She couldn’t help but be anxious—even though she was on solid ground. Fortunately, the stone floor of the great hall—built atop the kitchen vaults—had escaped significant damage. Not even the fragrant smell of fresh-cut wood could calm her unease. It was dangerous work, and she couldn’t stand the thought of anyone getting hurt. Working side by side with her clansmen the past few days, she’d come to know so many of them, and the thought of anything happening . . . she didn’t want to think about all that could go wrong.
But with winter fast approaching, they needed to work fast. The short days coupled with the off-and-on periods of misty rain made working conditions less than ideal.
In the back of her mind was the knowledge that Jamie was doing this for her. Normally the rebuilding would have been put off till spring, but he knew how much she wanted—nay, needed—to see Ascog restored to its former glory. If they could get the roof on and make the castle watertight, they would be able to continue the work inside throughout the winter.
Turning back to her work, she dipped her hands into the bucket of lye beside her to wring out the cloth. But the linen didn’t look any cleaner when she finished, as the water had turned completely black. She stood with some effort, feeling like an old woman. Her knees were stiff and achy from being pressed against freezing cold stone for the better part of the day. Scrubbing the soot from the floors and walls seemed to be a never-ending proposition. She’d been at this for two straight days with no end in sight.
“Here, let me get that, mistress,” said one of the young serving girls, moving toward her.
“That’s all right, Beth, I need to stretch my legs.” After picking up the bucket of filthy water, Caitrina walked to the window—now more of a hole in the wall without its shutters and glass—to toss it outside before going down to the well in the courtyard for fresh water.
She glanced down to make sure no one was below and stopped cold. Or perhaps she should say stopped hot, as heat flooded her body. There was just something about a big, strong man swinging an ax that made you look twice, and that something turned mesmerizing when it was Jamie. Despite the chill he’d removed his plaid, and his shirt was molded to the rippling muscles of his back as he swung the ax in a wide arc over his head and let it fall with a resounding chop.
She drew in her breath. As if sensing her eyes on him, he looked over his shoulder, and their eyes locked for one heartstopping moment—their separation stretched between them—before she quickly ducked out of the way. With her back pressed to the stone wall, she fought to catch her breath, feeling like a fool. Both for having been caught staring and for her reaction. How could he affect her so? It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a man swing an ax before—although admittedly not one with such sheer physicality. Sheer physicality she was intimately familiar with.
That was the problem. She’d seen him naked, knew what it felt like to have her hands on all those warm, hard muscles. Knew what it felt like to have all that heat and strength surging inside her body. She missed that connection. She missed him.
She started to move away when she heard a shout go up followed by the deep shout of Jamie’s voice: “Watch out!”
Her pulse spiked with panic, and she returned to the window, fearing the worst. But as her gaze shot to the direction of the disturbance, she saw that the situation was already under control. It appeared that two of her young clansmen had been balancing a huge pile of wood planks on either end, but as they’d tried to go up the new stairs, the weight had shifted back on the lower man.
What could they have been thinking? It was far too much wood for two men to carry. The lad would have fallen, or worse, been crushed by the heavy timber, but Jamie had stepped in to lend a strong arm. A very strong arm. His muscles flexed to bear the brunt of the weight of the shifting wood. Her eyes drifted from his arms down the strong torso and flat stomach to his powerfully muscled legs clad in dust-covered leather breeches.
She was doing it again. Staring.
But it wasn’t only physical awareness that drew her. Since their confrontation a few days ago, she’d found herself watching him—nay, studying him. He was like a puzzle that she was trying to figure out . . . albeit in the dark. He gave no hint to his thoughts, treating her as he always had, with consideration and attentiveness. True to his word, he was giving her time, even spending more time around her in the day. But there was something missing: him in her bed. She longed for those moments of intimacy
that they’d shared at night—which was undoubtedly his intention in removing himself.
How could she long for something she’d known only such a short time?
It made no sense.
Or maybe it did. Perhaps she cared for him more than she’d realized. And after observing him these past few days, she’d begun to wonder if maybe it wouldn’t be so wrong.
She didn’t think even her own father could have managed this much in such little time. Under Jamie’s tutelage and management, the progress in repairing the castle had been nothing short of spectacular.
His authority had never been in doubt, but she’d come to admire his leadership. He led by example, not by decree, never asking anything of his men that he was not willing to do himself. As in battle, he was out in front, the first man to face the enemy. He drove them hard but worked himself harder, always the first to arrive and the last to leave the castle.
It was clear Jamie and his men had some experience in construction—not surprising, considering the vast number of castles held by the Campbells—but the depth of his knowledge impressed her. His mind was quick with numbers, measurements, and plans, giving her a glimpse of the cunning and intelligence behind the vaunted warrior. Indeed, his skill as a commander was evidenced by the uncanny way he seemed to be aware of where the men were positioned and what was happening around him. As her father had said, there was much more to Jamie Campbell than physical prowess, and she was certainly seeing proof of it firsthand.
Her clansmen, unlike the Campbells, had never done work on this scale and Jamie had shown remarkable patience—even when, as now, the mistake could have been costly.
With her husband’s help, the two young clansmen managed to get the wood to the top of the stairs and stacked it along the side of the far wall of the great hall. Not wanting him to catch her staring, Caitrina turned back to her bucket and tossed the filthy contents outside. Beth and the two other serving girls who’d volunteered to help were watching the incident with more than casual interest, and all of a sudden Caitrina realized why those lads had been carrying so much wood—they’d been well aware of their audience and had sought to impress the young serving girls.
Jamie had grasped the situation as well and appeared to be giving them a stern lecture from across the hall. Whatever he’d said had worked, because the two shamefaced lads nodded in earnest and hurried down the stairs without a backward glance.
Jamie, however, looked back in her direction, and from the expression on his face, he wasn’t happy to see her. He pierced her with a glowering look, giving her every indication that he was about to storm over and vent his displeasure. She smiled sweetly, which seemed only to outrage him further. But fortunately (as she had an inkling of what might be behind that dark look), he was prevented from coming over by a voice calling from outside.
“My laird!”
He looked back over his shoulder at the men in thebarmkinbelow to respond and after a quick exchange, with one more irritated glance in her direction, retraced his steps down the stairs to the courtyard.
It amazed her how quickly her clansmen had come to depend on him. She doubted they even realized it themselves and probably would be horrified to have it pointed out. Old prejudices would take a long time to die.
It struck her that Jamie was in a very difficult position, straddling both sides of the Highland line—a Highlander who was sympathetic to the Lowland government. Embraced by neither and distrusted by both. On one side there were Highlanders—unwilling to relinquish the unfettered authority and way of life they’d enjoyed for hundreds of years. On the other was the king—made increasingly powerful with the added strength of England behind him. In trying to bring the two sides together, Jamie had distanced himself from both. It was a difficult—and lonely—path he’d chosen. But vital, Caitrina realized. Without men like Jamie to negotiate the treacherous road of change, they could all end up like the MacGregors. It was a sobering thought.
Beth and the other serving girls had gathered around her and looked visibly relieved when Jamie departed the hall.
