Page 36 of Desire of a Highlander

“I’m perfectly capable.”

“I never said ye weren’t.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Ronan tapped his temple. “The problem is that ye recently hit yer head. Head injuries and ladders are a bad mix.”

“My head is fine.”

“Faye would disagree.”

Elodie planted her hands on her hips. Ronan ignored her furious scowl, leaned a ladder up against the barn, and climbed. Behind him he heard an extremely unladylike mutter and a string of curses a dockworker would have been proud of. His smile widened. Aye, definitely unlike any noblewoman he’d ever met.

He reached the level of the roof and began pulling away the old thatch. Most of it came away easily, years of weather having left it rotten and sagging. He threw the sodden bundles onto the ground where villagers hauled them away. He’d been working for only a few minutes when another ladder thumped against the roof beside him. When he looked down he found Elodie climbing towards him. Of course she was.

“I thought I told ye to stay below.”

She reached the top, grabbed a bundle of thatch, and yanked it free. “You did. But I don’t remember agreeing to do what you said.”

He scowled. “Yer stubbornness could rival Faye’s, ye know that?”

She turned to him with a triumphant grin. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Ronan shook his head but his scowl kept trying to turn into a smile.

They worked together steadily. Thatch came away in great handfuls and the pile below quickly grew. Occasionally Ronan’s hands brushed hers as they reached for the same section of thatch and each touch sent a jolt right through him.

The morning sun climbed higher and they repositioned their ladders to tackle another section of roof. Villagers moved about beneath them carrying timber and tools. Someone started singing a bawdy song about a magpie and the baker’s wife. Ronan found himself relaxing. No, more than that. He found that he was enjoying himself.

He glanced at Elodie. She was humming to herself as she worked and laughed raucously when the magpie song reached its crescendo. She’d only been here a matter of days and yet since her coming, the whole village felt different.

And he found himself wondering what it would be like when she was gone.

ELODIE BRUSHED A STRAND of straw out of her face and sighed. Her dress was filthy, there was dirt beneath her fingernails, and straw clung stubbornly to her sleeves. She was sweaty, tired, and aching in muscles she hadn’t known existed. And yet she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this good.

She was standing behind the barn, taking a breather and watching the villagers scurry around the site like industrious ants. The roof was stripped bare now. Where rotten thatch had once sagged between collapsing timbers, fresh beams were already being hoisted into place.

One team of people had been busy hauling timber from the nearby woods, while another group of skilled men cut and shaped it into the desired dimensions. Now several men were up on the roof itself fitting new joists under Ronan’s supervision. Nearby, a group of women sat in the sunshine bundling fresh thatch. Children darted between the workers carrying tools and messages.

The air rang with good-natured banter, less good-natured arguments, and bellowed instructions. There was squabbling, certainly, plenty of it. Nobody seemed to agree on the best way to do anything, yet somehow they managed to get it done all the same. There were no committees required. No feasibility studies or shareholder approval. Just action. It was primitive and inefficient in a hundred different ways. And yet somehow it worked.

Bran and Skye, who’d been dozing in the sunshine suddenly snapped awake, and spun to stare in the direction of the Steading’s southern entrance.

“Chief!” a voice yelled in the distance. “Ronan!”

A figure came into view, stumbling between the houses. It was Eamon, and he was half-carrying, half-dragging a younger man whose feet seemed barely capable of supporting him.

Ronan cursed and ran down the path towards the struggling duo. Elodie hurried after him, reaching the group just as Eamon eased the injured man down onto the grass. Elodie recognized him as one of the villagers, a quiet young man, although his name escaped her. Right now, his face was a mess. One eye had swollen nearly shut and blood dripped from his nose and chin.

Ronan bellowed for somebody to fetch Faye, then dropped to his knees in front of the young man. “What happened?”

Eamon wiped sweat from his forehead. “I was just doing a circuit and I found him staggering back to the Steading like this.”

Ronan’s nostrils flared, anger flashing across his features. He laid one of his big hands on the young man’s shoulder. “Thomas,” he said gently. “Can ye tell us what happened to ye?”

The young man swallowed a few times. “I...I was gathering mushrooms when they found me.”

“When who found ye?”