Enraptured (9 page)

His stride was long and confident, and despite the gray sky, his hair shone golden, stirred by a stray breeze. Coll glanced up and saw her, and she was surprised to see him smile. She had assumed he would be stern, even frowning. She had little doubt that he had come to take her to task for frightening off her workers.

“Mr. Munro.” She went to meet him. “I know what brings you here.”

“Do you now?” His eyes twinkled.

“I assume your men have refused to work for me any longer.”

“That happens to you often, does it?” His voice was genial, his blue eyes twinkling. Violet wondered why the crinkling at the corner of his eyes was so appealing. “Nae, they dinna refuse to work for you.”

“You surprise me.”

“I can be very persuasive.”

“Oh.” She regarded him suspiciously. “Then why are you here?”

“Could it not be that I thought to keep you company?”

“You left your work to keep me company? I find that hard to believe.”

“Och, you are far too young to be so cynical.”

“I am old enough to prefer plain speaking to flummery.”

“You leave a man little choice.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket and regarded her. “The McKenna brothers and young Dougal complained, that's true. They felt you did not appreciate their work.”

“They didn't know how to dig properly. I had to instruct them. They cannot attack a site like this with picks and shovels. Far too much damage is done by enthusiasts, even antiquarians. Artifacts can be broken. It can make dating objects difficult, almost impossible.”

“I understand.”

“They simply did not like taking orders from a woman.”

“You do them an injustice. Like any good Highlander, they do not like taking orders from anyone.”

His words surprised a laugh out of Violet. “How did you convince them to return to work?”

“I told them that you are a trifle mad, as all English are, but since you are a friend of the earl's, they must put up with your eccentricities. It may have helped that I told them they
dinna have a choice in the matter if they wanted to keep working for the earl.”

Violet stared at him. “Truly?” Warmth spread through her at the thought that he had taken her side.

“Well, I canna have workers who do what they want instead of what I tell them.”

“Oh.” The warmth fled. “Of course not. Then I suppose you're here to tell me that though you ruled in my favor this time, you want me to change.”

“Nae, I wouldna try to change you.” He cast her a sideways smile. “But it might help you with the men if you dinna take everything so seriously. Life is grim enough; there is no need to make it more so.”

“I appreciate your talking to the workmen, Mr. Munro, but you cannot understand my situation.”

“Can I not?”

“You have a position of authority. You are an imposing figure.” Violet began to tick the points off on her fingers. “You have a voice that impels obedience. Most of all, you are a man. I, as you have pointed out yourself, possess none of those assets. I
must
be forceful. Otherwise I am immediately dismissed, my words ignored. I cannot afford to be good-natured or mild or charming.”

Coll studied her for a moment. “Come. Let's walk a bit.” He turned, strolling back in the direction from which he had come, and Violet fell in beside him. “You are right. I am large and a man, and that makes it easier to get people's attention. But I was not always big, and my position of authority, as you call it, is a new thing. People do not obey every man they meet. Isobel Kensington is a lady, but her people do as she orders. There are other aspects to it.”

“There may be, but I do not have them. I know I am considered difficult. I am not charming nor adept in conversation.” Violet stared steadfastly ahead of her.

“Och, we both know that is not true. You are a dab hand at talking.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “I am referring to the quality of what I say, not the quantity. I do not have ‘winning ways.' Even if I did, I cannot allow myself to appear weak.”

“Only a fool would consider you weak. I'll admit that men are not apt to look past a woman's beauty.”

Violet glanced at him and quickly away, heat rising in her cheeks. Did he think she was beautiful? No, surely he had been speaking in generalities. Anyway, that was precisely what she despised—that women were considered worthwhile only for their looks—yet here she was, flattered that Coll might find her attractive.

Coll continued, “But that does not mean we are blind to a woman's character. How you conduct yourself tells me more than the way you look.”

“And you think I should conduct myself differently.” She crossed her arms.

He shrugged. “What you choose to do is up to you. But I know the people here. I can give you a bit of advice.” His eyes twinkled. “My sister would tell you I always have a bit of advice.”

“Very well. What would you advise?”

“It would help if you let everyone know you better.”

“I don't understand.”

“People listen to me because they know who I am, what I've done, how I act. When I tell someone how to build something, they believe I know what I'm talking about.”

“But that is just it. I do know what I'm talking about.”

“Yes, but they do not know
you
. To them, digging is digging, and who are you, after all, to tell them how to do it? They would not like me telling them the same thing, but they would admit I was apt to be right.”

“I cannot change the fact that I am a stranger here.”

“Aye, well, it will not happen immediately, but you could try to acquaint yourself with the people of the glen. Let them meet you and hear you. When you talk about the things you love, there is power in you. Perhaps you do not realize it.”

Violet studied him. His words pleased her more than she wanted to consider. “But how am I to do that? I cannot go about introducing myself to everyone.”

“There is a dance this Saturday. 'Tis a good place to meet people.”

“A dance! Oh, no, I am not good at parties.”

“How is one good or not good at a party? They are just there to enjoy.”

Violet could not remember any party that she had enjoyed. They were invariably filled with stilted conversation—either she was tongue-tied or bored people to tears—and her watching other people dance, as all the while she wished she were someplace else. “I'm not even invited. How would I—”

“Ah, but I am. I'll take you.”

“Oh. Well.” Violet didn't know where to look. “That is kind of you, but I—”

“It won't be all common folk, if that is what worries you. There will be others like you. It is at Baillannan.”

“Others like me? What do you mean?”

“The gentry. Isobel, the woman giving it, is the old laird's daughter.”

“You think I am too proud to visit with ‘common folk'?” Violet faced him, fisting her hands on her hips. “That I am too high in the instep?”

“Nae, I dinna mean that. Only that you will have people there to whom you are more accustomed. Well-read, educated sorts. Isobel's husband is English. Her aunt is the one I told you about who knows all the local lore.”

Somewhat mollified, Violet admitted, “I would like to talk to her.”

“There will be music,” he went on in the way of one offering enticements. “Dancing. Singing.”

“But I—you mean Scottish dancing?”

“The sort of thing you said interested you. Customs. Traditions. Old stories. Old songs.”

“It would be interesting to see.”

“More fun to do. I'll teach you.”

“Oh. Well.” Just the thought of dancing with Coll made her heart pound. She glanced up and found him watching her. His eyes were the color of the sky on a sunny day, and a light was in them that made the blood sing in her veins. “That would be . . . but I do not . . . that is . . .”

“The whiskey will flow, the music will be fine; I can guarantee that, as my own father is playing. You might even get to see me make a fool of myself with a song or two, if the lads have gotten enough drams in me.”

“You sing?”

He shrugged. “I've been known to.”

Perhaps that was the reason his voice was so compelling, why the sound of it warmed her like brandy.

“Well, I could not pass up a chance to see that, could I?” She smiled up at him. “Very well. I will go to the dance with you.”

V
iolet was ready for the
party far too early, of course, another habit her mother regarded with disapproval. But Violet simply could not see the benefit in being late or in making a gentleman hang about waiting for her. Especially tonight. She pressed her hand against her stomach, unsure whether the fluttering there came from eagerness or trepidation.

She took a final slow twirl in front of the mirror. Her gown was plain, its only ornamentation an edging of black lace along the neckline, but at least it was not dowdy. Fashionably high-waisted and low-cut, the brown satin had a lustrous, almost coppery sheen. She had swept her hair up in a less severe style than usual, allowing a few soft curls to fall from the knot atop her head, and she had even fastened an ivory cameo around her throat.

She wondered what Coll would think when he saw her. She had always considered it a great waste of time and thought to try to make her image into one a man would
find pleasing, and she had been scornful of her mother and sisters for doing so. But now, thinking about the light that flashed in Coll's eyes sometimes when he looked at her, she could not keep from wishing she could bring about that look again.

Coll was already waiting when she went down the stairs. He turned and looked up at the sound of her footsteps. His eyes widened, moving slowly down her, and his mouth softened in a way that was disturbingly gratifying. Violet was glad she had her hand on the banister, for her legs seemed suddenly not to work.

“Ah, lass, you look bonny.”

“I, um . . .” Violet hesitated on the stairs. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “That was not so hard, was it?”

“I am not entirely devoid of manners.” She went down the last few steps to join him. “And it is
not
that I am snobbish.”

His brows sailed upward. “Is it not then? I fear you have lost me—what are we discussing?”

“My woeful way of making people dislike me.”

“I am certain I dinna say that.” He stepped back and took her cloak from the hands of the waiting maid. “And I have no desire to argue with you this night.” He settled the cloak around her. His hands rested on her shoulders for an instant before he turned away. “Bundle up. We're going across the loch, and it can be chilly on the water.”

“You mean, in a boat?”

“Unless you'd rather not. 'Tis the quickest way.”

“No, I have no objection.” Violet stuck her hands in her well-worn fur muff and followed him into the garden behind the house. He led her down the multiple levels to
the stone balustrade overlooking the loch, where yet another set of stairs led down to a small wooden dock on the loch itself.

Coll climbed into one of the boats tied there, and to Violet's surprise, he turned and grasped her waist, lifting her down into it. Violet gasped in surprise, instinctively putting her hands on his arms to steady herself. His fingers dug into her, his large hands engulfing her waist, and for a moment they stood, as still and silent as if they were statues. Even through the layers of clothing, she could feel the warmth of his hands, the solidity of his arms. They were almost as close as if in an embrace, and Violet felt a sudden, rushing urge to move those last few inches. It was so startling a thought that she stepped back, setting the boat to rocking beneath her feet.

“Careful.” Coll released her waist but took her arms in a steadying grasp. “Sit down easy, or you'll have us both in the loch.” He guided her onto the wooden plank seat.

Violet braced herself on the bench, somewhat uneasy at the gentle rocking of the boat. Coll reached up to untie the boat from the dock, then settled onto the seat across from her and took up the oars.

“Is this your first time on the water?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “How, um, deep is the loch?”

“Deep enough.” He peered at her. “Dinna tell me you are frightened?”

“Of course not. Only . . . I do not know how to swim.”

“I'll have to teach you when it's warmer. Dinna worry.” His grin flashed white in the darkness. “I won't let you drown.”

Violet pulled up the hood of her cloak and thrust her
hands into the warm muff. A peaceful hush hung over the dark water, broken only by the rhythmic splash of the oars. Moonlight glimmered on the surface of the water. Violet's nerves subsided. Watching the steady strength of Coll's arms as he pulled on the oars, it was easy to feel secure.