Could she? She didn’t know how to knit, so that was out. But she’d sewn trinkets for her Etsy shop. “Yeah. I think I can.” She pulled one hand out from between his and studied her fingers. “I’d just need some cloth. And fur. And a sewing needle and thread.”
“Eithne should be able to help you with the material you’ll need.”
Today’s conversation with Eithne had given her an idea. She put both her hands in her lap and turned to face him, straightening her back. “Can you ask the council if I can speak to them?”
His brow furrowed, his eyes searching her face. “I can speak on your behalf. What would you like me to ask of them?”
She shook her head. “I’d like to speak to them myself. I found out that the council is all men.”
He nodded.
“And I want to see if they’ll allow some of the older women to join.”
Sure, she didn’t plan to stay, but after all she’d endured from her ex, it didn’t sit right—she couldn’t let other women be completely dependent on their men if she could help it. And if she could leave this place having accomplished something meaningful, she would.
He cocked his head to the side. “Why would they want to do that?”
“So they can be a voice for the women.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “The men are perfectly capable of acting on their behalf.”
She bit her lip. These were different times and she had to be careful. “But they can’t. Not really. Women can bring a different perspective. They see and hear things that the men don’t.”
Connall stared at the fire. “I’ll see about getting you an audience.” He uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on his knees, leaning toward her. “But you must understand—life has become more dangerous. Ever since those Romans arrived, they’ve pushed people from the land. Raids and wars increased. We believed things were finally settling down to peace until…” He scowled at the fire.
“Until you were raided this winter.”
“Aye.” He stood abruptly and leaned a forearm against the wall, staring down into the hearth fire. “We don’t know where they came from.”
The fire’s light flickered across his strong profile. Even doing something as simple as leaning against a friggin’ wall, he was decidedly masculine. All powerful muscles, poised and capable for action.
“What procedures have you set in place to prevent another raid?”
“There’s not much we can do. Lookouts are stationed atop the keep at all times. But that only grants us the narrowest window to effect a proper defense.”
An idea formed. During their trek along the Antonine Wall, she’d seen several spots where the wall jutted out, and on top was a pyramid of sticks. She assumed it was some sort of signal fire. “Would it help if you could have more time?”
…
Connall poked an iron into the fire, appreciating that his wife was discussing tribal matters with him. He’d take any such evidence as a good sign. Additionally, he knew her well enough to know he should hear her out. She was a smart one. “Aye, but eyes would need to be stationed up and down the coast. What time we gained would be mostly lost while they raced back with a warning.”
She leaned forward. “What if you could know as soon as those eyes spotted the invaders?”
“Not even Mungan’s magic could accomplish such.” Glad he was to have something to occupy his hands, however, as he poked the fire to a fuller blaze. Being so close to her was testing his resolve. At first, he’d been focused on accomplishing his goal—find a wife and keep her. But every day with Ashley showed him that this need—while still valid—was simplistic. He didn’t want any wife. He wanted Ashley—her fire and ingenuity.
Her presence calmed him.
“We could create a signal tower.”
He turned sharply to her. “Explain.”
“We’d need to keep it simple so that we can build them quickly, but remember those structures we saw at the Roman fort? The wooden hut on stilts?”
He nodded. “They guarded the entrances.”
“What if we created some structures like that, placed on top of high hills overlooking the water?”
He shook his head. It wasn’t that he was dismissing her—he simply wasn’t following. “We’d have no guarantee that the raiders would pass close enough for the men inside to attack.”
She smiled, squirming on the bench with what looked like delight. “But that wouldn’t be their purpose here. Smoke can be seen from a distance. We could stack wood at the top of one of them, ready to be set on fire. When the lookouts spotted raiders, they light it up. The men watching from the keep would know that smoke coming from that direction signaled danger.”
Connall gasped and straightened, fresh energy coursing through him at the possibility. “That could work.” He glanced over her shoulder, assessing the steps. “First, we’d have to search from atop the keep for spots where we could still see smoke from a fire. And if we use birch wood for the fire and topped it with damp wool, it would create more smoke.”
“And if we end up having time, we could make a string of them. One could signal the next, and the next, until the closest one to here was able to set their wood ablaze.”
His body tensed from the overwhelming urge to wrap her up in a hug and kiss his clever wife.
If this worked…
Chapter Ten
Excitement thrummed through Connall. Anything that could help his people was welcome. He marched to the door and yanked it open. “The sun hasn’t yet set.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. She’d risen and come partway to him, which for some reason gave him hope. When it came to her, he grasped at every thread of hope he could find. “Let’s go to the top of the keep and see if we can find our first locations.”
Her eyes lit up, and she closed the distance. Feeling as if he’d made progress with her already, he held out his hand and his heart swelled when she readily placed hers in it with no hesitation. He’d worried that returning home would remind her of her situation and her determination to resist him.
His heart full, he tugged her through the door and broke into a run, laughing.
She laughed beside him. At the last stretch of steps, they had to split apart to climb, single-file, but she was right behind him, her breaths even and her steps strong and sure—another sign. How different from when she first arrived.
Inside the keep, he grabbed a torch and, ignoring his father’s stare and those of the council members sitting around the hearth fire, he led her to the keep’s steps. “After you.” He pointed up with the torch, and she dashed past him.
When they reached the next floor, she stopped. “I haven’t been up here.”
He stepped up behind her and held the torch high, letting its light illuminate the room. It was the same size as the room below.
She angled her face up to his. “What do you use this room for?”
“Storage, mostly. But in instances of danger, we herd everyone in the village into this room and barricade ourselves within.”
He motioned to the steps spiraling upward. “One more set of stairs. The sun is setting, and I’m eager to see what could work.”
She strode upward, and he kept a steady hand at her back, for these steps were narrower and steeper. Soon she halted, and he carefully maneuvered up behind her, sharing the narrow step. Having her so near, her body lightly brushing up against his, set him aflame. He resisted the urge to bend down and nestle his nose into her sweet-smelling hair. He’d made progress, aye, but he didn’t dare ruin it.
He closed his eyes—must ignore that urge and the stronger one which wished for nothing more than to grip her around the waist and pull her hard up against his growing arousal. Cursing softly, he opened his eyes—his lust quelled—and pushed open the door above their heads.
The wood clattered against the walkway with
a bang, and light streamed in. He tucked his torch into a receptacle in the stairwell, for they’d need it on their return, and followed Ashley outside.
As a child, he always loved coming up here. While one couldn’t see all the way around in one spot—for the domed thatched roof formed a barrier—one could stroll about and see all. He led her along the perimeter until they reached the westward-facing section. The most likely raiders came from the open sea.
He nodded to the two sentries. “We’ll keep watch until the sun sets. Go warm yourselves by the fire.” They rushed out, eager for the warmth of fire and spirits.
He braced a hand along the bulwark and shielded his eyes from the setting sun’s rays. The wind—strong this high off the ground—buffeted him, and he shook his head to clear his hair away from his eyes. At the brush of Ashley’s arm on his, he tugged her in front of him so that she was shielded on both sides. Her body trembled against his, and he pulled her up against him. To keep her warm, was all. ’Twas a coincidence that it was precisely what he’d been wishing to do not a moment before.
She searched the horizon, as eager to implement this plan, as he. ’Twas a brilliant idea, truly.
To the southwest, a line of hills ranged southward, overlooking the open sea. He pointed and spoke directly into her ear to be heard over the wind. “There. We could place the first one on that farthest hill.”
“What lies south of there? We could put a second one on another hill or a cliff, extending our reach.”
“Machar would know.”
They hurried around to the north end of the walkway and repeated the process, finding another likely spot for a signal tower.
When the sun set, they’d found three great locations—two to watch the approach from the open sea, and one to watch the river.
“I’ll speak to my father. I don’t see why we can’t start right away.” He tucked her against him, her shapely body molding to his. The sun’s rays lent the air a pink glow, reflected in the still waters of the loch.
Something eased inside him to have her here, working together to help his tribe. Their tribe. For she was one of them now.
One of The Horse People.
He refused to worry over whether she’d choose to return to her time.
His couplings with women in the past had been a matter of satisfying lust on both sides. And while, aye, he lusted after this woman, he also relished these moments where they shared space together. Shared a quiet moment. With no expectations or demands.
Ashley’s hair whipped in front of her, the braid coming loose. She brushed the strands back, but more joined the others to twist and jump in the wind. He hummed and placed his palms on her forehead. She stilled, and he slowly drew his hands back, smoothing and gathering her hair as he went. When he had the locks gathered at her nape, he made a fist and held it there for her.
She tilted her head, her gaze clashing with his. Blood roared through him, for desire danced in the depths of her eyes. He wound her hair tightly around his fist and slowly, so slowly, lowered his head.
His mouth inches from hers, her sweet breath brushing against his skin, he searched her eyes, vigilant for any sign of hesitation. Ancestors help him, he wanted to crash his mouth onto hers and take. Claim.
Be gentle.
If he spooked her now, there might not be enough time before the spring equinox to mend the error. And a kiss, freely given, could stop there, could it not?
Her eyes fluttered shut, and her face tilted closer. He nearly groaned. Unable to hold off any longer, he closed the distance and skimmed his lips against hers. A barely-there pass, but oh it was as if his body knew sensation for the first time, for the velvety pillow of her lips dragged against his and it felt like everything. Urgency pounded through his veins, but he held himself in check.
He cupped the back of her head and brushed his other hand up her jaw, cradling her face. Again, he trailed his lips against hers, this time giving the lower lip a gentle nibble. Her breath escaped her on a gasp, and her mouth parted.
Just one taste.
His skin sizzling with need—need to take her, need to taste her, need to claim her—he brushed his tongue briefly inside her mouth.
So sweet. Like the honey he’d once filched as a lad, but spicier.
He gently stroked, getting lost in her, and she matched his movements. A tiny groan from the depths of her throat inflamed him further. Mo Chreach. He held the most delicate and beautiful flower in his hands. Her nectar…intoxicating. The headiness of it all, of finally tasting her, holding her, swamped his senses.
He stepped closer, eager to feel her body against his. His need prodded her belly, and she gasped into his mouth, but instead of pulling away, she increased the urgency of their kiss, her hands digging under his mantle to grab his shoulders.
And then his heart raced even faster, for she moved her hips slightly. Yes. She wanted him. He pressed her harder against the wall, trying to still her movements, for he’d not take her for the first time on the keep’s walkway. He angled his head and deepened the kiss, which grew headier, more frantic.
And then a bang doused him as cold as a bucket of water. He sprang away from her, heart in his throat, and spun around so that he stood between her and the source of the noise.
But then his heart slowed to its normal pace, for ’twas only the watchmen returning for the rest of their shift.
The sun had set.
He reached for her to escort her below and caught a flash of regret. His chest tightened. And then he cursed himself—his plan had been for her to initiate. And he should have stretched matters until she kissed him.
While he’d accomplished his desire to find locations for her signal towers, he’d ruined his plans by giving in to his desire for her.
…
“It’s coming together.” Ashley slid off her horse and peered up at the men who’d been laboring for the last two days on the structure taking shape on top of the hill—their first signal tower. The wind was stronger up here, whipping some strands from her braid and stinging her cheeks.
She adjusted her new mittens, wiggling her fingers inside them. She’d used leather for the palm side, and tartan cloth for the other side, and then lined it with rabbit fur. To keep them around her wrist, she used leather string, but it meant Connall or someone else had to tie them on for her. In a pinch, she used her teeth. She’d craft a better solution, but for now, they worked.
Whenever he put them on her, she straightened, feeling a bit like a boxer having their gloves tied on. Arming herself for battle—a battle against her growing attraction for him and her tenuous hold on her life back in San Francisco.
And she needed whatever metaphorical strength she could grab—she’d been so, so ready to have a Highland fling with him, but after she’d finally kissed him?
Oooh boy.
Bad, bad idea.
Because that kiss wasn’t just a kiss.
And so…sex?
Her heart tripped—it wouldn’t just be sex. Her fling window had sailed right on past.
Connall stepped up beside her, his arm brushing hers. His horse came to a stop on the other side of him, its head arching down to nibble on the grass. He smiled down at her. “Aye, it is.”
The morning after they’d discussed the idea, Connall had been holed up with the council, who immediately agreed and devised a plan. Since it couldn’t be purely of wood, like the Roman watchtower, or it would burn to the ground the first time they signaled, they’d had to alter the design. For one thing, the support beams were stouter, because it had to hold up a stone-lined roof.
A line of men trudged up the hill with horses laden with river rocks. She and the elderly women had been scouring the loch and river bank for the last two days and creating piles of the flattest they could find for the men to collect. They still needed more.
However, she and Connal
l couldn’t resist loading up their horses and bringing over the first load so they could see the progress. This was as far up as their horses could go; the rest was a steep climb to the summit. To make it easier to haul the rocks, a relay of men lined the approach, handing up wicker baskets of stone. The entire slope had been cleared of trees, shrub, and fern to make not only the construction easier, but to also provide an unobstructed view to the Sound of Jura. From her leather hide, she’d learned the village of Crinan would later occupy the base of this hill.
The stilts and crossbeams of the tower were already in place, and the workers on the ground fed lumber to those at the top, who were busy lashing them together to create the lookout station.
Connall grinned down at her, pride shining in his eyes, one of his front braids blowing under his chin from the wind, as if highlighting his strong jaw. He lifted the bags of river rock slung over her horse’s back, his muscles bunching under his kilt. “We should be done with this first one in another few days.” Her horse sidestepped and seemed to do a wiggle now as if delighting to be free of his heavy burden.
Slinging and arranging the bags around his own shoulders, Connall brought the stones the last couple of yards to the base of the incline, where one of the men took it from him and passed it to the next. Connall conversed with some of the men on the line, who all stared up at the top and nodded, grins wide on all their faces.
It struck her that this was the first time she’d seen many of them smiling. Some were still in mourning from the raid, and this project was helping to lift their spirits, if even only temporarily. It felt good to be doing something constructive. Leave a little stamp before she returned to her own time.
She nuzzled her horse’s neck, enjoying his earthy scent as well as his warmth against her face.
Connall returned. “They’re not reporting any major problems, but I’ll need to be returning to supervise with the clearing and cutting of the rest of the timber.”
Some Like it Plaid Page 12
