Picking up the pitchfork, he tore apart the bale of hay, spreading it over the stall. Back in his clan, hard work was something he was accustomed to. Irvine preferred to work alongside the clansmen whenever there was a need, but the day-to-day activities of how the clan survived, how the tenants spent their days, he hadn’t understood until he had come here.
Now, once he became laird, he would have a great understanding of how his people served him. Irvine had no need to sit and listen to their complaints like his great-aunt Edna had done but to go out to them and try to find the cause before they felt the need to approach the laird. He wanted to learn about the crops that the clan had, how the farming was spread out amongst the tenants, and how they could help improve it.
He wished to know his clan, not lord over them. And though Malcolm saw this quest as a fruitless attempt for his great-uncle to take the position, it had opened Irvine’s eyes to the possibilities as a laird in the future.
It was not the intent, but the wealth he would gain was going to serve him well.
That was, if he could complete the task.
The clearing of a throat caught his attention, and he turned to find Bridget standing there. She was dressed in a drab brown gown, her long hair braided over one shoulder, but she still looked as lovely as ever and stole Irvine’s breath away.
“Good morning,” she stated, holding out a pail. “I brought some ale.”
Irvine lodged the pitchfork into the bale and reached for the dipper that was floating around in the pail, drawing it out. “Mah thanks. ’Tis warm, though winter is close.”
She nodded as he took a long draw of the bitter ale. “Aye. ’Tis helping with gathering the last bit of crop, though. Normally we are battling against the weather.”
Dropping the dipper back into the pail, Irvine wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I will see ye at luncheon then?”
Bridget tucked her hair behind her ear, something he noted as a nervous gesture. “Aye.”
“I cannae wait then,” he told her. Not because he needed to get close to her father, but for the pleasure of her company.
She escaped to Malcolm, and Irvine turned back to his work, pushing through until the bell sounded. When he stepped out of the barn, Bridget and her friend Merdia were waiting. Malcolm’s eyes lit as he saw the redheaded beauty, and Irvine could only shake his head as he joined Bridget.
“Ready?” she asked.
He smiled. “Aye. Lead the way, lass.”
As they walked to luncheon this time, however, Irvine was able to call out a few names to those as he passed. He had met quite a few of the tenants yesterday, finding most of them hardworking and looking for a place that they could raise a family outside the tyranny of a laird. It pained him to think that these people thought that all clans were brutish or the laird only sought a means to grow rich.
He wanted none of that for the McPearson clan. He wanted his people to thrive and thereby grow with them.
“How does everyone seem tae be so content here without a leader?” he asked Bridget as they walked along the path. “I know ye said yer da is not the leader, but someone has tae provide for them in terms of funds.” Crops could be produced season after season, but the horses, the tools, the huts...they all took some sort of funds, and he doubted that their crop was that profitable.
She smirked, looking ahead instead of at him. “There may be a secret tae our success.”
A secret? Was that why everyone wanted this fruitful farm instead of it being a warrior camp? Was that why this farm hadn’t succumbed to any McPearson laird to this day?
“Wot sort of secret, lass?” he asked slowly, careful not to scare her away and to keep his voice light. “It cannae just be that the lasses are lovely tae look at.”
Bridget flushed, and Irvine decided it was his favorite look by far. “Nay, ’tis not the women as ye have said, but ye havenae been here long enough for me tae share our secret with ye.”
How long would he have to be there? He only had five days left before his quest would be over, and he would lose his chance at becoming laird to his great-uncle.
Irvine needed to find out what that secret was and fast.
That afternoon, once the work was completed, Irvine and Malcolm retired to their hut before dinner, which would be shared this evening since the weather was due to be clear.
“I dinnae want tae even go tae dinner,” Malcolm groaned as he lowered himself onto the narrow bed. “I cannae move mah arms.”
Irvine chuckled. “I believe that ye becoming a warrior has made ye soft.”
Malcolm threw his arm over his eyes. “Five more infernal days of this. I think ye should use tonight tae get the agreement so we can stop this misery.”
“Och, it hasnae all been a disappointment,” Irvine reminded him. “I’ve seen the way ye have ogled Merdia.”
Malcolm allowed one eye to peek out from under his arm. “And ye with Bridget. Do ye think that is wise?”
