Chapter 3
Angus twisted around and stared at Shona’s retreating back.Lasses!She’d bolted, when he’d asked about how Seamus treated her. At first he thought his question had insulted her or she was reluctant to answer and so invented the need to leave. Then he saw Seamus. Given her abrupt departure, he must have summoned her. Angus shrugged. At least this time, she hadn’t fled over something he’d said or done.
He thought back over their conversation. He hadn’t found out anything, really. She’d told him no secrets, not as far as he could tell. Nothing extraordinary. So, what made her so enticing he risked rumors in the clan and censure by the elders? He knew they’d never agree to him taking up with her, certainly not if Colin claimed her. Nor did he want to be the lesser of two evils for her. And yet…
And yet, he couldn’t stop watching the way her hips swayed as she hurried to her uncle, or how her coppery braid fell down the middle of her back and her hands clenched into fists.
What? Aye, her hands were clenched.
He turned away, shaking his head. He wanted to, but he dared not chase after her. That would set tongues wagging faster than anything else he could do. Instead, he stood and spent a few minutes with the lowlander mason, Thomas, talking over the tasks remaining today, then signaled for work to begin again.
An hour later, they’d made little progress. New lads joined the ground crew to relieve men who’d worked since sunup—including some of the other lowlanders like Thomas who’d stayed with the clan rather than take their chances returning to the south. One of the MacAnalens discovered the next beam had been cut too short. The men were tired and grumbling. If Angus hadn’t been so determined to see the roof finished in the next few days, he would have called a halt. Instead, he called for another beam.
“Come on, lads, let’s get on with it.” The oaths answering his direction could have singed his ears. They certainly were not fit for the nearby lasses’ ears.
He grimaced and turned away from them. Shona had disappeared, which was for the best. He could not expect her to watch him every moment of the day. She had her own issues to deal with. Her uncle for one.
With a shrug, he turned his attention back to the crew on the ground and swore when he realized what they were doing.
“Nay, no’ like that!”
With another oath, he jumped to the scaffolding and clambered to the ground. The way the new lads were tying off this latest beam, it would have slipped its knots and fallen before the men above could lift it in place, crushing anyone below. Angus controlled his temper and knelt to show the lads—who were trying to help, he reminded himself—the correct way to lash the beam.
Suddenly a thump, followed by shouts, broke through his irritation. Would nothing go right today? He glanced up in time to see the end of a beam punch through a newly constructed wall, scattering stones and chunks of wet mortar. Just as he gained his feet and yelled for the lads to get clear, the beam disappeared from the wall, and the stones above it collapsed into the shoulder-height hole it left. Then the whole wall tumbled down, one of the stones grazing a lad’s leg. The lad cursed but kept moving, limping out of the way.
Beyond, a team of men stood with the beam on their shoulders, expressions aghast at the havoc they’d caused. As one man, they backed away, then dropped their burden with an audible thump. One of them called out, “Sorry.”
Angus made sure no one else had been harmed, then ordered everyone off the structure. Groaning, he ran a hand through his hair. Stonework was the hardest, most backbreaking task, and they would have to rebuild this whole section of wall. In addition, they’d have to check the adjoining sections carefully, as well as the roofing above them, for damage.
In the last few months, Angus had tolerated much. But this? He felt his temper rising as it had yet to do since the awful days of the lowlander invasion and again on the day he’d lost the election. He marched around the tumbled wall to a chorus of accusatory shouts. When he reached the men, they fell silent. The odor of ale assaulted Angus’s nose.
“Sorry?” he demanded. “Aye, ye’re sorry. Ye are a sorry lot. Drinking too much and no’ taking care with yer work.” He clenched his fists. “If we had any stocks, I’d throw ye lot in them. If we didna have to build them first. Like every other damned thing. Do ye ken what ye’ve done?”
Three of the men had their gazes on the ground. Another, the one in the lead as they’d moved forward, eyed him with the surly confidence of a man fully in his cups and announced, “Ye are no’ the laird.” A few of his fellows angrily silenced him. At the sound of “aye” from others, Angus narrowed his eyes. He wanted to pummel them all for several reasons—the sloppy work, the taunt, and their drunkenness—but that would accomplish nothing.
To make matters worse, Thomas and some of his men stormed up, cursing and demanding to know who had laid their hard work to waste.
Angus pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. This was partly his fault. He’d insisted on continuing the work even after he’d noticed the men’s fatigue. Drinking ale didn’t help, but even he had done that. And his mind had been on Shona more than the work at hand. He hadn’t exactly been paying close attention. But he also hadn’t been carrying the beam that knocked down the wall.
“Ye men did this,” Angus ground out, “so ye will help the stonemason repair it.”
“We willna,” the man who’d first objected challenged. “’Tis his task, no’ ours.”
“Ye’ll do as Angus tells ye,” Thomas growled, squaring off with the malcontent. “Ye’ve made more work for me and my men, so ye’ll help repair what ye’ve ruined.”
“I’ll complain to the laird.”
Angus held his ground. “Ye do that. When ye do, make sure to tell the Council why the hall they’re so eager for will now take even longer to finish.”
Silence greeted his pronouncement. He preferred silence, he supposed, to someone pulling a dirk, but he watched carefully, just the same.
Angus had lost count of how many times over the winter he’d regretted he was not truly the laird and had no real authority, but those regrets were nothing compared to his regret over the situation he found himself in since the election. MacAnalen had chosen a laird, which meant Angus now had even less authority than he’d been ceded before the election. When would Colin step in?
“Ye lot will work for the stonemason until all this is repaired,” he repeated, more forcefully this time. He might not be laird, but he’d led the repairs in the village for months. He counted on that history working in his favor—the men were used to obeying him. “Now go.”
A chorus of groans and more oaths rent the air, including those from Thomas and his helpers, but the men moved off under the stonemason’s watchful eye.
Angus turned to survey the damage, hands on hips, lips compressed into a grim line. Nay, he wasn’t laird, but if he didn’t set a good example, he could not expect the men to do any better. He had to keep his mind off Shona and on the task at hand. Which, at the moment, meant soothing Thomas’s ruffled feathers.
