Shaking his head, Kenneth retreated to the doorway like a man who had only just discovered the way out. He cleared his throat and levelled his gaze at her, meeting her eyes.
“I beg yer pardon, Lady Selene. I trust ye will forgive these rough Highland manners of mine. I shall be sure and knock loudly next time I visit ye.”
She huffed, but her features softened at his contrite words and an almost-smile curled her lips. “I shall forgive you this time, Laird Kenneth. But only because you were so kind as to fasten the laces for me.”
He made no attempt to hide his unrepentant chuckle. “I came tae tell ye I’ll be riding fer the village shortly. The men arerepairing the crofters’ cottages after the flooding. Roofs need rethatching and the walls need more peat tae strengthen them.” He paused, reeling in his smile. “I thought ye might wish tae see how we dae such things in the Highlands.”
She blinked. Whatever leftover indignation she’d been clinging to dissolved in an instant. “Maureen will be there?”
“Aye,” he said. “Helping the women prepare food fer the workers.”
Excitement sparked, her eyes brightened. “Then yes,” she said quickly. “I would like tae come.” Now she was smiling. “I’ll be ready in just a moment.”
Kenneth gave a brisk nod. “I shall await ye in the courtyard.”
He stepped into the passageway, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.
Selene stood unmoving in the center of the chamber, her heart thundering against her ribs at the prospect of another adventure.
The ride to the village passed in a quiet, companionable ease Selene wouldn’t have believed possible only days before. She had grown used to the warmth of Kenneth’s body against hers, the sure way he handled the reins, the steady rhythm of hisbreathing as Arvak moved over the soggy earth. The storm had washed the land clean, leaving the air bright and sharp, smelling of heather, sea-salt, and peat.
When they crested the rise, the village unfurled beneath them – small stone cottages huddled against the wind, the bending figures of the crofters already hard at work. Men were hauling stones to rebuild the low walls, bracing them with fresh earth. Women gathered reeds and heather for the roofs, their baskets brimming. Children darted between them, carrying bundles of grass twice their size, laughing with pride at their effort.
Kenneth dismounted first and turned to lend a hand as Selene slid from Arvak’s enormous back.
A waiting lad took the reins and Kenneth strode toward a group of men struggling to lift a large stone slab. Several of the women came forward to welcome Selene with curtsies and beaming smiles.
She greeted them with her own smile, gratified that she was welcomed today in a manner quite different to the cold, suspicious stares that had greeted her when she had first visited the village.
Kenneth’s sleeves were rolled up within moments, revealing strong forearms quickly streaked with mud as his hefted squares of cut peat being used to repair the walls of a cottage that had been awash in the flood only days before.
Maureen was working with a group of women sorting piles of bracken and heather into neat bundles for thatching. Together they sorted the flattened bundles into roughly equal size, tying them with twine ready for the men who were already on the roof.
All the while, Selene’s traitorous gaze drifted toward Kenneth. Watching him work was… distracting. His strength seemed effortless, his focus unwavering. Each time he braced his weight to lift a stone or adjust a wall’s foundation, a ripple of heat curled low in her stomach.
Once or twice, he glanced up and before she could hastily look away, he caught her gaze with his searing grey-blue eyes. She felt her cheeks burn, yet it was impossible not to curl her lips in a smile.
Once there were sufficient bundles ready for the thatcher, Selene and Maureen headed to one of the cottages where food was being prepared. They were joined by two other women who introduced themselves as Margrit and Jonet. Margrit was by far the senior of the two, a stout, shiny-faced, smiling woman who was cheerfully giving orders.
Margrit curtsied to Selene and Maureen and then proceeded to instruct them in what they were to do.
“Ye,” she nodded to Maureen, “Ye can scrub and peel the neaps,” she pointed to a basket filled with turnips, “And ye,” she addressed Selene, “Ye can get on wi’ preparing the carrots.”
They set to work at once while Jonet prepared the oats and barley for bannocks and oat cakes to be baked on the hob over the central fire.
Smiling to herself, Selene set about peeling and chopping and soon had a large pile of vegetables in the bowl while Maureen labored over the neaps. Another Scots word she’d learned.
Margrit tossed them into the giant cauldron suspended on a hook above the flames where a mutton stew was bubbling. She added some wild mushrooms, garlic, onions, and assorted wild herbs to the mix and before long a delectable aroma swirled in the air of the tiny cottage.
She winked at Selene and Maureen as she stirred the pot. “There’ll be some hungry bellies here soon. Those men need feeding.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
One by one the men filed in and had their bowls filled with the steaming mix they called ‘potage’.
Kenneth sat with a couple of the men on an old timber bench beside the house that was being repaired while Selene stayed in the kitchen with Maureen to devour her portion of the delicious stew.
After the break for food, Selene and Maureen joined the others again pulling together the bundles of thatch and fastening them with twine. The afternoon passed quickly, filled with the easy rhythm of labor and the occasional bursts of laughter. Selene surprised the women by refusing to accept special treatment, and when someone attempted to take a bundle from her hands with a kindly, patronizing smile, she shot them a look that sent them scurrying back to their tasks. Maureen cackled with delight when it happened.
