A/N: I'm so glad people seem to be enjoying my writing. Thanks so much for the reviews and kudos! Generally, I only have time to write one chapter a week, so be warned, especially since school has started again (I teach high school English). At any rate, I hope this is worth the wait.

Chapter 4

After a fitful night's sleep, during which William was plagued by sensual dreams of Eliza (emerging from her bath, water glistening upon bare skin, full lips beckoning) , the sound of the front door opening had him grabbing his revolver from beneath his pillow and padding quickly and quietly out of his room. Heart pounding, he glanced down the hall and saw that Eliza's bedchamber door was still closed, so he stalked onwards toward the staircase. He peaked around the corner near the stair landing to see a woman with fiery red hair, middle aged, in a clean, starched dress, acting as if she had every right to be there.

William emerged from his hiding spot to stand at the top of the stairs.

"Stop right there," he growled, pointing his gun at the woman's heart.

Startled, her eyes flew up to his, widening as she beheld the tall, handsome stranger in only his drawers, bare of chest and foot.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" she demanded in a thick Scottish burr, one hand on her ample hip, the other holding a large willow basket. She seemed not the least bit concerned by the weapon directed her way.

"You first," he replied, his gun unwavering. "What are you doing in this house, with a key, no less?"

"Nae that tis onny o` yer business, but I'm Ailsa MacKenzie. Mah guidman 'n' me are caretakers o' this hoose. Mr. Fitzroy dinae say he were expecting onny visitors."

William began walking down the stairs, relaxing a bit as her story and her working class attire rang true. "It was a sudden trip," he replied. "My wife and I are guests here. I have a letter of introduction up in my room…"

"Hmph. Well, ye kin lower that gun o' yers and let me dae ma jab. Ah dinnae hae time fur th' whimsy o' th' rich."

William smirked, but lowered the revolver. "I know what you mean." Then a thought occurred. "If I were to pay you double your salary for a week, could you act as lady's maid to my uh, wife? Her maid couldn't join us at the last minute, and we don't know anyone here. We value our privacy, mind, and won't tolerate any clishmaclaver about us in the village."

Mrs. MacKenzie's eyebrows rose beneath her cap. "Is a Weegie, arr ye?"

William grinned, reminded of how he'd missed hearing the accents of his homeland. "Yes, I'm from Glasgow. My wife's a sassenach, if you'll forgive me."

"We're in Englain, sae tis na surprise. Ye sound like one yersel."

"Aye," he said wryly. "Sometimes I think I've been here too long. So, will you see to her?"

At that moment the door swung open again, and in stepped a tall mountain of a man, his face wind roughened, wearing a wide brimmed hat and dirty work clothes. "Ailsa, where urr ye—" He paused to take in the scene, but, unlike William might have reacted upon seeing Eliza with a strange, half-naked man, Mr. MacKenzie (he presumed) took everything in stride. He turned to his wife: "Whas this then?"

She explained to her husband in rapid Gaelic, and though it had been a while, William understood their conversation well enough. Afterward, MacKenzie nodded. He looked from his wife to William. "Ye twa settle things. Ah will be oot pruning th' hedge." And he left them alone again to go about his duties.

Mrs. MacKenzie set the basket she'd been carrying on a nearby table and glanced around the foyer and the front parlor beyond, with its sheet-covered furnishings and general mustiness.

"It looks lik' a'm needin' tae git this hoose in order fur company. Where's th' missus?"

William supposed she'd taken the job. He inclined his head toward the second floor. "Still sleeping, and likely will be for awhile. She had a riding accident just before we arrived, fell onto a tree limb that ran through her arm. Do ye have any nursing skills?"

"Ah hud twa laddie bairns who wer awa getting intae scrapes. Ah kin tak' care o` yer guidwife."

"Good. I'll be upstairs. When she wakes up, we'll make you a list of supplies we'll need in town, if you'll get them for us please. I'll need to stay with her for safekeeping."

Mrs. Mckinzie narrowed her eyes. "Protective o' th' lassie urr ye?"

William's face hardened. "Yes. Very. And never ye mind. I meant it about the gossip. We expect you and your husband will hold your wheesht about this, or you'll receive no pay. Understood?"

"Na need tae git pure upset, laddie. Ye kin trust us tae keep yer secrets. Will ye bee needin' a cook then?"

"Maybe a bit, but I'll manage most of it. We'll just need you here in the morning to get her ready for the day, and the evening to see to her at night. We could have done without a maid for a week but for her injuries. You can call me Mr. Burns, by the way. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

He turned to leave her to it, his face relaxing into amusement as he heard her muttering to herself in Gaelic about the strange ways of her betters.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

William had just finished dressing when he heard Eliza call out. He was by her side in a minute, frowning when he saw her face, tearstained from the depressing nature of the laudanum and likely the pain of her wounds. He had no qualms about sitting on her bed beside her; after the intimacy they'd shared the night before, having seen her mostly out of her clothes, he felt they need not stand on ceremonies now. She lay beneath the bedclothes, her blue eyes groggy and troubled. Morning light from the open curtains streamed in, casting her face in an ethereal glow.

"Where am I?" she asked, squinting against the brightness. "Why does my arm burn like fire?"

"Hush now. You were shot, remember? And we've gone to the Isle of Wight to hide from your shooter." He reached out and touched her forehead. It was blessedly cool, so she wasn't delirious due to a fever. No, it was just the medicine. Nevertheless, it disturbed him to see her this way, so out of sorts, so unlike herself.

"I'll get Mrs. MacKenzie to make you some more willow bark tea, and maybe some porridge. Rest until then." Dutifully, she closed her eyes.

He'd already gauged her temperature, but his hand lingered on her face, caressing her cheek, smoothing back her unruly hair, loosed by Eliza's own awkward dismantling of her neat arrangement last night. His eyes followed the motions of his hand, savoring the moment, giving in to the temptation to run his fingers through the unbound locks that hung over one shoulder. It would likely hang almost to her arse, he thought with a grin. He turned his attention to her face again, and his hand stopped as he realized she was staring up at him, her eyes nearly clear of the haze of opium.

"Who's Mrs. MacKenzie?" she asked. Her sleep roughened voice was almost his undoing, and the temptation to bend and kiss her was overwhelming. For a moment, all he could hear was the loud beating of his heart and the distant waves crashing on the shore. He forced himself to move his hand. William had never taken advantage of a woman without her full faculties about her. He cleared his throat and briefly explained their new stroke of luck. To his surprise, she found his hand again with her own, where it rested on top of her blanket.

"Damn Fitzroy neglected to tell me to expect to see caretakers in this house."

"Perhaps he didn't know that his father had hired them. Really, William, you never give the poor boy the benefit of the doubt."

William's reply to that (mostly) untrue statement was a disdainful grunt.

"Do you think we can trust them?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't ken. I'm hoping money will keep their mouths shut, that and our shared heritage. But I gave them our new name, so if we're lucky, idle talk won't lead anyone to us."

Her small hand squeezed his. "I'm sorry, William, for all this."

"It's nae yer fault, Eliza."

She smirked. "That's probably the first time you've ever said such a thing to me."

"It's the first time it's ever been true." His eyes twinkled at her.

She laughed softly, and he found himself lacing their fingers together, bringing her beringed hand to his lips. A light tap on the open door interrupted them.

"Mrs. Burns?" came the voice of Ailsa MacKenzie. "Ar ye ready tae coup on th' day?"

William let go of Eliza's hand and rose from her bed. "Come in," he said gruffly, annoyed at the intrusion. He made the introductions, then left to go prepare Eliza's repast himself. He needed something to occupy himself, to distract him from the heat that still infused his body.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eliza ate her porridge, not even turning her nose up as she would had Ivy cooked her least favorite breakfast. She assured William, who was sitting across from her at the kitchen table (and not the long mahogany table in the dining room), that it was the most delicious porridge she had ever tasted. Which, she supposed, was technically true. His wide smile was gratifying enough that she didn't tease him about his feeding her food fit for a horse. She obediently drank the rank tasting tea too, still smarting a bit from Mrs. MacKenzie's slightly rough handling. The woman warned she was no lady's maid, but she did well enough, at least going easy as she took care to pull up the sleeve of her dress over her right arm.

The older woman was not one for small talk, it seemed, which boded well for her keeping things to herself in the town square. She merely huffed under her breath in Gaelic at how thin and bony English women were. Her accent was so thick that Eliza was only able to pick out a few words, (some not fit for a lady's ears), but she caught the gist of it. She did cluck over what she termed Eliza's "mishanter," which she figured by context to mean the story William must have told about how she'd fallen from a horse and landed on a tree limb. Luckily, Eliza was quick enough on her feet to go along with the falsehood.

Mrs. MacKenzie left her fully dressed and simply coiffed for the day, with assurances she would return that evening to help her bathe, change her bandage, and get her ready for bed.

"You might have told me the tale of my alleged riding accident," she berated William over their breakfast, sipping her tea with a grimace. She took a palate cleansing bite from her dish of canned peaches.

William grinned over the cup of his own Earl Grey. "Sorry. But I'm sure you kept your head about you."

"Good job I'm an expert at improvising."

"That you are, Eliza. I've been on the wrong end of your improvisations in the past."

They ate in companionable silence a few moments, until Eliza said: "So, what shall we do to pass the time? I'd love to take a stroll on the shore. It's been years since I've been to the sea."

He frowned. "I think you should rest today. You've had a hard time of it, and it'll do you could to stay indoors."

"But William, I'll run mad if I have to stay confined in here for a week."

"Perhaps tomorrow, if you're a very good lass, I'll escort you to the beach." He knew immediately his condescending attitude would stir her ire, but secretly, he relished it. He could practically see the steam rising from her ears, but it was so good to tussle with her this way instead of seeing her weak and in pain, lying in that damnable bed.

"You might be my protector, William Robert Wellington, but you are not my keeper."

"On the contrary, Elizabeth Ann Scarlet," he bit out, angrily mocking her, "I mean to stick to you like stink on jobby, so don't even think of going out alone. It's too dangerous. Despite my best efforts, we may well have been followed."

She sat fuming a moment, before, true to form, she clapped down her fork and napkin and stormed out of the kitchen. He watched her go and calmly finished his porridge, though he listened in case he heard the defiant opening of the front door.

After cleaning up the dishes, he found her perusing the small library in the parlor. He went to stand beside her, undeterred by the stiff coldness of her back.

"I'm sorry for yelling," he said grudgingly. Sure he loved to see her when her hackles were up, but it would be a much more pleasant stay if he made peace with her. He knew from experience she wouldn't be the first to apologize.

"Hmph," was her nasal reply.

He smiled, and ventured: "Anything interesting to read?"

"There's a biography on Marcus Aurelius you might benefit from, and an old copy of Pride and Prejudice. I suppose that will keep me occupied for the day, if I must."

"You must. Or, I noticed a chess board in the corner. Are you game?"

Her face brightened for a different reason. On the shelf, nestled in front of War and Peace, she found another, more tantalizing option. "Perhaps later. There are also these." She held up a deck of playing cards with an excited flourish.

"I have no idea how to play Whist or other lady's games."

"Not boring old Whist; might I suggest…poker!"

"That's no game for a lady."

"Ha. I've been told this all my life. Teach me to play, William, please?" But instead of submitting to her fluttering eyelashes, he gave her his usual intimidating stare that would make grown men coil in fear, but had absolutely no effect on Eliza.

"Are you afraid I might abscond with all your hard-earned copper's wages?" She coyly suggested.

"Don't try to manipulate my masculine pride into playing with you; it's nae gonna work." Not this time, he added to himself. But then his demeanor took on a mischievous expression. "I think I might remember how to play Hearts, or…Old Maid…"

She threw the cards at him, and he ducked, avoiding the missile, chuckling as his verbal barb hit its mark. "Come now, Eliza, you know your father would spin in his grave if I taught you to play poker."

She went to the window and stared out at the charming village on the hillside above, choosing to sulk and ignore him. Next to tears, it was her last-ditch effort to get her way. It had worked with her father, and it had worked on William, on many past occasions. For some reason she couldn't fathom, men couldn't bear her indifference or unhappiness, and she wasn't above using it to her advantage. A woman must use her strengths in this lobsided world.

William was proud of himself for holding strong against her, peace accords be damned. He took a seat in a comfortable wingback and opened a random book he'd grabbed from the shelf, finding, to his delight, it was about whaling, and he spent a happy half-hour reading about the perils aboard a whaling ship. When he looked up, Eliza was gone. His eyes moved around the room, and then, fear suddenly heightened, he got up to search for her.

He found her on her bed, sound asleep, and with a smile, he slowly closed her door and went back to his book.

"Score one for Scotland Yard," he murmured to himself.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mrs. MacKenzie arrived that evening, bearing a pot of Cullen Skink, a Scottish fish and potato stew, and a round loaf of Fife Bannock. There was no hint of animosity between Eliza and William, who, after Eliza had awakened from her nap, had mended fences in a few games of chess. Much to Eliza's dismay, William had won two of the three games, and Eliza had the suspicion he'd let her win the last one for the sake of peace. She didn't question it. The starving pair, who'd eaten another tin of soup for lunch, ate two bowls of Mrs. MacKenzie's dinner and half the soda bread, while the housekeeper continued straightening the house and heating water until Eliza was ready for bed.

"Yer bath is duin, Missus," Mrs. MacKenzie announced as William and Eliza read after dinner. A hip bath had been filled with hot water in the kitchen, and William was left alone in the parlor, his dream of the night before harshly intruding into reality. Try as he might, he could no longer focus on the interesting details of ambergris and rendering whale blubber, so he rose to go outside, carrying with him a tumbler of the senior Fitzroy's finest whiskey. He sat on the steps that led down to the sea, watching for the second evening the sun dip below the horizon, trying not to think of Eliza, naked in her bath.

For Eliza's part, as a privacy partition of sheets was lined around her bath, she sat in her shift while Mrs. Makenzie unwrapped her bandage. The woman barely seemed to react to the sight of the gruesome wound, merely prodding it gently to check for infection while Eliza gasped.

"This cam fae a tree limb, ye say?"

"Yes," replied Eliza, not elaborating. The housekeeper's tone had been decidedly skeptical, but aside from a few tsks, she said nothing. She helped Eliza into the tub and stood aside washing up the dishes while Eliza saw to her own lathering and rinsing with the fine lavender soap Ivy had packed for her. After Eliza washed her hair, Mrs. MacKenzie poured a warm bucket of water slowly over her head to rinse. Dried, rebandaged, and wearing her night rail, dressing gown, and a towel about her head, Eliza and her maid ascended back up to her rooms. There was no sign of William.

Eliza sat before the fire, combing her hair to dry it, thinking of William and the day's events. It had been a long while since she'd been away from London, and she found it both disorienting and blissful. She still longed to go outside, and she'd even restrained herself from going against William's wishes so she might get a chance to dip her bare feet in the sand the next day. Always, as they sat together or played chess, she felt his eyes upon her in a strange, wistful manner, and occasionally, when their eyes met, she felt he might be on the verge of telling her something important, some secret he might have been keeping. She knew William well after all these years, and she thought she knew every expression on his face, but this was one she didn't recognize. Whatever it was, whatever he might be holding back from her, oddly, it made her blood run hot, leaving her to imagine all kinds of impossible things.

Long after Mrs. MacKenzie had braided Eliza's hair and left for the night, her husband having picked her up in his small phaeton and pony, she sat in her chair listening to the crackling fire and the distant waves. She felt restless and bored, and while her arm pained her, she put off taking a dose of the laudanum.

A soft knock made her jump. "Eliza?" William's voice was low, in case the lamplight in her room didn't mean she was awake.

"Come in, William," she said bravely.

"No…I'll just say good-night," he replied, still on the other side of the door. "Is everything well with you? Your arm…?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Still a bit sore."

"And will Mrs. MacKenzie do all right for you?"

"Yes. She's a tough old bird, but she'll do."

"Good…good. Well…good night, Eliza. Sleep well."

"Good night, William. You too."

And she heard his footfalls fade away down the hall.

She turned down the lamp and lay in bed for some time, unable to sleep. The moon shone invitingly through her open curtains, and she considered again the laudanum, but decided she would rather have the pain than the fuzzy head and vivid dreams. Somewhere in the house, the newly wound clock chimed two times, and Eliza gave up any attempts at sleep. She got up, and, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, tiptoed down the stairs and outside the kitchen door.

The wind was bracing, but she relished it after having been inside all day, and the sea called to her like a long lost friend. Her bare feet hit cold sand, and she laughed with pleasure. The moon was bright enough to lead her to the shore, and she stood awhile out of reach of the water, watching the tide role in. The white capped waves danced in the moonlight, and she smiled and breathed deeply.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In a repeat of the morning's events, William awoke from a light sleep and stilled in his bed, listening. Had he heard a creak of the stairs, someone moving about the first floor of the house, or had he dreamed it? His heart rate loud in his head, he got up and grabbed his gun, this time taking a moment to slip on his robe in case it was Eliza up for a drink of water. He lit a candle and quietly walked down the hall. Eliza's door was open, and he walked through her sitting room and into her bedchamber. Her bed was empty, and there was no sign of struggle, so he had likely assumed rightly that she was having a restless night. He went downstairs, calling her name, but there was no answer. A feeling of foreboding washed over him as he took a quick tour of the dark house, and he raised his voice to a shout: "Eliza!"

The front door was still barred tightly, and he went through the kitchen to the back door, holding up his candle to see clearly it had been opened.

"She wouldn't," he growled, anger and fear warring within him.

Without a second thought, he left his candle on the kitchen counter and went out into the night. "Eliza!" he called again, his voice caught by the wind and carried uselessly away. He launched himself into the sand at a full run. Fifty yards from the beach, he saw her in the moonlight, a lone figure wrapped in a blanket, barefooted like himself, white cotton blowing about her ankles. Blinded by rage, he overtook her and spun her around toward him, his hand firm on her uninjured arm.

"Eliza, you bloody fool! Can you just once in your life do what you're fekkin' told?"

He had never been so angry with her. Somewhere in the darkness, someone might have been lying in wait for her. If not her shooter, the incoming tide might have taken her from him. A vision of her filled his addled brain, and he saw her, water logged and lifeless, the waves buffeting her body.

"William," she began, "isn't it beautiful?"

It was her smile that did it, her face exuberant as she looked at him, some of her golden hair blowing loosely around her face, her eyes glittering in the moonlight. His hands went to both her cold cheeks, and he captured her lips with his…

A/N: I know, I know. It was mean of me to leave such a cliffhanger. I hope it brings you back for more. I admit I might have had too much fun with the English to Scottish translator, but I wanted Mrs. MacKenzie to sound authentic. I'm American, and I've probably watched (and read) too much Outlander, but I had great fun writing this. Thanks so much for reading.