Chapter 13 Long, Lazy Summer Afternoons
AILEAN DUG THE trowel into the bucket of mortar, scooping up just the right amount before placing it upon the stacked-stone wall he’d been helping build.
“That’s right,” the older man working next to him instructed. “Move yer trowel like so. Always level it well before the next stone goes on.”
Ailean nodded, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm.
It was another blistering day. He could feel the skin on his bare shoulders and back prickling under the force of it.
But once again, with a sky so clear and the sun so warm, he had no intention of remaining indoors.
Helping re-thatch the tavern roof had only taken a day or two.
After that, he’d joined the team of men mending the granary wall next door.
It was good work. Honest work. As he’d told Arabella.
Over the past few days, he’d felt more settled than he had in a long while.
He could almost forget the dark cloud that hung over him: the impending trip to the Isle of Lismore, to Castle Coeffin, where Sorcha MacDougall awaited.
By all accounts, the lass was a beauty. Sweet-tempered too.
The perfect match. And he’d be helping his clan out massively by wedding her.
But he didn’t want to.
In truth, he didn’t want to go anywhere near Castle Coeffin.
And while he was out here, working alongside men he’d grown up with, he could pretend it wasn’t looming on the horizon. Just a fortnight hence.
The clip-clopping of horses’ hooves made him look up then, just as he was about to reach for another of the smooth stones they were using to rebuild the wall. His gaze alighted upon a couple on horseback—a man and a woman.
His parents.
Spying him, his father raised a hand in greeting.
However, his lack of a smile made Ailean’s gut tighten.
Things between them had grown increasingly tense of late.
Ever since that conversation, the day after Bealtunn, resentment had simmered in Ailean’s gut.
He didn’t appreciate his father making plans on his behalf, and with the passing of days, he found he couldn’t let the matter settle.
His father had no right.
His stepmother smiled, though. Her expression was as warm as always.
They drew up on the road just a few feet distant.
Then Rae beckoned him over.
Reluctantly, Ailean lowered his trowel and cast Fife and the others an apologetic look. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Wiping dried mortar from his hands, he crossed to his father.
He felt at a distinct disadvantage, dressed in dusty, dirty braies, while his father appeared cool and calm.
“A nice day for a ride,” he greeted Rae and Kylie, flashing them both an easy smile that masked his tension.
“Who knows how long this fine weather will last?” Kylie spoke up before her husband could. “We must make the most of it.”
“And we will,” Rae reassured her with a smile.
However, his expression grew stern once more when it settled upon his son.
“Nonetheless, we have much to keep us busy at present.” He paused then, a groove etching between his brows.
“Yer brother has taken on roles that ye should be occupying yerself with.”
Rae gestured then to the large patch of ground east of where they’d halted, where small pavilions were being erected.
In two days, Dounarwyse would host summer games—archery, tug-of-war, horse races, and strength competitions.
It was a welcome reprieve from work for the locals.
People would come from miles around to either participate or enjoy the spectacle.
Ailean tensed. Indeed, a lot of work had gone into organizing it. A job Lyle had happily taken on. Maybe he should point that out.
“I require yer presence in the hall tomorrow morning, Ailean,” the chieftain went on. “There are several minor disputes that need settling. I will be holding an audience … and ye shall join me.”
Silence fell.
Under normal circumstances, Ailean wouldn’t have thought twice about agreeing.
And he wouldn’t deny the chieftain now. But the edge to his father’s voice made his hackles rise.
It was as if he thought his son idle and useless, in need of being reminded of every responsibility—that he had to be wheedled and bullied into tasks.
And this attitude only made him drag his heels more.
He’d thought he’d left adolescence far behind, but something in the way his father treated him dragged them both back in time. Suddenly, Rae was an irate father and Ailean a surly youth.
“I’ll be there,” he said curtly, unable to hide the irritation in his voice.
“See that ye are,” Rae replied.
His gaze shifted past Ailean’s shoulder to the partially repaired wall of the granary store.
“Ye have toiled hard these past days,” he said then, his tone softening slightly. “And it’s good for a laird to work alongside his men … but the real work is with me, son.”
Next to Rae, Kylie’s brow furrowed. She cast her husband a warning look, but he wasn’t focused on her—only on Ailean.
“I enjoy this work,” Ailean replied, his tone sharpening.
He knew he shouldn’t bite. He should merely nod and let his father ride on. But he couldn’t help himself. The old man really got to him. “If I’m honest, I prefer it.”
Rae snorted, favoring him with a disbelieving look.
“Ye only say that because ye were born into privilege. Not every man gets to wield a claidheamh-mòr and fight for king and country. Not every young man gets to spend his days as he pleases. The lives of those born into humbler families are not so fortunate.”
And with that, his father gathered his reins and urged his courser on.
Kylie cut her husband another look—of chagrin this time—before her attention flicked to Ailean. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.
Then she, too, was off, urging her mount forward to keep pace.
Ye don’t need to apologize for him, Ailean thought, irritated. He’d wanted to say so to his stepmother, but he didn’t wish to embarrass her or draw attention to what she’d done.
However, he bore responsibility for this too. The pair of them were like two stags during rutting season these days, locking horns at every opportunity. It was a game of dominance. Both red-blooded males—one in his prime, the other struggling with the idea of letting go of the reins of control.
Ailean watched his parents disappear to the south, the horses’ hooves kicking up dust behind them.
It wouldn’t be long before a storm erupted between him and his father.
And the ensuing argument wouldn’t be pretty.
Ailean had just finished laying his last stone for the day when Rowan and a group of guards approached on foot. They all looked as sweaty and dirty as he now felt.
“We’re off for a swim.” Rowan greeted him with a grin. “Ye want to join us?”
Ailean threw down his trowel. “Aye, ye need not ask twice.”
Bidding Fife and the lads good afternoon as they put away their tools, Ailean joined his friends. It was a short walk along the shore path, then down a bank to the strand below.
None of them hesitated. Ribbing one another, the banter rising and falling in the humid air, they stripped off their clothes, leaving lèines, braies, and weapons strewn across the shore before diving in.
Ailean was one of the first, embracing the slap of the chill water. Even with the weather as hot as it had been, the Sound of Mull was always cold enough to rob a man of breath. Usually, when he swam here, he had to clench his teeth and battle through it. Today, it came as a blessed relief.
They swam like dolphins in the crisp, clear water. It didn’t take long before some of them started horsing around. Rowan kicked water in Ailean’s face. In retribution, Ailean grabbed him by the shoulders and dunked him under.
And for a short while, he forgot the encounter with his father.
For a short while, he had no responsibilities. No worries.
Eventually, despite the heat, the chill got the better of them, and the men waded back ashore. They let the sun dry their bodies before pulling on their clothing and making their way back to the castle.
Along the way, in the field where preparations for the games were underway, Ailean spied his aunt Tara and his cousins Grace and Arabella, hanging bunting from poles around the edge. Lyle was there too, overseeing the unloading of the archery targets from a cart.
Spying his elder brother, he waved.
Ailean waved back. His gaze then flicked to where his cousins were now arguing. It was rare to see Arabella outdoors in the afternoons these days, for she spent a large part of her time with Fiona.
And that meant the weaver worked alone this afternoon.
Entering the barmkin and finding it largely deserted—most servants sheltering from the heat or taking an afternoon rest—Ailean glanced at the large first-floor window. It had once been a guest chamber, but Kylie had converted it into a workshop for Fiona.
“Will ye join us for some ale and knucklebones in the barracks?” Rowan’s voice drew his attention. He glanced over to see his friend watching him. The question had been friendly enough. However, Ailean noted the groove between Rowan’s brows, the scar crossing one eyebrow more evident than usual.
Was something bothering him?
“I’m going to go upstairs and rest for a while,” Ailean replied, waving them off.
He flashed a grin at the others. “Go easy on Rowan with the knucklebones. Don’t fleece him of all his coin like last time.”
Rowan snorted. “That was pure chance,” he grumbled.
Laughter echoed off the stone walls.
Ailean glanced once more at the window, his belly tightening as something stirred within him.
Longing to see Fiona Mackinnon.
The lass was on his mind these days far more than he cared to admit. The taste he’d had of her left him craving more. Seeing her the other day had reignited the fire between them. He knew he shouldn’t seek her out. He’d promised her he wouldn’t. But today, he found himself weakening.
And so, without another word to Rowan or the guards, he turned and made his way back inside the tower house.
Fiona was sorting through her butterflies of yarn, searching for the right shade of grey for the castle’s curtain wall, when a knock sounded on the door.
She looked up, surprised at the intrusion. To her knowledge, everyone was away this afternoon.
The laird and lady had gone off for a ride; she’d heard the clatter of hooves and looked out to see them disappearing beneath the portcullis. And this afternoon, instead of joining her at the loom, Arabella had gone out to help her mother and sister prepare for the upcoming summer games.
And since Carrie still avoided her these days, she couldn’t think who would be outside her workroom.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened, and a tall man with damp auburn hair shouldered his way inside. Ailean carried an earthen jug in one hand and two wooden cups in the other.
Fiona snapped straight, her heart kicking against her ribs. “What are ye doing here?” she blurted, forgetting her manners as her pulse went wild.
His lips quirked into a boyish smile, and he nodded to the jug. “Come, Fi. Even ye must take a break sometimes. I’d wager ye could do with some cool ale to slake yer thirst on this sweltering afternoon.”
In truth, she could. In fact, she’d already drunk all the cooled boiled water she’d brought up earlier. But she’d been so engrossed in her work that she hadn’t made a trip down to the kitchen for more.
She wasn’t going to admit that to him.
“This is a terrible idea,” she gasped, wishing she didn’t sound so flustered. “Visiting me in here like this. What if someone sees us?”
“Oh, no one will.” He flashed her another disarming smile. “As ye well know, we’re virtually alone in the tower house this afternoon.”
She stilled, heat igniting under her rib cage. “So that’s it, then?” she said, her tone cooling. “Ye saw an opportunity and seized it. Is that right?”
He too stilled, his eyes widening at her tone. “Ye think I came up here hoping ye were keen for an afternoon tumble?”
Heat bloomed across her cheeks. “Well, didn’t ye?”
Their gazes locked for a moment, but he didn’t smile to ease the tension this time.
Instead, he huffed a heavy sigh. “I know how it looks, but in truth, I just wanted to see ye … to spend a little time in yer company.” He nodded toward one of the wooden chairs by the window.
“I shall sit there and mind my manners. But I hope ye’ll join me for some ale. ”
She eyed him warily, like a fowl in a coop watching a hungry wolf circle. His words seemed agreeable enough, but she was still on edge. All the same, the sincerity in his eyes made her relax just a little.
Eventually, she huffed an oath under her breath. “Very well. Pour us some ale, then. However, I will drink and work, if ye don’t mind. I’m in the middle of something.”
He nodded, moving to the large table behind the loom and setting the jug and cups along one edge before pouring. He then passed her a cup.
Fiona watched him as he crossed to one of the chairs by the window and lowered himself into it. He held the cup casually, dangling it from his fingers.
Her breathing quickened. Hades. What was it about this man? Every gesture, every movement, enthralled her.
Then, as their gazes met once more, his mouth lifted at the corners, and he raised his cup in a toast. “To long, lazy summer afternoons,” he said.
Fiona snorted, even as she lifted her own cup. “For ye, maybe,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “but not for the rest of us.”