He pointed at a pot of ink with a feather sticking out. “I use quill and ink.”
Abi sighed. “Of course you do,” she muttered. “How silly of me.” Picking up the quill, she dipped it in the ink pot, then leaned over the parchment, tucking her hair behind her ears.
“What are ye doing?” Reid asked.
“Sorting out your rota. But I’ll need your help.” She pulled out a small stool and nodded at it. “Sit.”
Reid scowled at her, but then did as she instructed. He was so tall and broad that he looked ridiculous seated on the tiny stool, but he said not a word of complaint as Abi scanned the list of names.
“Is this everyone?”
“Aye. All of those well enough for duty. There are another score in the infirmary but I dinna think they will be leaving any time soon.”
“Okay. So next we need to make a list of all the different tasks that have to be done and their frequency. Then we can start allocating men to each.”
“We?”
She turned and found him sitting incredibly close. For a moment, she forgot what she was going to say. This close, she caught his scent: something like wood smoke and earth.
She cleared her throat. “Do you want to get this finished or not? Between us, I’m sure we’ll get things sorted in no time.”
Abi raised her brows, daring him to argue with her. Reid Campbell struck her as the kind of man who didn’t like being told what to do. So he surprised her when he merely nodded, smiling faintly.
“I bow to yer expertise, my lady.”
“Good. Let’s get started then, shall we?”
Abi soon lost herself in the work. She’d always had an eye for detail and loved finding the most efficient way to get something done. Getting a castle running efficiently—even one being run by some nutty medieval re-enactment society—was no different from getting a hotel running efficiently when you got down to it.
Once they’d listed all the tasks, Abi began devising a weekly rota, assigning the men to various roles on different days. Reid supplied her with the information she needed, gave his opinion on which men would be best for each job, and corrected her when he thought she’d done something that wouldn’t work. His knowledge of his men surprised her. He seemed to know them all individually, their strengths, their weaknesses, who they would work well with and who they would butt up against.
He was not, she realized, the uncaring brute she’d first assumed. She’d seen the violence he was capable of, but now she saw the intelligence in him, the sharp mind that understood instantly what needed to be done and was quick to make decisions and implement them accordingly. He might be a crackpot who liked to dress in medieval clothing and act like some lord of the manor, but there was more to him than she’d first thought.
In fact, it was his proximity that she found unsettling. His presence sizzled against her senses and she found her thoughts wandering to him when she should be concentrating on the task at hand. Did he have to sit so close? Did he have to lean over like that so that his shoulder brushed hers? It was the slightest touch, barely anything, but she couldn’t help recalling thoughts of that shoulder uncovered and the smooth skin and rippling muscle beneath the thin linen shirt.
She could have shifted her chair, of course. She could have put more distance between them. But she didn’t. She had no desire to, and that unsettled her more than anything.
She was almost glad when the task was complete.
“There!” she said triumphantly. “That should do the job!”
On the large parchment spread out on the desk was a perfectly organized weekly rota. It might be a bit rudimentary, scrawled in scratchy letters with a feather quill rather than the perfectly color-coded spreadsheet she was used to, but it would serve.
Reid studied it with his chin propped on one hand, his keen blue eyes taking it all in.
“Aye,” he breathed at last. “I think it will. My thanks, Abigail.”
She flushed, heat rushing to her cheeks from both his praise and the way he was looking at her. She waved a hand dismissively. “If I’m going to be here a while I’d better make myself useful.”
Hang on, she thought, catching herself. Be here a while? When did I accept that? I’m out of this place the second I get the chance!
Something crossed Reid’s face, an expression she couldn’t quite place. Satisfaction? Did hewanther to stay?
Her thoughts were getting confused and it was this damned man that was causing it. She needed to focus, clear her head. Looking around, her gaze settled on a thick ledger bound in darkened leather. She pulled it over and opened it.
“What’s this?”
Reid’s face folded into a scowl of distaste. “Accounts. Something that I swear was only invented to give stuffy monks something to do with their time. Laird Campbell will expect every penny to be accounted for.” He cocked his head at her. “I dinna suppose accounting is one of yer hidden talents as well, lass?”
