by Baker, Katy
Finally, she climbed to her feet and stood back, wiping dust off her dress. Aibne, whose annoyed scowl had turned into one of incredulity, stepped forward and examined the stone, running his fingers over its faces. He straightened.
“Damn me!” He rumbled a laugh. “This is as good a work as I’ve ever seen! Where did ye train?”
“With my father,” she replied, feeling a pang of homesickness. “He’s a master mason.”
“He taught ye well.” Aibne shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “The world is changing and an old man like me canna keep up. Ye will be telling me that Clara is our new blacksmith next!”
Georgie laughed. “Does that mean I get a job?”
Aibne clapped her on the shoulder. “Lass, if ye can do work like that I’d give ye a job any day of the week! Lads! Say good afternoon to yer new overseer!”
BLAIR STRODE INTO THE hall with a tingle of trepidation in his stomach. He’d sent out patrols in all directions and so far they’d returned with nothing to report. All except one party—those sent to scout back along the trail he and Georgie had taken on their escape from Dun Halas. Now, it seemed they’d finally returned.
The party were waiting for him. Aiden, Gregor and Flynn, three of his best trackers were lounging at the table, still in their mud-spattered clothing whilst Clara served them mugs of ale. They looked exhausted. Brody was there already, standing in front of the fireplace with his thumbs tucked in his belt.
“Well?” Blair demanded.
Aiden, the leader of the group, knocked back his ale then wiped his mouth. He began to rise, but Blair waved him back into his seat. He looked as though he could barely stand.
“Warriors,” Aiden said. “We saw a mass movement of warriors, all heading this way.”
Blair’s stomach flipped. “Beaumont?”
Aiden shook his head. “MacGregor. Someone’s taken charge, brought them into some kind of coherent fighting force. They number around three hundred, I’d say and seemed well armed. They were looking for ye.”
“For me? Why?”
“To give ye their allegiance.”
Blair shared a glance with Brody. Unease stirred in his stomach. “And what did ye tell them?”
“Naught,” Aiden replied. “We didnae tell them where this place is and made sure none of their scouts followed us.”
Brody stirred. “Maybe we should consider letting them join us.”
Blair’s grip tightened on the pommel of his sword. “Most of the MacGregor’s warriors were wiped out when Beaumont took Dun Halas. What kind of fighters did ye see in this group?”
Aiden shrugged. “Villagers mostly. Plenty of oldsters and youths among them but they were angry and willing to fight.”
And there it was. Just as he’d feared. Oldsters and youths.
“Nay,” he growled. “I willnae lead farmers and crofters into battle. Into slaughter.”
Not again. Never again. He closed his eyes as memories assailed him. Screaming. Shouting. The stench of blood and fear. And people dying under his command.
“Ye said Beaumont has made an alliance with a foreign woman,” Brody pointed out. “And that she’s bringing him an army. If that’s true we need as many fighting men as we can get. If these people are willing to fight—”
Blair slammed his fist down on the table. “I said no! If they have any sense left they will abandon vengeance and go north, out of Beaumont’s reach. They willnae be given shelter here. Is that clear?” He glared around at his captains until they all nodded.
“Good.”
He whirled and strode from the room. He suddenly needed some air.
Chapter 8
“It’s the talk of the fortress,” Clara said as she brushed Georgie’s hair. “I wouldnae have believed it myself if I hadnae seen it with my own eyes! Old Aibne is one of the most bad-tempered men I ever met and ye’ve got him practically eating out of yer hands!”
Georgie laughed. “Hardly! I managed to complete those capstones he wanted for the top of the wall, that’s all. And he doesn’t shout at me quite as much as the others but I’d hardly call that ‘eating out of my hand’!”
“Then ye dinna know Aibne like I do!” Clara laughed.
Georgie leaned back in the chair and relaxed. It was good to be pampered and her friend had insisted on helping her get ready for the banquet tonight. When was the last time she’d done this kind of thing with a friend? Not since she was thirteen at least!
It had been a long, tiring, but satisfying day. She’d worked with Aibne and his team of workers all day—as she had for the last several—and they were finally getting somewhere with the wall repairs. Having something to do, some way to contribute, had made Georgie feel infinitely better.
The only fly in the ointment was that she’d not seen Blair for three days. He was already up and out scouting with his men when she went down to the hall for breakfast each morning and didn’t return until late at night. Her thoughts dwelled on him more than she liked.
“I have to say, I’d never heard of a female stonemason before,” Clara said with a thoughtful look on her face. “I always thought it was men’s work. How did ye learn?”
Georgie blinked, coming back to the present. “Um, I, er, my father taught me,” she said quickly. “He’s a master mason and as he didn’t have any sons, he taught his daughter instead.”
It had certainly raised a few eyebrows when she’d gone to work with Aibne, especially when she’d turned up in her overalls and apron. But what was she to do? She could hardly do stonemasonry in a dress could she? And besides, a few awkward questions were a small price to pay for the satisfaction of being able to do what she loved.
Clara nodded in understanding. “Aye, I reckon my da would have taught me soldiering if he could, but that might have been taking things a little too far.” She cocked her head. “Blair says ye are from Cornwall but Da and I went there once and their accent didnae sound like yers.”
Georgie thought quickly. She and Blair had come up with a back story that she was an English woman from Cornwall who’d been offered hospitality by Charles Beaumont and then fallen foul of his temper. It was far enough away that not many of Blair’s men would have visited it—or so they’d hoped.
“We...um...travelled around a lot,” she said.
“And do ye have a husband and children waiting for ye back in Cornwall?”
The question caught Georgie completely off guard. “No,” she floundered. “Nobody waiting for me back home except my dad. How about you?” she asked to cover her sudden discomfort. “Anyone special?”
Clara’s hand suddenly stilled. Georgie swiveled in her chair to look at her. Her friend’s expression was telling.
“There is, isn’t there? Come on, who is it?”
Clara’s cheeks flushed. “I...nobody.”
Georgie sprang to her feet and clasped Clara’s hands. “It’s someone here, isn’t it? You can tell me, Clara.”
Clara glanced away and then back again. She grinned. “Sean. We’ve known each other since we were children. I never thought of him like that before but lately...”
“You’ve realized how good-looking he is?” Georgie supplied, thinking of Blair’s red-haired captain.
“Something like that,” Clara laughed. “Naught has happened though—we’ve only talked.”
“Only talked?” Georgie said, raising her eyebrow. “Well, we’ll have to do better than that, won’t we? Come on, my hair’s fine. I reckon it’s time we went to join the men.”
Together they left Georgie’s room and made their way downstairs to the hall. Blair had declared that a feast was to be held tonight—to keep up moral and also as a proper welcome for Georgie—and it had had the desired effect. The fortress had been abuzz all day and everyone seemed to have more of a spring in their step than usual.
A wall of noise and heat hit her as Georgie and Clara stepped into the hall. It was crammed full of people, the benches filled with rowdy warriors. Only those on sentry dut
y were not in the hall and Georgie knew that Blair had put them on shifts so that they would get replaced early and take their turn in joining in the fun.
Georgie’s eyes immediately sprang to the head table, looking for Blair. There he was, seated at the place of honor, Brody at his side. He was holding an ale cup and nodding as Brody spoke in his ear.
Georgie’s stomach fluttered. He was wearing his usual plaid but this time with a sleeveless shirt underneath that left his arms bare. His blond hair framed his face in lazy waves and he’d not shaved so a light covering of stubble dusted his cheeks.
He looked up as Georgie and Clara stepped into the hall. His eyes met hers and even across the vast space of the hall she felt his stare like an electric current across her skin. He rose slowly to his feet, never taking his eyes off her.
Brody, noticing Blair’s sudden lack of attention, followed his gaze and spotted Georgie and Clara standing in the doorway. He smiled and waved them over. Blair followed Georgie’s progress as she wove through the hall towards the high table. Whilst Clara went to greet her father, Georgie came to stand in front of Blair.
“Hi.”
He stared at her for several seconds. “Georgie,” he said, a little stiffly. “I...um...I’m glad ye could join us.”
He pulled out the chair next to him and indicated for her to sit. She slid into the seat. Blair sat and rested his arms on the table and she was all too aware of how close he was, his bare skin only inches from her arm. He grabbed a jug and poured a drink which he offered to her. She took it with a grateful nod and tried a sip. It was ale, and although it was not to her liking, it was better than the whisky that she’d discovered that Highlanders drank most of the time.
The food was served in short order and Georgie was glad of the distraction. It was nothing fancy—the fortress had neither the supplies nor the staff to produce anything above the most basic of meals—but there was a hearty vegetable and venison stew which tasted just as delicious as it smelled.
“I hear ye are causing quite a stir,” Blair murmured. “Everyone is talking about the strange Cornish woman who works stone as well as old Aibne ever has. Did we not discuss ye remaining inconspicuous?”
Georgie glanced at him. He didn’t seem annoyed. He seemed...amused. There was a faint quirk to his lips and something like humor danced in his eyes.
“Inconspicuous?” she said. “This coming from a man who breaks out of jails and rides wild stallions like they’re plow horses? The day you learn to be inconspicuous, Blair MacAuley, I’ll do the same.”
He laughed, a clear sound full of pleasure. “Ha!” He raised his tankard. “I’ll drink to that!”
She bumped her cup against his and found herself smiling. “Is it true what you said? About me working stone as well as Aibne?”
He leaned close and whispered conspiratorially. “Aye. But dinna let him know I told ye that. He may seem gruff and unfeeling but he’s really a rather sensitive soul underneath.”
Georgie thought of the way Aibne had been yelling at everyone the last few days, hands on hips and scowling like a thundercloud, and she burst into laughter.
Blair watched her, smiling. “It’s good to see ye, lass.”
She went very still, her laughter vanishing. “And you,” she managed at last.
The silence between them stretched. Noise and merriment went on around them but Georgie heard none of it. Why did he have to look at her like that? Like she was the only person in the whole world?
She cleared her throat and took a sip from her cup to cover her sudden disquiet. “So, any luck with finding out what Beaumont’s planning?”
That quick, his mood changed, as mercurial as quicksilver. The humor in his gaze vanished, to be replaced by a hot flash of anger.
“None,” he growled. “The bastard has gone to ground. He hasnae left Dun Halas in three days but his patrols have tripled. We couldnae get within a mile of the castle without being spotted.”
Georgie digested this in silence. If they couldn’t get eyes on Charles Beaumont, they had no way of knowing if he and Adaira had managed to activate the arch and bring her fighters here. Even now they could be pouring through that arch, bringing their guns to this time...
No, she thought. You said yourself that Adaira didn’t seem to know how to open a portal. And besides, they don’t know where this place is, even if they had come through. We’re safe. At least for now.
The door opened, and a man strode into the hall. It took a moment for Georgie to realize it was Sean, Blair’s red-haired captain. The man was travel-stained and carried a leather satchel over one shoulder.
Blair waved him over. “Well?” he demanded. “Aught?”
Sean shook his head. “I rode as far as the border with the Camerons. Naught. He’s gone to ground all right.”
Blair nodded. “Aye. So I feared. Good work, my friend. Get yerself a drink and something to eat, I reckon ye’ve earned it.”
Sean made to walk off but hesitated when he spotted Clara sitting next to her father at the end of the high table. He gave an awkward bow.
“Mistress Clara.”
Clara blushed crimson. “Sean.”
Sean gave another awkward nod and walked off.
Blair watched the exchange, nonplussed. “What was all that about?”
Georgie raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Let’s just say that Clara and Sean have become a little more than friends, and neither of them dare tell her father about it.”
Blair’s eyebrows shot up and he barked a laugh. “Is that so? Well, we will have to straighten that out then willnae we?” He grinned, amusement shining in his eyes. “Sean! Come have a seat at the table with me! Brody can shove up and make room!”
Brody frowned then shifted along the bench, leaving a gap next to Clara. With an embarrassed expression on his face, Sean squeezed into the space between them.
“Ha!” Blair said. “Will ye look at that? Brody looks like he’s chewing on rocks!”
Georgie shook her head with a smile. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You are incorrigible.”
He turned that infectious grin on her. “Aye, I’ve heard it said.”
After the meal was finished, several of Blair’s men pushed their chairs back, took up instruments, and began playing a lively tune. One of them even started singing—and he had a half-decent voice. The song was rude enough to make Georgie blush, but the men seemed to think it highly amusing and most of them knew the words. Soon the hall was reverberating to the sound of male voices—Blair’s included—bellowing out the song.
Georgie couldn’t help but laugh. She was surprised to find that she was enjoying herself. She never would have credited such a thing only a week ago. When she’d first come to this time, she’d hated it. She’d felt nothing but fear and the all-consuming desire to go home.
But now? She’d made new friends, found herself a job of sorts, had started fitting into the life of the fortress.
And she was sitting next to a man who made her heart flutter.
Georgie lost track of time as the evening wore on. Blair stood up at one point and formally welcomed Georgie—much to her embarrassment. There was a loud cheer at this, especially from Aibne and his masons over in the far corner. To cover her discomfort, she took another swig of ale. She was a little drunk, she realized.
She yawned hugely and Blair grinned at her.
“Oh dear. Careful ye dinna swallow me.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I realized. I think I’d better go to bed.”
“And I need to check on the watch. I’ll escort ye to the door.”
He scraped back his chair and stood. Even though he’d drank who-knew how much ale tonight, he didn’t seem in the least affected. He offered her his arm, and she took it gratefully as they walked around the edge of the hall towards the door. A few glances and ribald comments were called out but Blair silenced them with a glare.
They stepped out into the corridor. The stairs to the upper levels lay
to the left, the exit to the bailey on the right. The door stood open, letting in the night breeze which felt blessedly cool after the stuffiness of the hall.
Georgie climbed onto the first step then turned to Blair. “Well, good night.”
He said nothing. Standing on the step, she was almost of a height with him. It would be so easy to put her arms around his neck and...
He raised a hand and cupped her cheek. His touch was soft, as light as a goose feather, but it sent tingles rippling through her. She found herself leaning into it.
The door banged open, making Georgie jump, and sending Blair whirling, his hand going to the hilt of the dagger strapped at his waist. But it was only one of his men, too drunk to walk straight, who staggered past them into the bailey.
Blair let out a breath and shook his head, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Now that was what I call poor timing.”
Georgie drew a deep, steadying breath. “I’d better go. Goodnight, Blair.”
He watched her steadily. “Good night, lass,” he breathed.
Before she could do something stupid, Georgie turned and fled up the stairs.
“IT’S EASIER IF YOU hold it like this,” Georgie said. She took the chisel and hammer and demonstrated what she meant. “See?”
Oswald, a gangly lad of no more than sixteen, watched with a rapt expression. “Aye, my lady.”
Georgie smiled and handed back his tools. “Have a practise on these stones, here. They’re no good for anything so don’t worry if you go wrong. Call me over when you’re done so I can have a look.”
Oswald nodded and set to work.
“It’s a lost cause,” Aibne said from behind her. The master mason had his hands on his hips and his perpetual scowl on his face as he watched Georgie’s new recruits practicing on the stones she’d found them. “Ye’ve either got the knack or ye havenae. Those three? Not even close.”
Georgie didn’t rise to the bait. This morning, as Blair was making his way to the training ground, he’d yelled over to Aibne that he’d agreed to Georgie’s plan of drafting more men into the repair teams. Until yesterday Oswald, Gregory and Arthur had been stable hands. Now they were apprentice stonemasons—much to Aibne’s disgust. He humored her only because Blair had given the order—and because he recognized that they needed more manpower if they were going to get this place anywhere near ready to face an attack.
