“Me laird!” Bruce called, pulling him from his thoughts. “We’ll need more hands at the bridge. The beams are heavier than we thought.”
Aidan nodded, still half watching Catherine as she knelt to comfort a crying child. He forced himself to turn, striding toward the north end of the village.
For the next hour, he worked beside his men, clearing wreckage, setting new supports where the current had undercut the road. Sweat stung his eyes, the ache in his arms grounding him in the rhythm of labor.
When he looked up again, she was there.
Catherine stood near the ruined stables, hair coming loose in the wind, her gown spattered with mud. Bruce had joined her,gesturing toward the fallen beams as he spoke. Whatever he said made her laugh.
Aidan’s grip on the plank in his hands tightened.
Bruce had always been charming, easy with his words, harmless enough when it came to the village girls. But this was different. Catherine wasn’t a passing flirtation. She was?—
He cut off the thought before it could finish.
“Bruce!” Aidan’s voice carried across the yard, low but sharp.
Bruce turned, blinking. “Aye, me laird?”
“Leave the lady tae her work, the beams willnae move themselves.”
A flicker of confusion crossed Bruce’s face, then a faint grin. “Aye, as ye say.” He smiled at Catherine and jogged off toward the men.
Catherine turned, brow furrowed. “Was that necessary?”
“Very.” Aidan wiped his hands on his plaid, refusing to meet her eyes. “He’s better suited tae lift timber than chatter.”
She stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head. “Ye’re impossible.”
He walked past her, toward the stables. The roof sagged dangerously under the weight of wet straw and broken timbers. “We’ll need tae get these beams off before they collapse. Gordon, take the south side. Bruce?—”
He paused. Bruce was already there, crouched at one end of a massive log, waiting.
Aidan moved to the other end, bracing his stance. “On me count. One… two—heave!”
The wood shifted with a groan, heavy as stone. The men strained, mud sucking at their boots. When it still refused to budge, Aidan dropped his end, stepped forward, and gripped the log with both hands. His shoulders tightened, his back straightened, and with one hard pull, he lifted. The muscles in his arms and chest strained, every line of him taut with effort.
The beam came free. He threw it aside, the motion so fluid it barely seemed human. The men stared for a heartbeat before resuming their work.
Catherine saw it all.
She stood a few paces away, eyes wide despite herself, her lips parted slightly. When he glanced up, neither looked away.
He turned first, the corner of his mouth tightening as he brushed past her. “Ye’d best stand back, me lady. This part’s nae fer watchin’.”
She swallowed, her voice a touch unsteady. “I was only thinkin’ ye make a fine show o’ it.”
He almost smiled.
The rest of the debris came down quickly after that. When they pushed open the stable doors, the air inside was thick with the smell of damp straw and fear. The horses snorted and stamped, their eyes wide, nostrils flaring at the chaos outside.
“They’re spooked,” one of the men said, keeping to the doorway.
“Aye,” Aidan replied. “Too long cooped up wi’ the storm still in their ears.”
“Shall we lead them out?”
“Nae yet.” Aidan stepped inside, voice lowering instinctively. “If ye rush them, they’ll bolt.”
