. Who is that Englishman?"

"I don't know." Several tables were empty. "I'll just sit here awhile. You go and do your business."

"You don't mind?" he asked.

"Go on."

In truth, she needed to gather her wits. Every time Edward spoke, his voice seemed to penetrate right through her skin. Seamus made his way toward a small group of men, and she sank into a chair, grateful for a moment to herself.

But a moment was all she had.

Then she heard Edward say, "Gareth, would you introduce me to that lady?"

She looked up. They were coming to her table!

Other patrons murmured disappointment as Edward left the bar.

Dressed in a faded purple gown with brown laces and her hair hanging down her back, Rose hardly felt like a lady. Her thoughts were wild. Whatever would she say? But why did she care? In all her life, she'd never cared what others thought of her.

"Edward Claymore," Gareth said, arriving at the table with a sweep of his arm-like some foppish gentlemen. "May I present Rose de Spenser, Loam Village's own midwife. And a good one, if I may say."

"De Spenser?" Edward repeated, his voice landing like music on her ears. "French?"

"No, sir," she managed to answer.

Up close, she realized he was handsome, with fine features, and he was so charming, so polite. She'd never noticed nor favored such qualities in a man, but right now, she could barely breathe. He sat down.

"Away with you, Gareth," he said cheerfully, offering no of fense. "I wish to speak with fairer company than you. Bring us some wine."

Seamus looked over and stood halfway up. She shook her head at him and motioned him back down. He frowned but turned back to his companions.

Other villagers glanced their way and murmured in low voices, probably wondering why this well-to-do Englishman chose to bestow his company upon Rose. But she did not care. She stared at Edward. For a short while he simply stared back.

"Well," he said finally. "This is unprecedented. I am at a loss for words."

"You seem to have plenty to me," she answered.

He smiled. "Yes, quite. Getting me to talk is normally easy. Shutting me up is the challenge."

Unable to stop herself, she smiled back. "Gareth spoke no title with your name, but you dress like a lord."

He was taken back by her blunt statement. Perhaps the English did not speak so openly. Yet he also seemed unable to stop making jokes and lowered his voice. "If you must know, I am a spy for the king, here on a secret mission to compare the taste of Scottish cheeses to English ones and steal your secrets."

Rose did not respond to this evasion, nor did she blink, but sat watching him with her large serious eyes.

Gareth brought them two cups of wine, looked at them both curiously, and then went back to the bar.

Slowly, Edward's expression lost its humorous glow, and she felt the tingle on her skin fade away. When he spoke again, he sounded more like any other man.

"Good God," he said, as if slightly shaken. "You want a real answer, don't you?" He paused. "No, I am not a lord. I serve a Scottish noble named John McCrugger. Have you heard of him?"

She shook her head. She knew little of nobles. They rarely touched her world.

"I am his manservant," Edward went on. "But my master is away, and I am free to do as I please for now. Does that make you like me less?"

"No, it makes me like you more. At least you perform honest work."

He laughed, and for the first time, it sounded genuine. "Honest work. Heaven preserve us."

When she did not laugh in response, he looked at her intently. "Most of the time, I am very alone. So are you. I can see it."

"I am not alone," she answered. "I have my nephew, Seamus." She pointed to him. He was speaking heatedly with the visiting horse traders.

Edward's gaze did not follow her hand but rather moved to the silver streaks in her hair. "But you've lost someone… something painful happened."

Rose had never spoken of those nights where Kenna, Briana, and Gregor died in turn. How could this man see inside her? Without knowing why, she wanted him to know. "Yes, something that left me broken for a long time."

He leaned forward and sipped his wine, waiting quietly, and Rose began to speak, keeping her voice low, so only he could hear, and she told him everything from the night her father died until that morning when she made it well past breakfast without remembering everyone she had lost.

He did not interrupt. He just listened.

When she finished and fell silent, he waited in silence a little longer and then said, "I understand loss… Not my family, but I have lost more than I can say."

She looked at him, puzzled, and without warning, he fell back into his cheerful, charming pose. Her skin tingled again when he spoke.

"Well, you have managed a great feat of magic tonight," he said. "I have not thought about myself in nearly an hour! Unbelievable."

In spite of being soothed by his voice, Rose felt a sudden pang that he'd banished one of her few moments of real intimacy with another person. She blinked and did not know what to say.

Then Seamus looked over at them, and his eyes narrowed at the sight of Edward still sitting at her table. He left the horse traders and came over, ignoring Edward.

"It's late, Rose. We should go home."

She was unsettled, her stomach rolling, but she managed to ask, "Did you strike a bargain?"

"I've arranged to have a look at a few colts." He tossed his head toward the door. "Let's go."

His tone carried authority. When had he become a man?

She didn't wish to leave, but she knew the magic of the night was over-gone. Whatever link Edward created between them to help her talk, it had evaporated. She stood up.

"Thank you for the wine," she said.

His green eyes were startled and sad. "You are most welcome."

She followed Seamus to the door.

That night, she lay in bed for hours, thinking, rolling. She could not sleep. She knew Edward was only passing through the village, but it cut like a knife that she would never see him again.

The following afternoon, Seamus left to go look at some horses, and Rose was glad to have the house to herself. Her experience the night before had left her shaken, uncertain. Somehow, she'd managed to go her whole life without getting lost in a man's eyes. And now, she could barely eat for the churning in her stomach.