Page 58 of A Scot in the Storm
“It’s extraordinary,” she called.
The wind took half the word.
“What?”
She leaned closer, one hand still steady on the stone. “I said it’s extraordinary.”
“Aye. The view’s nae poor.”
She laughed.
The wind carried most of it away, but he heard enough. It was quick and bright and gone before she could stop it.
Rory looked out to sea before he made a fool of himself staring at her.
They stepped through into the lantern room from the outside platform. With no dome above yet, the wind moved through the chamber, circling the stone, tugging at loose paper, making the brazier smoke bend low before it found a way out.
Abigail walked the perimeter slowly this time. Yesterday, she’d only looked at the mechanism. Today she looked at the room itself, ran gloved fingers over the stone and stopped now and then to study the mortar joints and upper courses.
“What mix are you using here?”
He blinked at her like a bloody owl. “Lime mortar. Sand from below. Stone dust when we’ve got it.”
“And the dome sits on this course?”
“Aye.”
She tipped her head back. The wind pulled another dark strand loose from her pins.
“This is going to have to be incredibly robust. The force up here will be brutal once winter really settles in.”
Rory folded his arms. “How do ye know?”
She didn’t turn right away.
“I’ve read a lot about structural engineering.”
“Have ye?”
“A bit.”
She said it the way a man might say he knew a little about ships after crossing the Atlantic or sailing around the world.
Movement below caught his eye. The crew had slowed. Not stopped altogether, because not even Elrick was fool enough to stand idle while Rory watched from above, but near enough. Men leaned on mallets. Tavish stood with his face tipped up, curious as a boy at a fair. Duncan had his arms crossed and was muttering to another mason. Elrick’s scowl could have cracked stone.
A woman on the scaffolding, not just a lass, but a strange woman. Asking questions of the captain and studying the work as if she had any right to judge it. By evening, half the harbor would know. By morning, the tale would have grown legs.
“We should go down,” Rory said.
Abigail glanced below. “Because they’re watching?”
“Because they’re talking.”
“Does it matter?”
“In a place this small?” He looked at her. “Aye.”
She nodded. No argument or wounded pride. She simply gathered her skirts and went back toward the ladder. “I’d like to climb down the scaffolding as well, really get the feel.”
