“I’m sorry?”
“I hate sitting around. Give me something to do while I’m here.” Her eyes narrowed. “Unless, of course, you plan on locking me up in my room like you did before.”
He put out his hands placatingly. “That was for yer own safety! And dinna worry, I wouldnae dare do it again.” He cocked his head. “Actually, there is something ye can do for me. Ye can give some of my men a kick up the arse, starting with one in particular.”
He led her back around the walls of the keep towards the main gates. The men were still busy unloading the barges and they looked up as he and Abigail passed. Reid placed himself between her and his men, ready to glare them into submission if they made any smart comments. But he needn’t have worried. Abigail lifted her chin and glared at them as they walked past. The lewd comments died on the men’s lips and the cocky smirks faltered.
Reid suppressed a smile. Just like him, his men were learning that they shouldn’t underestimate Abigail Fenton.
They entered through the gates, crossed the courtyard, and climbed the wide steps into the keep, their footsteps echoing loudly on the flagstones of the entrance hall. Here, Reid turned right and led Abigail through a wide door into the great hall.
Well, once it would have been a great hall, Reid was sure, but like all the disputed keeps along the border with the Muirs, it had fallen into decline. The roof had been patched many times, the tapestries that had once adorned the walls were long gone—sold for coin to finance Laird Campbell’s campaign—and the furniture had seen better days.
Even so, Abigail stared around at the cavernous room with wide eyes, craning her head back to look up at the high, vaulted ceiling. At this time of day, most of the long benches were empty, with only a few off-duty or injured warriors sitting quietly.
Bo and Whitefoot, who’d been napping in a heap by the fire, awoke abruptly and came racing over, tails wagging. Reid gave them both a pat but they immediately turned their attention to Abigail, tongues lolling with pleasure as she scratched them behind the ears.
Reid looked around with his hands on his hips until he spotted who he was looking for. He led Abigail over to the far side of the hall to where a man was sitting alone at a large table with an array of documents and small piles of coins set on the table before him. He was staring at a document whilst he chewed distractedly on the end of a quill, muttering to himself.
“Martin,” he said. “I’d like a word.”
Martin looked up, startled out of his thoughts. “My lord!” the castellan cried. “I’m glad ye are here. I’ve been trying to work out the back pay for the men who’ve been injured and what’s owed to the families of the slain but I canna seem to get the figures worked out. Perhaps ye could—”
“Martin,” Reid cut in, stopping the man’s tirade. If he let him continue, he’d have Reid knee-deep in paperwork before he could blink. “I’ve brought ye some help. The Lady Abigail is a skilled administrator and is going to help ye with the running of the estate.”
Martin blinked owlishly at Abigail. “She is?”
“Martin will show ye what needs to be done,” he said, turning to Abigail.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I have...things to attend to.” He didn’t want to tell her what he was going to do. He didn’t want to do it at all but Laird Campbell’s orders had been clear and he could not ignore them.Subdue the countryside.
He nodded to her. “I’ll leave ye with Martin.” He paused as he walked past her and couldn’t resist adding under his breath, “Good luck. I think ye might need it.”
Chapter 9
