Chapter 7 #3
“We can’t house everyone immediately,” she said to the assembled villagers.
“And in the short term, many of you are going to have to share.” She raised her voice over the grumbling this elicited.
“But we can start forming a plan to rectify the problem. We have too many people and too few houses. The first thing we need before we can sort that out is information.” She pointed at two women.
“You and you. I want you to spend the day making an inventory. I want you to tally how many people there are in the village and their makeup. How many families? How many adults? How many children or single people?”
The two women nodded, seeming glad to be given something to do.
Elodie pointed at Andrew and another man.
“You two are to go through the village and inspect all the abandoned buildings. I want a list of any that are repairable and what those repairs will require.” Her finger jabbed again.
“You, you, and you. I want you to make an inventory of any and all locally available building materials: wood, stone, thatch. The rest of you I want to map out the village as it currently lies so we can work out the best place to build things like sewers, privies and the like.”
Her voice was clear, precise, and confident. “We’ll meet back here this afternoon and discuss our findings.”
Ronan watched in utter shock as, without a word of complaint, the villagers hurried away to obey her instructions. He whistled under his breath. “How on earth did ye do that?” he muttered. “And more importantly, can ye teach me?”
She shrugged. “People just need something to do. A purpose. Makes them feel useful.”
Angus suddenly nudged him from behind, making him stagger. “All right, all right,” Ronan said to the horse. “I know ye want yer saddle off.”
“And I suppose I ought to go and see what trouble the villagers are getting themselves into,” Elodie said.
“Aye. Perhaps ye had.”
But he lingered a moment more, staring at her, before forcing his feet to move and lead Angus away.
THE REST OF THE MORNING passed in a blur of activity.
Elodie was soon being approached by villagers asking questions, giving her updates, wanting her advice.
Elodie answered them all and then realized that somehow, without even noticing, she’d become a project manager all over again.
But, she had to admit, this was way more satisfying.
This time there were no budgets involved, no targets to meet, just people and tasks that needed organizing in order to benefit everyone. It was...refreshing.
Faye waved at her, signaling her to join her and a group of villagers who had gathered outside a cottage to grab a bite to eat. Elodie was only too glad to oblige. The cottage’s owner, a stout woman called Mary, had baked several fresh loaves as well as a big pot of stew for the workers.
Elodie accepted a bowl gratefully. The meal was hot, filling, and, much to her pleasant surprise, absolutely delicious.
Around her, conversation flowed, and she was happy to listen rather than join in.
It was the usual gossip. Husbands. Children.
Whether they would get a good crop this year and what the weather might do over the next few days.
It was all so very normal. And yet she found herself looking around for a certain blacksmith. He didn’t appear.
“Is Ronan not joining us?” she asked Faye.
Faye snorted. “He’ll be in the smithy. And when he gets involved in something, he often forgets to eat.”
“Oh.”
Elodie grabbed half a loaf and a wedge of cheese, then climbed to her feet.
“Where are ye going?” Faye asked.
Elodie shrugged. “To make sure your chief remembers to eat.”
The healer’s mouth twitched in something suspiciously like a grin. “How thoughtful of ye.”
Elodie scowled. “I’m just being helpful.”
“Aye,” Faye said mildly. “Of course ye are.”
Elodie ignored the healer’s smug expression and strode off. But when she reached the smithy, she found the building empty. Hot coals glowed in the furnace and tools lay scattered across workbenches, but there was no sign of Ronan.
She took a few steps inside. “Ronan?”
There was no answer, but faint noises were coming from somewhere behind the building. Curious, she followed the sound to a small yard out the back and halted, staring.
Ronan was in the yard. He’d discarded his shirt and boots, leaving him in only his loose-fitting pants. He held one of the swords she’d seen hanging on the wall of the smithy in a two-handed grip, and he was moving through a series of forms as though fighting some invisible opponent.
Elodie watched, mesmerized. He moved with easy grace. The blade arced, flashing in the sun. Step. Turn. Cut. Recover. This wasn’t someone fumbling through practice, this was someone who had trained for years. Someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
Elodie forgot entirely about the food in her hands.
Ronan pivoted, and the sword swept through another sequence.
She might not know much about his time period, but she knew enough to realize that a blacksmith shouldn’t know how to fight like that.
Or own a horse like Angus and expensive pistols and swords.
Who are you? she thought.
A low ‘uff’ interrupted her thoughts. Bran, who had been curled up asleep by the wall, had opened one eye.
A moment later Skye woke as well and thumped her tail on the ground in greeting.
Alerted by the noise, Ronan whirled and spotted her standing there.
Heat flooded Elodie’s cheeks at being caught watching him.
She held up the food sheepishly. “I brought you something to eat.”
Smooth, Elodie, she thought. Very smooth.
Ronan put down the sword, then retrieved his shirt from the post it was hanging on, and pulled it over his head. A small part of Elodie found this disappointing. She firmly ignored that part.
He came over to join her. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and he was breathing heavily. “My thanks, lass, but there was no need. I would have grabbed something later.”
She shrugged. “Faye said you often forget to eat.”
She folded herself cross-legged in the grass, and Ronan joined her. Bran and Skye stretched out nearby and promptly fell asleep again. Elodie handed him the bread and cheese.
“Thank ye.”
“You’re welcome.”