Page 23 of Tempting the Highland Captive

CHAPTERELEVEN

Ron and Amelia slept for most of the day, only rising when Maggie arrived with the evening meal. Chagrined that he had slept so long, Ron left Amelia in Maggie’s care and went down to make certain that Lucas had returned and had found the supplies he had brought back from town for the village reconstruction. He found the captain of the guard sitting with his men in the great hall eating supper. Ron nodded in greeting and sat down opposite the red giant. A serving maid brought him a trencher of food and he dived in with gusto. He had not realized how hungry he was as he had not eaten much on his journey. “Any trouble?” he asked Lucas when he stopped to take a breath.

Lucas shook his head. “Rossell is back on his own lands, for now.” Those last words hung in the air like an ominous threat.

“We’ll be ready for him,” Ron replied, his own tone holding an equal threat. Both men would have gladly killed Michael Rossell and not thought twice about it. “Did ye find the supplies?”

“Aye, but I have nae had an opportunity tae put them tae use. Needed sleep,” he explained, and Ron nodded his head in understanding.

“Aye, as did I. Slept longer than I intended.”

Lucas nodded again in understanding. “How is the lass? Maggie told me what happened upon yer return.”

“She appears to be somewhat better this morning, but she is going to need her rest. ‘Twas a bad burn that she got the night o’ the fire and yet she continued working all through it without cleaning it or anything. Maggie is taking care o’ her now.”

“’Twas good o’ ye tae stay with her.”

Ron shrugged his shoulders. “She is my wife.”

Lucas grunted, but Ron could see a softening in the man’s eyes toward him. “They did well in the village cleaning up after the fire. ‘Twill nae be long afore we can rebuild.”

“Good.” Ron was pleased to hear it. He knew that rebuilding the village was chief among Amelia’s concerns. He finished his food and stood. “I’ll go and see what I can do tae be o’ assistance, then.”

Lucas, having finished his meal, also arose. “I’ll go with ye.”

The two men left the other warriors at the table and made their way down to the village. Night was falling, but the men had lit torches and set them about the area to continue working, taking shifts to eat, and then returning to work some more. The debris had been cleared away and what could be saved had been stacked off to the side to reuse during reconstruction. Plots were being re-laid out and string attached to sticks was being placed to designate where and what sizes the various buildings would be. Father Jacob stood beside one of the string structures studying it closely. Lucas and Ron went to join him.

“Faither,” they greeted in unison, and the priest nodded in return.

“How is the lass?” the priest inquired, his eyes showing his concern. “I have nae ceased tae pray for her since hearing o’ her misfortune.”

“She is improving,” Ron answered, reassuring him. “A few days rest and she will be good as new.”

“Praise be,” the priest replied, crossing himself. “She worked as hard as any man. Her faither would have been proud.”

“Nae an easy task tae accomplish,” Lucas pointed out.

“The laird was nae an easy man,” Father Jacob agreed.

“He should have made Amelia laird,” Ron stated matter of fact, not apologizing for the disrespect of disagreement to the dead. “She is more than worthy and capable.”

“Aye, she is at that,” Lucas agreed, looking at Ron with surprise. “I tried tae tell him that, but he would nae listen.”

“As did I,” Father Jacob admitted. “We had many conversations over the years about it, but I was ne’er able tae sway him.”

Ron looked down at the string outline and back up at the priest. “Was this yer house, Faither?”

The priest shook his head. “Nae, I have a small room at the back o’ the kirk. This is my brother’s house. He has ne’er been verra good at making straight lines, so I told him I would place the string for him. What do ye think? Will it suffice for a man with three bairns and a wife?”

“Aye, ‘twill be grand,” Lucas nodded in approval, clapping the priest on the back in comradery.

“Who is yer brother?” Ron asked, curious.

“Angus is the village blacksmith. Ye may have seen him in the hall, braw dark-haired man with a streak o’ white.”

“Looks as if he swings an anvil instead o’ a hammer,” Lucas chimed in.

“Angus is my youngest brother,” Father Jacob informed, his eyes shining with pride. “He is a good man, a good worker and provider.”