Enraptured (6 page)

His eyes glinted at her, the faintest notion of a smile touching his lips. Violet glanced away quickly, making a vague, dismissive noise. It was better not to think about the “rude” payment Coll had demanded of her. She pretended not to notice that Coll continued to study her.

“It comes hard to you, I think, thanking me,” he went on after a moment. “There's naught wrong, you know, with needing help now and then.”

“Easy to say when one is like you.”

“
A giant
, you mean?” His eyes twinkled.

He was making fun of her again. “It makes life considerably easier to be able to lift things and reach the highest shelf and look down at people instead of up.” She sighed, annoyed with herself for letting him goad her. “But that is not the point. I'm trying to apologize.”

“And so you have.” He started walking again. “The ruins are this way.”

“I must thank you, too, for letting me stay at Duncally.”

“Och, you are full of obligations this morning. Swallowing all your medicine at once, eh?”

“Yes.” Violet let her shoulders relax. “But I do appreciate it. Mrs. Ferguson was bent on turning me out.”

“Mrs. Ferguson does not like bumps in her road.”

“And I am a bump?”

“Aye.” Amusement crinkled the corners of his bright blue eyes. “She wasn't expecting you. It was her bedtime, so there she was in her dressing gown and nightcap, without the armor of her keys and watch and starched clothes. You did not quail before her. Worse, she was unsure where you fit. She found you bumptious, but you had the voice of a lady, and an English one at that. She feared offending a friend of the earl. So, little as she likes me, she decided the safest thing would be to let me make the decision and suffer the embarrassment if I was wrong.”

“Why does she not like you? I'm sorry; that was rude again. Curiosity is my besetting sin.”

“If curiosity is your worst fault, I would say you're doing well. I dinna mind. I'd rather straight speech than dancing about uttering platitudes.”

Violet relaxed even more. Coll's size and masculinity were a bit overwhelming, and the laughter in his eyes did odd things to her insides, but it was a relief to feel she did not have to search for something acceptable to say. “We should get along famously, then.”

“I hope so.”

Violet looked up and met his eyes, and her momentary comfort fled.

“As for Mrs. Ferguson's dislike . . . well, she is not fond of
many people. She considers my family especially improper. The Munros are an unruly lot. The women have never, um, conformed to the common rules of behavior, especially marriage.”

Violet looked at him in surprise. Plain speech, indeed. She had no idea what to say in response to his statement. Was he implying that his birth was illegitimate?

Coll's face remained as emotionless as his voice. He shrugged. “No reason to hide it. You will hear the same from someone soon—most likely Mrs. Ferguson herself. She is of the opinion that Meg and I have gotten above our station.”

That statement brought Violet to a halt. She stared at him. “Meg!”

“My sister, Meg.”

“You mean . . . the woman in that drawing?”

“Aye. Meg married Mardoun.” The tone of his voice, the tilt of his chin, carried a challenge.

Oddly, Violet's initial response was not amazement that the earl had married not just a local lady, but a woman who was the sister of his estate manager—and born on the wrong side of the blanket as well. Rather, what swept her was a strangely giddying realization that the lovely woman in Coll's drawing was not some beauty for whom Coll pined, but his sister. Violet let out a breathy laugh. “I thought . . .”

“What?”

“It doesn't matter.” Violet started walking again. “Then you are Lord Mardoun's brother-in-law? No wonder Mrs. Ferguson deferred to your decision.”

Coll gave a dismissive grunt. “Not from respect, I assure you. Like most, she thinks that is why he gave me the position.”

“You were not the estate manager before?”

“Nae.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I was not. I've always been a Baillannan man. It's the Roses gave my ancestors their freehold. They ruled here for centuries; the Englishman's lot are newcomers.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it.” He scowled.

“I can see that you don't like managing the estate.”

“I don't like people thinking that it's because I'm Meg's brother. I don't like people saying I've gone over to the enemy.”

“As that highwayman said last night.”

“Who—oh, Will. I suppose that is what he's become, the daft lad.” Coll shook his head. “
His
opinion is of no importance. But the truth is, Mardoun trapped me. He knew I wouldn't refuse. Could not, for it meant I could end his clearances.”

“Clearances?”

“His manager was throwing crofters from their plots so he could turn the land to sheep. It was legal, for it was Mardoun's property, but heartless. The way he did it was worse—burning them out of their homes, without a thought for what they would do after that. Bairns and old ones alike, didn't matter if they were sick or dying.”

“Lord Mardoun countenanced this?”

“Not after he realized what MacRae was doing. I'll give him that. Damon sent the man packing. But he needed a new manager, so he maneuvered me into doing it. Mardoun's a canny one.” Coll sighed. “And I canna even continue to dislike the man, as he makes Meg happy, it seems.”

“Ah. You
are
trapped.” Violet let out a little laugh.

He gave her a rueful smile. “Foolish to rail against it
when so many others would be ecstatic to have a roof over their head and work to do.”

“That isn't always enough.” Violet heard the revealing emotion in her own voice and pulled back. She gave him a brief, perfunctory smile. “We should press on to the site. No doubt you are eager to get back to your own work.”

“Yes, of course.” He, too, reverted to formality.

A silence fell on them as they walked across the meadow beyond the circle of stones. Violet regretted ending the temporary easiness between them. She invariably made a misstep in conversation. She was too blunt; she was too serious; the things she brought up were considered odd. It did not bother her usually, but she had been enjoying her conversation with Coll Munro.

“There they are.” Coll's voice brought Violet out of her thoughts, and she raised her head.

In front of her, before the edge of the cliff, a series of low, flat stones jutted out of the sandy ground. Violet's pulse quickened. She hurried forward and squatted down, heedless of her skirts, to examine the rocks stacked on one another. “A wall, not mortared. The stones are not cut, but of course that does not mean they are of ancient origin. No one knew of them before?”

“Nae. Damon and Meg found them after a great storm blew the sand away and left the stones exposed. Before then, it was just an ordinary hillock that people have walked past—and over—for years. You can see there is a path down to the shore just ahead. It's a common way to walk. No one's heard of a house here, even the older folks. There aren't even legends of anyone living here.”

Violet began to brush away the dirt at the base of the
stones, her movements small and deft, heedless of dirtying her gloves. “The wall goes farther down. It's buried in the sand.”

“There are more.”

Violet lifted her head, looking in the direction he pointed, where more stones peeked above the ground. Rising, she walked over to them. “Perhaps this was an outer wall. A sort of fortress? It is at the most accessible path up from the ocean, where invaders would be likely to come.”

“It's at the mouth of the loch, too.” Coll nodded toward their right, where the land rose sharply to another cliff edge. “Loch Baille's a sea loch, and that is the channel into it from the sea.”

“A very strategic place.”

“That would have had to be very long ago,” Coll surmised. “For the last few hundred years, the old castle was the guardian against sea raiders.”

“Really? Is the castle close?”

“I'll show you.”

He led her across the gradually rising land to where it ended in a dramatic, straight drop to the sea. He pointed to the loch opening out from the narrow inlet between cliffs.

“There, on the other side of the loch, you can see some of the castle ruins. The original Baillannan. It stood for as long back as anyone remembers. They built the new house almost two centuries ago. That's it, farther along.”

Violet lifted her hand, shading her eyes. “Yes, I see it. Built when they no longer needed to be protected from marauding Viking bands.”

“Aye, or other lairds.” Again that elusive glint of amusement lit his eyes. “Or reivers.”

“Reivers?”

“Thieves. Robbers.”

“Ah. So the original castle would have been built during the time of Viking raids? Those stopped when—ninth century?”

He nodded. “By then the Norsemen were intermarrying with the clans. I suppose the earliest parts of the castle were built before then. It was a rambling place, built up and added on to many times. There were enormous cellars that connected to caves, they said, for easy escape if the walls were breached.”

“But would that not have also given invaders easy access?” Violet's brow wrinkled.

“You have not seen the caves.” Coll grinned. “More like, strangers coming in through the caves would have wound up hopelessly lost and starved to death, unless, of course, they fell down a pit first.”

“They sound a fearsome place.”

He cast a suspicious glance down at her and said sternly, “Dinna try exploring them on your own. If you want to see the caves, I'll take you. They're no place for a—for a person who does not know them.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. She was certain he had been about to say “for a woman” and had changed it at the last moment. Or perhaps he had meant for a “wee” person. Turning sharply, she started back toward the ruins. “You'll need to provide some workers. Two or three men should be enough to start with.”

“Will it then? It's good of you to inform me. I take it you're in charge of Duncally now.”

She turned to face him, crossing her arms. “I realize you have difficulty dealing with a woman, but I am the one in
charge of the project, and I have a far better idea than you of what is necessary.”

“I dinna have difficulty with you because you're a woman. It's your assumption that everyone else has to jump to your orders.”

“I did not order you. I simply asked—”

“Asking is precisely what you did not do.”

“I see. I must ask you at every turn what I may or may not do? Am I to beg you to give me enough workers to do my task properly?”

“I have no need to see you beg, which I doubt very seriously you know how to do, anyway. But I'll point out that if you want a person to do something for you, you might try requesting it instead of telling him what he must do. That's true whether you're a woman or a man or a three-legged dog.”

“It is not a
favor
I'm asking. It is a necessity if I hope to finish the project within the foreseeable future.”

“Still, as you're wanting me to put two of my workers to some task other than their job, I'd like to hear an explanation.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. “I assure you, I am not trying to be difficult. Or demanding.”

“Och, you needn't try. It comes to you naturally.”

“It seems little enough to me to assign a couple of your workers to the dig, given that it is winter and there is less work to be done. You just told me that young man came to you this morning looking for work. I fail to understand why you are being so obstructive. Other than, of course, your male need to always be in charge.”

“I dinna always need—”

She plowed on over his words. “But you are right: they are your workers, and it is your decision. Fortunately, I am capable of doing the work myself. At least I will be assured of it being done correctly.” She spun and started toward the farthest rock wall.

Behind her, she heard him emit a low growl. “I did not say I would not send you workers.”

“Do as you please. It is immaterial to me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do, and I am sure you do as well.” She did not look back at him until she reached the row of stones at the far end and knelt beside them to begin digging. When she cast a glance over her shoulder, she saw that he was gone.

Violet sighed and looked all around her. The place was empty, even desolate. But it was hers. And that was all she really needed. Digging a trowel from one of her capacious pockets, she started to work.

H
e should not have let
her provoke him like that. Coll wasn't sure why the woman was so easily able to get under his skin. She had been right; it was obvious she would need workers to dig out the stones. He didn't begrudge her the help. It was the peremptory way she had told him what he should do—
must
do—that had galled him. It wasn't because she was a woman. Was it?