by Audrey Adair
This could be of great use to his business. It would certainly put him far ahead of any other competitor, particularly in the countryside. And the wind — well, there was certainly no cost to the wind.
He thought of taking the blueprints and the prototype with him, but looking outside he could see men working in the yard and knew that was not an option. It was far too likely that he would be caught. No, he would have to think of another way to make this idea his own. He wasn’t quite sure how yet, but he knew in time he would figure it out. He always did.
When Rebecca woke, she found herself alone in the room for a few minutes before Peggy came in to check on her.
“Oh! You’re awake. How lovely,” said the girl, crossing from the door toward her on the bed. Peggy had beautiful dark waves of hair that pooled around her shoulders.
“Your hair is so lovely,” Rebecca murmured.
“It’s the devil to manage, though,” Peggy answered in a rueful tone. “When I wear it down, it gets in the way.”
Rebecca frowned thoughtfully. “Do you ever wear it up?”
“Ach, I try not to. It’s so heavy when I tie it back, my head pounds fiercely. Anyway, never mind that. How are you feeling?”
“Much better,” she said, smiling at the girl. “Is my father still here?”
“Nay, he is not,” said Peggy, her face becoming guarded. “He left this morning after breaking his fast. You shall see him soon, I’m sure, though, as Mother said you would likely be able to try walking around a bit today.”
Rebecca wasn’t sure about that. Her leg felt better, true, but there was still quite a twinge when she moved it, and she could hardly think about actually bearing any of her weight upon it.
“You shall have help,” said Peggy with a gleam in her eye. “When Father fell and hurt his leg some years ago, Adam fashioned these sticks that Father held under his arms to help him walk. I have no idea how he came up with them, but they really helped Father get around the castle and the yard. Anyway, he still has them. All Adam has to do is whittle them down some so that they’ll fit your height.”
“No, no, please do not go to so much trouble,” Rebecca said, raising a palm. “I’ll rest a couple of more days, and then I’ll be fine to leave you.”
Peggy’s lips turned into a pout. “Oh, you must try these. Adam will be ever so pleased if they work for you, and it will give us a chance to explore!”
“Explore?”
“Oh aye, I do so want to show you the rest of the castle and the bailey. Have you ever been in a Scottish castle before?”
“No, unless you count Darfield, I can say that is one thing — among many — that I have yet to do,” answered Rebecca, feeling the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile at the thought of seeing more of the castle, and also having someone to spend some time with.
“Oh, we will have such fun,” said Peggy with a grin, “I’ll return shortly with your walking sticks!”
She flew out of the room, her long, unbound dark hair flowing behind her, and her spirit was contagious as Rebecca looked forward to getting out of bed. When she had decided to journey north to the Highlands, she could never have imagined anything like the situation in which she currently found herself, and yet, despite getting shot — shot! — she was oddly enjoying herself. Here, in this home, she had found people who seemed to genuinely care about her, even though they had no idea who she was and her father had been so very rude to them.
She pushed herself up from the pillow and scooted to sit on the side of the bed, her short legs dangling over the edge. She used her arms to push herself forward, until she was finally standing on her good leg, her toes sinking into the rug covering the floor. She was slowly making her way over to the bowl of water in the corner by using the mattress to support her weight when a knock came at the door. It was pushed open to reveal the blonde woman who Rebecca had remembered as Kyla, as well as another woman carrying a bathtub. More women she didn’t recognize and a handful of older children trooped in, each carrying buckets full of steaming water, which they dumped into the tub before taking their leave.
“Oh, bless you!” said Rebecca as the last of them walked out through the door, leaving just Kyla and the other woman. “I was so longing for a bath. I thought to splash some water on my face, but this shall be simply heavenly.”
Kyla laughed. “I can imagine so. When Peg came running downstairs in a flutter about you getting out of bed and exploring, Jane and I figured you would perhaps enjoy a proper soak first. Martha here will help you get undressed and into the bathtub. When you’re finished, Peggy will come collect you. She is currently down with Adam, having him rig up some contraption or other for you. We shall see you soon.”
With a smile, the beautiful woman sailed out the door. Rebecca looked after her wistfully. If only she could command a room like that. The woman was so strong, so sure of herself. Rebecca pushed aside her envious feelings and focused on removing the borrowed nightgown she had been wearing since she arrived. With Martha’s assistance, Rebecca soon found herself relaxing in the warm rose-scented water, which seemed to soothe away her worries… for the moment at least.
Peggy was true to her word, arriving shortly after Rebecca’s bath ended. She carried the curious walking sticks she had mentioned earlier. There were two of them, and on the top was fashioned cloth sewn over straw.
“It’s for padding,” said Peggy, as she showed Rebecca how to use them. “You place them under your arms, and you can then give them your full weight when you would normally step down with your injured foot. If you use them too long, after some time it may become rather sore under your arms, but you should be fine for today!”
“Ingenious,” Rebecca murmured, admiring the design.
“Yes,” Peggy nodded, “That’s Adam. He is both creative and intelligent, my mother says. I believe he may have taken the creativity for all of us.”
She laughed.
“Come, I’ll show ye around.”
Peggy led her out of the chamber and down the hall, showing her the other bedrooms, as well as the dark, masculine study her father shared with Finlay. With some effort, Rebecca managed to follow Peggy up the stairs, which were in the corner of two corridors in somewhat of an L-shaped pattern, to view her mother’s sitting room. This room was much more feminine, with beautiful embroidered pillows and wall hangings, as well as vases filled with flowers. It was comfortable, and Rebecca could see it being a rather lovely place to spend time.
More stairs led to additional bedrooms, including Peggy’s own, and Rebecca was becoming a bit confused as to who slept where, but she paid it no mind. The steps went round and round as they led up, the castle built as a tall tower manor. When it was time to descend the stairs Rebecca found herself in trouble. It was much more difficult to place her weight on the sticks going down, though she managed with Peggy’s help.
Finally, they made it back to the main floor, where Peggy showed her the dining room and what Rebecca would call the drawing room area, where the family often gathered after meals. She was becoming fairly tired after the lengthy tour but tried not to let it show as Peggy’s enthusiasm remained high.
“Now to the yard,” said the girl, who Rebecca felt was likely her own age but so much more vivacious, as she led her out the front doors.
Rebecca’s walking sticks sank into the grass, but she managed to keep going.
“Here’s the stable, where we keep most of our own animals. We have others that are tended to by some of the crofters. Then over here….”
“What is that building?” Rebecca asked of the remaining small brick building in the corner of the yard.
“Oh, that? I’m not sure what it was originally, but now it’s Adam’s workshop, I suppose you’d call it. Where he goes to think and design. Do you want to see it?”
Rebecca did. She hadn’t seen the man since yesterday, and she longed to again, although she told herself she was being silly. She knew he thought her a helpless Englishwoman, one who did
not listen to reason and caused him only trouble. Yet … she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him. Perhaps it was because of the way he had leapt into action to help her. Or perhaps it was because she had spent the past two days in his bed with far too much time to dream. Either way, the man had not been far from her thoughts since she’d met him, and she wanted to know more about him.
She suddenly realized Peggy was looking at her questioningly, and she came back the moment with a start. “Ummm, sure why not?” she said, attempting nonchalance, and Peggy led her across the yard, finally coming to a halt in front of the small stone building.
Peggy gave a quick knock before pushing open the door. His back was to them, and when they entered he didn’t look up, but held up a finger, telling them to wait just a moment. Rebecca took the opportunity to study him once more. His brow was furrowed as he bent over the large sheet of paper in front of him, a kilt draped around his hips, his strong, bare calves peeking out beneath and his golden chest on display atop. It was rather warm in here, as the July sun had crested in the sky and the small window offered little air movement. She felt her mouth go dry, and wasn’t sure if she could attribute it to the warm room, the physical exertion from wandering the castle or … or something else.
9
Adam was pleased that he had finished what he determined would be his initial design. Not that any design was ever complete, but it was a good base from which to start. His idea was to not only turn the wind energy into electricity, but store it as well. He knew of the electricity that was being used to light London and similar cities. Could it be of use here? It was not as if they needed streetlamps, but he thought perhaps even better would be using such a source to provide power to strenuous activities the crofters were used to doing. Perhaps there was a way to bring water up out of a well, or even power equipment to lessen the burden on the workers in the field or the barns. How helpful that would be.
He chewed on his thumbnail in thought, before remembering his sister and Rebecca were standing at the door. He determined he was not going to solve this problem in mere minutes, and turned to address them.
“Ladies,” he said, leaning against the writing desk in front of him. “How fare ye today?”
“Well, thank you,” said Rebecca before Peggy answered with a “fine, thanks.”
All was silent for a moment, until Adam noticed Peggy looking back and forth between him and Rebecca. He knew he seemed a fool, as his gaze was locked on hers, neither of them saying anything further. She had taken him aback, however. She was dressed in his family’s plaid, and he realized Peggy must have loaned it to her, as it seemed to be gathered behind her, clearly far too big for her. And yet … it looked rather well on her. Like the perfect fit.
Adam finally cleared his throat and broke the silence. “It is good to see you are well enough to get around.”
She laughed a little nervously, though why, he wasn’t sure. “Oh, yes! Peggy provided me with a tour of your home. It is lovely. And I must thank you so much for these tools that allow me to walk. They are rather useful. Have you ever thought of selling them?”
“Selling them?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, her blue eyes darting up toward him. “You could patent them, I’m sure of it, and fetch quite the dollar for the design.”
“Actually, Rebecca, I do not need to make money off of my crafts. I merely mean to better the lives of those who may require it.”
“But is that not what you would do? Better so many more lives?” she asked. “Sure, you would make money off of them as well, but you would reach so many more people that—”
“All is well as it is, Rebecca,” he said, cutting her off, though somewhat gently, and her face flushed pink. He felt a bit of an ogre for his shortness with her, but he had to make her understand.
He noted Peggy’s continued stare, and he knew why she was curious. He wasn’t typically so abrupt. He was serious, though usually much more friendly. There was something about this girl, though — something that brought out a different side of him.
“I — ah — forgot something in the keep,” Peggy said, slowly inching her way out the door. “I’ll return in a moment. Just — just wait here, Rebecca,” she said, before leaving, shutting the door behind her.
“What are you working on?” Rebecca asked him, breaking the silence and the awkwardness that stretched between them.
“Nothing of note,” he said, shrugging and covering the papers in front of him. He didn’t wish to have a stranger look over his plans. It was akin to showing a part of himself, of the innermost thoughts and plans of his mind. “I do not believe you would be interested.”
“Let me see — please?” she asked. “I enjoy such things, truly I do. My father — well, not so much my father — but those he works with create designs as well. I find them fascinating when I am able to learn of them. My father would rather I focus on other things, but his business partner sneaks me into the plant.”
He studied her, confused as to who this girl — woman? — truly was. She did not seem to be the genteel Englishwoman he had initially thought her to be, and yet she still had a delicate countenance to her that evoked a feeling of protectiveness in him, making him want to shield her from any and all who meant to do her harm. Not that he had any business being the man to do so, he knew. He was nothing — the son of a chieftain, true, but in the Scottish Highlands, that didn’t mean much anymore. The chieftain was simply the man who had the responsibility of ensuring his family’s survival. It was not a duty he envied, though his father, and now his brother, Finlay, had done a fine job of it.
Unable to resist her pleading eyes any longer, he finally stepped back from the writing desk, waving his hand toward it, and she hobbled over toward him. As she drew closer, he smelled the faint scent of rose rising from her skin.
“It looks like a windmill but … on its side,” she said, her eyes roving the page. She turned to look at him, her blue eyes wide in her narrow face. “And yet, different somehow.”
“You are correct,” he said. “The idea comes from the windmill, aye. What I am looking to do is harness the wind power to convert the wind’s kinetic energy into electrical energy. It takes the idea of harnessing the power of wind, but on a smaller scale than the windmill you would typically see. This design I have in mind should keep it from any substantial damage. You see, it’s horizontal in structure, not vertical, and uses cloth sails. It would not only generate electricity but also store it for future use.”
“How does the conversion process work?” she asked, and he looked at her closely, seeing that she was genuinely interested.
No one had ever shown true regard for his work before. His brothers and sister, his parents, and Kyla, would listen to his explanations and they appreciated the outcome of his experiments and inventions, but no one had ever really care how they worked, or the thought that went into them.
“Well,” he began, feeling somewhat excited at discussing his thought process. “The wind spins around the blades, or the sails, as any windmill does, of course. As the blades turn, there is a shaft they are connected to. That shaft rotates with enough force and speed to create kinetic energy. The energy is then transmitted into a generator, which turns it into electric energy. Here,” he said. “I can show you what I’m thinking.”
He walked over to the corner of the room and picked up his prototype. He felt rather vulnerable in showing her, but perhaps it would better explain what he was thinking. He placed it on the small table in the corner of the room, and when she began to hobble toward it, he reached out a hand and helped her, practically lifting her the few steps over to the bench in front of it.
As he had when he was helping his mother dress Rebecca’s wound, he felt a bit of a tremor run through him at her slight frame in his hands. She was such a wisp of a thing, and yet seemed to possess an inner strength. Where did it come from?
“Thank you,” she said, a becoming pink blush creeping up her face.
She l
eaned over the model, running her hands along the wood he had carved, moving the blades of the wind turbine he had created on such a small scale.
“Did you create this?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
“It’s incredible woodwork,” she said, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked at it.
“Oh, ’tis nothing,” he said, embarrassed at her remarks. “You should see my father’s work.”
He showed her how the thing moved, his hands settling over hers, and he felt a shock run through him where they touched. She seemed somewhat engrossed in his explanation, asking him questions about electricity that proved a far greater knowledge of it than most people possessed.
“How do you know so much about the subject?” he asked her.
“My father’s business,” she said in surprise. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. He runs a power plant.”
“Your father?” he asked incredulously. How could such a man successfully run such an operation?
“Yes, my father,” she said with a low, throaty chuckle that turned something within him, something he had not felt in a very long time. “He’s a businessman, truthfully. He began the power plant a couple of years ago with a partner, a man who does understand the workings of the operation. My father’s role is more regarding the relationships required with other vendors, owners of buildings, and the city of London. Sullivan — his partner — he has told me much of the workings of the plant, which is how I know of it.”
She paused for a moment.
“Sullivan would likely be interested in learning more of your design,” she said. “I don’t see how it would work within the city, but perhaps it would allow for an extension into the countryside, where everything is much more spread out.”
