Page 27 of Desire of a Highlander

Chapter 7

Faye was up and gone before first light the next morning. As Elodie staggered out of bed, she found herself alone in the little house, with bright morning sunlight coming from around the edges of the shutters and Faye’s blanket folded neatly away.

On the scrubbed table she found a jug of something that smelled like weak ale and a wooden platter containing an apple, a wedge of cheese, and several slices of freshly baked bread. She smiled. Faye was clearly determined to ensure her patient started the day properly.

She squinted against the bright morning light as she stepped outside and found the Steading already busy. Smoke rose from chimneys, and down the lane, several men were unloading timber from a cart, shouting orders and swearing at each other.

“Elodie?”

She turned as somebody called her name. A group of people were coming towards her down the street, and she recognized them as some of the new arrivals from yesterday. One of them was Morag’s father. What was he called? Malcolm?

Malcolm bobbed his head as the group reached her. “Is there anywhere we can tether the goats? They keep trying to get into the turnips.”

Another man added, “And somebody said we should clear the ditch, but nobody knows which ditch.”

Elodie blinked. “Why are you asking me?”

They exchanged glances but didn’t move, waiting for instructions.

Elodie rubbed her forehead. “Fine. There should be room in the root cellar to store the turnips. It’s over there.” Remembering Faye’s explanation of the place, she pointed it out. “I’ll find out which ditch needs clearing, but meanwhile why don’t you go help unload that timber?”

They nodded and hurried away to follow her orders, eager to make themselves useful. Elodie watched them go. Were they safe now they’d reached the Steading? She felt responsible for the people she’d brought in yesterday.

Doing it again, Elodie? she thought. Making yourself responsible for others, whether they like it or not?

She took a deep breath. No. This wasn’t her place. These people were not her responsibility.

She strode in the other direction, heading towards the smithy. Through the open doors, she spotted Ronan working at the forge. The forge fire cast flickering light across his face and shoulders, making his strawberry-blond hair look like a mane of fire. He wore a leather apron over the bare muscles of his arms and chest as he vigorously pumped a pair of bellows, feeding air into the glowing heart of the forge.

There was something oddly hypnotic about the way he worked, the way the muscles of his arms bunched and relaxed as he worked the bellows, the way the firelight cast his face into a patchwork of light and shadow. Elodie simply stood there, watching.

But then a bark shattered the silence. Bran and Skye came racing out of the smithy, and Elodie barely had time to brace herself before fifty kilograms of enthusiastic dog crashed into her, knocking her flat on her backside.

“Oomph!”

Skye began showering her with kisses. Bran attempted to climb into her lap despite being approximately the size of a small horse.

Elodie laughed. “Ah! Gerroff! You’re squashing me!”

“Bran! Skye!”

Ronan was standing in the doorway with a flicker of a smile on his lips. “Let the poor woman breathe, will ye? I think they like ye, lass. Unfortunately for ye.”

Elodie laughed. “They have quite the enthusiastic way of saying hello.”

Ronan snorted his agreement, then came over and held out his hand. Elodie clasped it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. But when she was back on her feet, he didn’t release her right away.

Then he seemed to remember himself. Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “What can I do for ye, lass?”

She forced herself to remember why she’d come. “I wanted to ask if your offer still stands.”

Ronan’s smile faded slightly. “What offer?”

“To take me back to where you found me.”

Something flickered across his face, gone almost before she could identify it. Disappointment? Surely not.

“Aye, my offer stands. I’ll take ye.”