Page 79 of A Scot in the Storm
Mrs. Gable rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
Abigail laughed before she could stop herself, the sound startling in the quiet, but Mrs. Gable smiled.
Rory looked up from the end of the table where he sat with a ledger open beside a cup of untouched tea, sleeves rolled past his forearms, dark hair still damp from the weather outside. Thebruise at his jaw from the wreck had faded yellow at the edges now.
His gaze found her across the kitchen, and warmed. Then Tobias crashed through the back door carrying a sack and spilling turnips across half the floor.
Mrs. Gable shouted, Ewan swore, Abigail laughed again, and Rory smiled. The sight of that smile hit her with ridiculous force.
By afternoon the weather had turned sharp enough to drive everyone indoors as the wind battered the tower walls while rain moved across the headland in silver sheets.
Abigail spent most of the day between the workshop and kitchen carrying measurements, inventory lists, and once, disastrously, an entire tray of washers she dropped across the floor like metallic hail.
Tobias laughed so hard he nearly fell off a stool.
Rory crouched beside her helping gather them. “You’ve invented a new method of dispersing equipment.”
“It’s called innovation.”
“A terrifying word from ye.”
Their hands brushed reaching for the same washer, the contact lasting barely an instant.
Still, Rory’s fingers tightened around the brass piece before he set it in her palm.
At supper Rory barely touched his food. Twice Abigail caught him staring toward the window instead of listening to the conversation around him.
When Tobias mentioned Fraserburgh, Rory’s shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly.
Afterward supper, Rory rose first. “I’ve papers to finish.”
Mrs. Gable snorted softly. “Ye’ve papers every night now.”
“Aye.”
“Terrible affliction.”
One corner of his mouth moved faintly, then his gaze flicked toward Abigail.
Warmth, regret, and distance already forming behind his eyes.
The next morning the shawl he’d bought her caused a ton of drama.
Abigail realized it halfway through the village when two women outside the baker’s stopped speaking altogether as she and Mrs. Gable approached.
One woman’s eyes dropped immediately to the deep blue wool wrapped around Abigail’s shoulders. Then lifted again with bright naked curiosity.
Mrs. Gable snorted beside her.
“Oh good,” Abigail muttered. “I’ve become public entertainment.”
“Aye. Give them another hour and they’ll claim ye bewitched the lighthouse keeper and stole his senses.”
“I don’t know how to bewitch anybody.”
“Best learn quickly. Seems effective.”
Mrs. Gable could be funny sometimes.
