Paisley took her shawl from the hat rack, double-checking her basket. "Alright, Uncle. I'm off."

Harold Burke gave a grunt in reply, not looking up from his breakfast. He was too preoccupied with the delicious bacon.

Paisley bit her lip, opening the door and looking back. "Well… goodbye, Uncle Harold."

Another grunt was the only response. She smiled thinly, stepping out. She was immediately met by one of the sheep, who wanted to nibble on the hem of her dress. "No, no," she scolded. "Back you go. How did you get out of your pen anyways? No matter— you're going back."

Paisley herded the passive sheep back in with the others and the goat in the grazing pen. She turned a mock glare on the others, saying, "He's not the only one to blame, now. Imagine that— you naughty little children egging him on."

She looked at the goat. "You too. I don't play favorites, least of all with you. You're as much to blame. The leader, I'll wager." The sheep that had wandered out nudged her, giving her an almost mournful look. "I've got no time for feeling sorry. Och, stay here, and I'll let it by, ye silly beast."

Paisley backed out, pressing back the sheep that tried to follow her. "Goodbye then, children. Stay there and don't worry. I'll be back." She smiled as she left. Somehow the sheep had calmed her down from her high strung nerves about her outing with Dicko— Mr. Sowerby.

Her face fell as she found her anxiousness. Och, crivens.

She walked down the small lane, already seeing the wagon ahead, as well as its driver. She must have chewed her lip halfway through by the time she got to the end of the lane. Instead of acknowledging Dickon, she said hello to the horse first.

"How are you today? Is he treating you well? I'm sorry you had to come all the way out here just for me. It was his idea, not mine," She playfully gestured with a shake of her head in Dickon's direction. "Oh, I just remembered." From her basket, she produced a nice, orange carrot, which the horse found in her hand very quickly. "Oh, so you like carrots, do you? How do you feel about apples? You like them? Well, then, I'll bring one next time."

Dickon had been alarmed when she responded to Harreth's affirmative to her question about apples, but quickly put aside the notion that she had understood, telling himself it was just a coincidence. Everyone knew horses liked apples. He felt a thrill, though, when she mentioned a "next time".

The horse snorted in appreciation. I like this one. But… wasn't she the one who called you all those things up there on the moors? The little spitfire, wasn't she?

Dickon ignored the horse. "Oh, aye, Harreth is rather fond of carrots. Apples too." He smiled at Paisley. "And those who give them to him."

She smiled back, patting Harreth's head. "We're going to get on famously, I can see."

Dickon couldn't work out who she was referring to— him or the horse— and he was still puzzling over it as he helped her up into the wagon and got up himself, slapping the reins. He casually took a glance at her basket. "And what do we have there?"

Paisley knew the contents, but she lifted the cloth to check anyways. "Bread, some cheese, two apples (Sorry Harreth, none for you), some plum cordial, and a lemon-curd tart."

He couldn't keep the happy grin from springing up on his face. "Lemon-curd tart, eh? My favorite dessert!"

"Really?"

"Oh, aye." He winked at her. "One of many."

"Ah, so I see you're like all other men: you enjoy your dessert."

"Well, I don't enjoy it quite so much as other people."

Paisley smiled wryly. "Yes, I have noticed that you're a bit trimmer than some. Not too much trimmer, though."

He glanced down at his mid-drift automatically, looking up to her grin. "I hope you're just joking."

"I am. You're very fit. In excellent health, in fact."

"I feel as if I'm a horse being inspected by a veterinary." He pronounced the word as "vitnery".

"Open your mouth and I'll check your teeth, and then we'll see how healthy you really are."

"Ye try to check my teeth and I'll bite your fingers."

She shrugged. "It's alright. I'll just check them when you're opening your mouth for lemon-curd tart."

"It'll be gone so fast ye won't have a chance."

"Now that, I believe."

"Aye, I'm a champion dessert-eater."

Aye, Harreth agreed.

Dickon almost forgot himself and answered the horse's jibe, but fortunately he caught himself. "Ah… well… are ye ready to meet the Cravens?"

Paisley fidgeted with her dress. "I suppose so… Are you sure it's not a bother? They do know we're coming, right?"

He looked at the clouds. "Well, not exactly."

"What?"

He hastened to reassure her. "I was going to have Martha tell them we were coming, but today is her day off. It doesn't matter, though. They'll be pleased to see us, I'm sure. They've been after me to come round for quite some time."

" Yes, you mentioned that before. Why is that, anyways?"

"Er, well… Tha's a long story."

"We've got a fair bit of road to travel."

He looked away uncomfortably. "Well… ye see… People say I'm a bit of a… hermit."

"I know."

"Ye do?"

"Yes, Uncle Harold told me."

"Oh. Well, I haven't exactly been… friendly with the Cravens since we became adults."

She laughed. "You're hardly an adult."

He sat up indignantly. "I'm eighteen."

"Very well. You're almost an adult. It's not the same."

"I thought ye wanted to hear the story."

"I'm sorry. Please continue."

"Well, I haven't been round Misselthwaite manor in a while, so I suppose they're just curious as to what happened to me. It's nothing big."

"What did happen to you?"

Dickon looked at Paisley's inquisitive face. "What do ye mean?"

"That wasn't exactly a long story. There must be more to it."

"There is, but I'm not obliged to tell it at the time."

"I've noticed that when people say something is a long story, they usually mean they don't want to talk about it. I understand, and I won't press you further."

Dickon nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. "Thank ye."

"I'll just ask the Cravens, or your sister."

"Ye'll do no such thing!"

She stared him down. "I will. It's obvious I won't get anything from you, so I'll go to another source."

He stared just as evenly. "If this is a ploy to get me to tell ye, it won't work."

"I assure you, it's not."

"The Cravens know nothing."

Paisley smiled, understanding. "But your sister will."

Dickon realized the danger of his situation. "Why are ye so determined to be nosy?"

"I am not nosy!"

"Ye are. You're getting into things that don't concern ye. That's being nosy."

Paisley sat in silence, her expression hidden by her bangs.

Harreth snorted. Nice going.

Dickon slapped the reins a bit harder than necessary. Harreth kept the same pace. I assume that was punishment, and not an indication that you want to go faster.

Dickon began to grow uncomfortable with the silence and was about to apologize, but Paisley spoke first. "I'm… sorry. I was being nosy. I promise I won't ask your sister or the Cravens about it. They're your private affairs, and I won't get into them."

Dickon ran a hand through his hair ruefully. "I'm sorry as well. I shouldn't have been so harsh."

"Oh, no, you weren't harsh. As a matter of fact, I'm a bit aghast at my own actions. I'm not normally this intrusive. I don't know what's gotten into me." She smiled weakly. "Perhaps it's this English air that's doing it to me."

"Don't try to blame it on the air, now."

"Well, then perhaps I should blame it on the company…"

He shrugged. "You'd probably be right in doing so." He grinned. "Handsome young devils like me often send young women into a fluster."

"That description is spot on for you— except for the 'handsome' and 'young' part."

"I am handsome, and I'm certainly young. Lots of young girls clamoring for my hand, there are. Why, I may be the most eligible bachelor in the surrounding area."

"Mmm, and the most modest one."

"Oh, aye. That too."

Paisley gasped, and Dickon prepared to stop the wagon, just in case. "What? What is it, Miss McBurl?"

"Is that Misselthwaite Manor?"

Dickon stared at the foreboding castle that was so familiar to him. "Aye, it is."

"Dickon! Dickon, is that you?"

"By George, I think it is! Hello, Dickon!"

"Who's that lady with him?"

"I don't know."

Dickon cursed under his breath, making Paisley jump, scolding him. "Mr. Sowerby! That is hardly gentlemen-like behavior."

Coming towards them on horseback, two figures, a man and a woman, waved to them.

Dickon shook his head. "Don't look now, but here come Lord Craven and Ms. Lennox." Under his breath, he added, "And my doom."

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A/N: sorry about the late update!