“I will recommend it to Sir Edgar. Could they start tomorrow morning?”
“You are not shy about your requirements. Give me a few days. But if you want the behemoth, I must refuse.”
“I do not—” She stopped. “Oh. You are joking.”
He smiled, then turned to see Hector coming toward them. “Ah! here is my foreman. Hector MacDonald, this is Mrs. Blackburn.”
“Och, I saw ye coming o’er the road like a fireball, Missus! Are ye well and fine then?”
“Well and fine, sir, thank you. And thanks to Sir Aedan.”
“He has a quick hand in danger, he does. So ye’ve seen the gawpin’ hole in the hill?”
“I have, Mr. MacDonald.”
“There’s king’s gold on Cairn Drishan somewhere.” He grinned. “Arthur’s gold, they do say. My father believed it. So did his,” he added, pointing to Aedan.
“Interesting! Perhaps you could to help us find it.” She smiled.
Watching Hector’s beaming face, Aedan knew his foreman was lost. “Hector, the lady would like a crew to do some digging under her supervision. Choose three men to start work on Cairn Drishan in a few days.”
“Aye, sir. Missus.” Hector tipped his hat and walked back toward the crew.
“Thank you, sir.” Christina’s smile flashed and was gone. Quick, hot, certain lust clenched inside him. Aedan frowned, wary of how easily he was falling under her spell.
“Aye, well,” he said. “Where is your brother? Disinclined to ride with you, is he?”
“John is making some sketches of the site.” She gathered the reins.
“When you leave, Mrs. Blackburn, try to drive like a snail. I would sleep more peacefully at night knowing I would not have to chase my gig and horse again.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Or claim my soul?”
“Or that.”
“Then look forward to sleeping well.” She turned gig and horse at a slow pace that was almost saucy.
Aedan smiled to himself. “Oh, lady,” he murmured. “If only you were there beside me when I sleep.” But he shook his head to dispel the image that stirred.
Aside from her resemblance to the girl in the painting, Christina Blackburn continued to intrigue him. Prim and scholarly, sensual and lovely, her wit and spirit made her even more seductive. She stirred much in him that was private, including a strong urge to be protective. The girl had no small talent for calamity.
But he needed to be cautious. The laird of Dundrennan could not let his heart be captured. He turned Pog to guide her back down the road toward his crew.
*
“Halloo, Effie MacDonald!”Aedan called as he approached the croft house. In the afternoon light, the whitewashed walls and heather-thatched roof were bright against the hillside. “Halloo, the house!”
The door was flung open. “Och, ’tis himself, come to see auld Effie! Dora, here’s our laird!” An older woman grinned at him and waved him inside. Tall and buxom, her iron-gray hair knotted at her neck, she wore a simple striped dress and a clean apron. Gold earrings glinted as warm as the dusky rose tones in her skin. She waved in the doorway.
Aedan dismounted and led Pog into the shelter of a thatched-roof byre that protruded from one end of the house. A goat looked up, blinking its strange yellow eyes, while the shaggy black cow occupying most of the space hardly moved.
“Pardon, Flora. Hello, Hamish, you wee devil,” Aedan said as he lifted a burlap sack to spill oats into a manger. He headed for the house where Effie MacDonald waited.
“Come in, lad,” she said, welcoming him into the dim, smoky interior. A young woman stood silently beside the fire. “Bide a wee. I’ve just made tea, and Dora baked scones with currants and cinnamon.”
“Dora!” he called. “I’m here, lass.” He walked toward her. The dark-haired girl held out her hands, smiling. Her brown dress complemented the pretty bronzed tones in her cheeks that were a share of her grandmother’s Gypsy heritage. Aedan took Dora’s hands, her slender fingers calloused. Her lovely dark eyes were unfocused and slightly clouded.
“Aedan!” She accepted his gentle kiss on her cheek. “Sit by me.” He settled beside her on a long wooden bench.
