Not even a groundbreaking, but the beginnings of a gothic revival manor-slash-castle she was all too familiar with. Aila glanced over her shoulder at the medieval eyesore behind her and back to the foundations laid out before her in disbelief. The castle she knew wasn’t supposed to have been begun until almost fifty years after the first duke died.
Thefirstduke. The one who had gifted some unknown member of the Clan Boyce with a reward that had prompted generations of questions and, most recently, a ravaging of one Betsy Boyce’s Inveraray home.
That duke.
Notthis.
Three turns, Donell had said. Three. And that’s precisely what she’d done. However, there was no way it had delivered her to the proper time. Had he been mistaken? How was she supposed to solve the mystery if the original source was long dead?
Or had he done it on purpose? No tricks, he’d assured her. How naïve she’d been to believe him. That auld man deserved more than a blight upon him. He deserved a…a…
Elliot’s cheery tones interrupted her thoughts. “Ah, here is Lord Keeley.” Keeley. He’d said that before. Why did it sound familiar? “He is a builder managing the project while the architects are in London. I will leave you under his supervision.”
No tricks? Ha!
Aila rolled her eyes to the heavens as a hazel-eyed glare she’d recently been subjected to settled on her once again. Again with a fierce frown to accompany it.
“Absolute unadulterated fuckery.”
* * *
“Euphemia Keeley! Ye cannae be climbing there, sweeting,” Finn yelled to his daughter for what seemed the twentieth time in the past hour alone. His warning had approximately the same effect this time that it’d had the other times he’d employed it. None. He wiped his hands over his face and tried to focus on the detailed plans spread out on the table before him. And ignore the girl’s progress.
She wasn’t in any real danger. The dozens of stonemasons working around the site weren’t moving and placing stone today so there was no chance of her being crushed or climbing the scaffolds. He’d had them disassembled while his crew worked on mortaring the foundation stones they’d worked these past months to set in place. If Effie were hurt, her screams would sound decidedly different than her carefree shouts. He had no clue where Niall was.
Or what trouble his son might be getting into this time.
Let them be and get to work, Finn scolded himself. Not like they could go far in a village the size of Inveraray. Or much trouble they could find beyond beleaguering his already frayed temper. He’d lost an hour’s daylight searching for his offspring when they’d wandered off earlier. His friend Ian hadn’t thought they needed to be tracked down. Then again, Ian’s son Fergus was but a toddler incapable of serious mischief. Ian insisted they were merely having fun. As one does.
As one does.
Och, but he’d made an arse of himself earlier. Ian had made certain to point it out as if Finn weren’t well aware. Venting his frustrations with his wayward children on that young woman had been unfair. He owed her an apology. Not that he knew who she was or where to find her to deliver one. He’d never seen her in the village before. Not many visitors had come around during his time here. Given the growing power of the Campbells and the duke’s clan seat here along with the new jail and court that would soon open, the town was fast becoming an administrative center for the county, and the number of people traveling in and out of the area would increase.
For now, despite the harbor for boats to land, there was a limited network of roads. Regardless of her colorful language, the woman had been dressed like a lady and ladies traveled by carriage. The nearest road capable of accommodating one was nearly forty miles away.
There was no way she’d carried her trunk so far and still managed to look as fresh and bonny as a spring morning.Och, some gentleman he’d been, not to relieve her of her burden. She’d left him out of sorts with her frigid glare and frosty words.
He’d deserved each one. He’d been an arse overcome first by irritation and then by…
Finn cleared his throat. At any rate, an apology was definitely in order.
He forced his attention back to his work. “MacDougall! Dinnae lay it on so thick. Fill the gap, mon, dinnae cover the whole stone. What the…?”
A large black and tan dog sniffed at his feet. A rather familiar…
“Ah, here is Lord Keeley.”
Finn’s head jerked up at the quavering voice of Derne’s clerk, but the rest of the man’s words were drowned out by the blood pounding in his ears as his gaze landed on the woman at Elliot’s side. The same buzzing that had filled them when she glared up at him in the village.
“Absolute unadulterated fuckery.”
The words fell from her lips much as they had earlier, leaving him torn between amusement and astonishment. The crude language carried no malice. In fact, they lost any hint of vulgarity in her sweet, husky brogue. At least his children were out of earshot this time.
“As one does, aye?” Finn forced his gaze away from the sharp-tongued lass and landed them upon the junior steward. “Who is this woman, Elliot?”
A name. A name to put to that bonny face and pert tongue.
“Your pardon for the interruption, my lord.”
