Page 47 of Highland Seduction

He gestured for her to take one to taste. She did, and rolled her eyes at the man. “Spain?”

The merchant’s eyes narrowed. “Nay, my lady. They are from the Lipari Islands.”

Ainsley understood his hesitation to admit he had attempted to mislead her. It was a crime to do so, and if caught, he could be barred from selling at this marketplace again. A boy ran up to him before Ainsley could continue arguing about the raisins. Crying, he tugged on the merchant’s shirt.

“She is gone. I searched all of Berwick.”

With a look of apology, the merchant addressed the boy Ainsley assumed was his son kindly. “All of Berwick?”

The boy nodded solemnly. “Aye, Father.”

“Hmmm.” Who, Ainsley wondered, did the boy search for? “I told ye we were no’ likely to find her. We will stay for the next market but then must be on our way.”

“No!” the boy shouted, immediately apologizing. “I am sorry, Father.” He wiped his eyes dry, but the effort was ruined as tears continued to fall. “I didnae mean to shout.”

Ainsley’s heart pained for the poor boy.

“Who do ye look for?” she could not resist asking.

The boy, noticing her for the first time, turned his tear-streaked face to her. “My kitten,” he said. “She ran loose, and we lost her.” The merchant cleared his throat. “I lost her,” he admitted. “Father bid me keep her in the back of the wagon with me, but . . .” The boy blinked. “She wished to see the streets of Berwick.”

Ainsley tried not to smile and certainly did not ask how the kitten relayed that information to her owner.

“What does she look like?” Ainsley asked. Surely, it was not the same one.

The boy sniffled again before his father prompted, “Go on, tell her.”

“She . . . she is a wee one.” He held his hands up to show her.

“What color is she?”

“Brown.” His shoulders rose and fell as he reached for his father’s leg.

“He found her on the first day we arrived, begged me to keep her,” the merchant explained. “Knowing her likely fate . . .” He stopped, but Ainsley waved away the concern.

“I dinnae believe they harbor any evil,” she assured him, and then asked the boy, “does she have any spots?”

When he nodded, Ainsley froze. “Here.” He pointed just about his right eye. “A white one.”

Ivy.

As unlikely as it seemed, Ainsley had found the boy’s kitten. She exchanged a glance with the father. “Ye will stay here?”

He motioned to the table. “Until the sun begins to set.”

Ainsley did not even bid them farewell. She ran from the marketplace, the thought of reuniting the boy with his kitten nearly causing her to trip twice. She arrived at the inn, ignored the looks sent her way for such haste, and could barely open the door with her hand shaking as it was. By the time she and Ivy had returned to the market, she breathed heavily. Thankfully, both father and son remained.

The boy, no longer crying, stood solemnly by his father’s side as he handed another man two cinnamon sticks. Ainsley approached and, without preamble, held Ivy out to him. As she did, the recognition on his face confirmed that the kitten was his. When the boy ran from around the table and scooped her into his arms, Ainsley set aside the pang in her chest.

“I found her on the street,” she said. “And kept her safe and fed for ye.”

“Thank ye, my lady,” the merchant said. “Give yer thanks to the kind lady,” he told his son.

“Thank ye,” the boy said through his tears as he rested his head atop Ivy’s wee one. “Thank ye, my lady.”

“They are from Spain.” The merchant nodded to the raisins. “My apologies for misguiding ye. Since his mother died—”

Ainsley put up her hand. “They are just raisins,” she said. “No need for an apology, and I am sorry yer wife”—she turned to address the boy—“and yer mother has passed.”