Page 29 of Luthias

“I’m terrible at sewing.” Emery leaned close to whisper, “Also, fine ladies’ work is really boring.” As Cook chuckled she batted her eyelashes. “Give me something fun to do, Mistress, please, please?”

“Aye, well, then, you may go and help the maids take food out to the woodcutter’s camp.” She gestured toward some bulging cloth sacks lined up on the work table. “Dinnae dally there asking questions of the men, either, for they’ve much work to do.”

“Aw, see, you do love me.” She stood on her toes to give Cook a kiss on the cheek, dodged a half-hearted swat, and went to grab two of the sacks.

Two of the kitchen maids went with her, as well as an older scullery boy who tugged along a small cart laden with root vegetables, crocks of jams and piled of fresh-baked bread. From the stronghold they walked through the woods for ten minutes, during which time the maids gossiped about which guy from their village would make the best husband and sire the prettiest babies, which was pretty much all that interested the maids. That left Emery to talk to Tom, the scullery, who knew quite a bit about the lowlanders who had trekked from the lowlands to chop wood for the MacRoss.

“’Tis the way the laird clears the forest every year, my lady,” Tom told her. “The men cut up fallen wood, and fell any trees that have died since winter and yet still stand. We’ll get all the firewood we need before the first snow falls.”

Emery had wondered how the MacRoss kept their mostly-wooded lands looking so healthy. “It’s funny, but I haven’t seen any stumps around here.”

“The farmers bring oxen down before the ground freezes to pull them out, and plant new saplings in the space to hold the soil firm. My Da’s one of the tillers, so he helps them.” The scullery nodded at the path ahead. “There’s the camp.”

The cluster of stone and clay-walled thatched cottages looked as if they had been kept in good repair, and each boasted a chimney indicating the woodcutters had their own hearths to keep them warm during the chilly highland nights. Oil cloth coverings nailed over the small windows kept out the wind and rain, and the thatching looked as if it had been recently replaced. Emery saw a large fire pit in the center clearing that was probably used for cooking meals, and some stumps arranged around it as seating.

“Cook said to put the food in the headman’s cottage,” one of the maids said, heading for the largest structure. “He portions it out to the others for their meals. Tom, put the cart over there and come help me and Magda take down the shutters. My lady, can you sweep away the cob webs from the shelves and bedsteads?”

Emery was expecting to see a real-life version of the museum exhibits of medieval cottage interiors, but the reality turned out to be disappointing. Other that a row of slatted wooden platforms, some buckets, stone shelves and a rickety old broom, the cottage was just a plain box with a packed dirt floor. Her dismay turned to amusement; these were only used as temporary housing, not as permanent dwellings. Hopefully the laird would keep his promise to take her out to the farms so she could see how medieval families really lived.

That’s not why or how he wants to take you for a ride, her conscience prodded. You should stay at the castle.

“Yes, I got that memo.” Emery picked up the broom, taking it outside to shake the dust from it before returning to sweep the shelving.

She finished the headman’s cottage and emerged to go to the next, only to find the maids and scullery surrounded by a group of large, muscular-looking men dressed in dirty clothes. The oldest man smiled as he spoke to the maids, while the other men began setting down their bags and packs. The tallest woodcutter turned to look at her, and beneath a tangle of jet-black hair his bright blue eyes narrowed.

“Yikes. Why didn’t I wear a skirt today?” Emery muttered under her breath as the man inspected her trews and the boy’s leine she wore under the tartan she’d borrowed from Darach.

To escape the scrutiny she went into the next cottage to be swept, but that turned out to be even emptier than the headman’s. A huge dusty spider web covered the back window, but as she lifted the broom to knock it down, the tall, blue-eyed woodcutter appeared outside.

Emery blinked, feeling a little uneasy. Up close the lowlander looked almost rudely handsome; he probably had dozens of girls chasing after him in whatever village he called home. Although he looked a bit grimy from his long trek to the highlands he had beautiful skin, and the kind of full lips that made it seem as if he’d just spent hours kissing someone. Yet there was also something almost sad in his eyes, or so she thought. Maybe he felt tired and she was just imagining it.

“Hello,” she said, lowering the broom as she took a step back.

The woodcutter smiled, making his sensual face look much younger. At the same time his eyes gleamed with interest.

“Fair morning, my lady,” he said in a beautiful tenor voice. “I’ve no’ seen you before today.” His gaze shifted over her as if he were measuring her for a new outfit. “My thanks for your work.”

Oh yeah, Emery thought. This guy definitely knows how to sweet-talk the maids.

“I’ll be done in here in a minute.” she said, keeping her tone brisk. “Can you step back so I don’t conk you in the head with the broom?”

“Permit me give you aid.” He used his hand to pull away the web and shook it off before he inspected her again. “You’re no’ a MacRoss.”

Why was he looking at her like he wanted to do a lot more than give her aid? Oh, right, I’m not dressed like the other girls.

“I’m visiting here for work, like you and your friends.” She would have imitated a Scottish accent, but it was too late and she had always been terrible at that kind of thing anyway. “If you’re hungry, we brought lots of food. It’s in the headman’s cottage.” Hopefully that would tempt him to go.

“I dinnae hunger for food.” The woodcutter leaned his arms on the sill as his boyish smile turned suddenly, lethally sexy. “I’m Callen.”

Emery felt bewildered. She knew medieval-era men were pretty straight forward about what they wanted, but no one had ever looked at her like Callen did now. Except Luthias. Since their first kiss the laird always looked at her as if she were wearing nothing but lingerie in front of him. Maybe I just think that because I want to strip every time we’re together.

“Nice to meet you, Callen.” She wondered if she was supposed to curtsey, and then to be polite bobbed anyway. “I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

“You repeat yourself, my lady,” he chided. “’Tisnae work suited to you. How shall I call you, then?”

“My name is Emery.” She tightened her grip on the broom, and wondered why she felt so alarmed. He was just being nice...or maybe smiling and removing the spider web was his was of saying Come and have sex with me right now. Maybe she should make it clear why she had come to his camp. “I’m only here to help out with delivering the food and tidying up.”

“You’re no’ a highlander, nor a lowlander.” Callen tilted his head. “How you speak, ’tis strange. You dinnae sound like anyone I’ve met. Where call you home, Lady Emery?”