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She stared up at the sky. In the distance, gray clouds hovered. “I do hope the snow holds off till tomorrow.”
“Me as well. Today is the day we’re going to select the Yule log,” he said cheerily. The look in his hazel eyes reminded her of a small boy out for an adventure.
He might be adorable, but he was no boy. Like his twin, Nash was tall, lithe and muscular, with a strong manly jaw. His dark hair, tinged with gold from the sun, curled around his nape. She wondered what it would feel like to run her hands through those curls. She let out a sigh. His coming to Arbroath made her want things she had not thought of in a long time.
“Knowing my brother,” she said, “he will hunt for the log to please Emily even if it snows.”
Nash stepped into the cavernous main shop of the shipyard, the air warmed by stoves placed about the room. Light spilled into the large space from windows high in the timbered walls. The noise in the shop echoed off the high walls.
He counted twenty men working. Some, with long-handled mallets, pounded the inside of the hull that stood open to the room, the weather deck not yet in place. The youth of a few suggested they might be apprentices. Two sawyers were bent to the task of cutting wood. Other men concentrated on joining timbers.
“We can leave our outer garments here,” Ailie shouted.
He helped her to shed her cloak, sliding the back of his fingers over the tops of her arms. The gesture had been innocent but the contact with her, even with her wool gown between them, set his pulse racing. Her faint sweet scent drifted to his nostrils causing him to inhale deeply.
She had changed clothing since the orangery and now wore a sensible woolen gown, but its simple lines did not detract from her loveliness. As before, she wore her fiery hair long and tied back with a ribbon.
He placed her cloak on a peg where the workers’ coats hung in a long line. Doffing his greatcoat, he added it to the collection.
“Come,” said Ailie, “I’ll introduce you to the foreman.”
She walked briskly toward a man who stood to one side, arms crossed, observing the progress of the work. Nash fell into step beside her.
The foreman must have sensed their approach. As they neared, he turned and smiled at Ailie. He was somewhere in his forties, Nash judged, with thick red-blond hair and striking blue eyes. His manner was congenial, particularly toward Ailie. Obviously, he liked his job and the boss’ sister.
“Good morning, Miss Stephen. Yer brother told me ye’d be comin’ by with a visitor.”
“Mr. Ferguson,” she said, her voice rising over the din of the shop, “this is Mr. Powell, one of our guests from London. He and his brothers are here on holiday. They’re interested in the yard as they are in the shipping business in London.”
Ferguson extended his hand and Nash took it. “I’ve heard of Powell and Sons. We make fine ships here, Mr. Powell, should ye be wantin’ one.”
Nash grinned. “I would agree. My brothers and I had the pleasure of sailing on the Albatross from London.”
Ferguson smiled. “Aye, that would be the one we modified to carry more passengers.”
“If it’s agreeable with you,” Ailie said to the foreman, raising her voice, “Mr. Powell would like to look around.”
The foreman glanced at Nash and nodded. “Of course. Ye know our yard as well as anyone, Miss Stephen. But I’m happy to answer any questions ye might have, Mr. Powell.”
Nash was eager to hear what Ailie had to say but, as a matter of courtesy, he would allow the foreman to speak first. “Could you tell me about the schooner you are working on now? Then we’ll just look around.”
“Be glad to.” He turned to face the ship under construction. “This one’s a merchantman for Glasgow, larger than most we build. The men are just finishin’ the hull before they start on the captain’s cabin, galley and crew quarters.” He went on to explain in some detail the configuration that would be constructed below decks. It was not unusual but the foreman did have an eye for detail.
When the foreman finished, Nash thanked him and then strolled with Ailie around the ship’s hull. Ailie pointed out things Nash might have missed.
“The keel is of tropical purpleheart wood from Tobago. The hanging knees in the bow are made from American live oak.”
Nash eyed the hull fasteners of pure gleaming copper. He gave a low whistle. “Such fine materials come at a dear cost.”
“Aye, but then the best usually does.” Running her fingers over the hull, she added, “We sometimes use English oak, shipping it up from the Thames. I just like the American oak better.”
As they passed the workers, the men looked up from their tasks and waved to her. She knew each one of them, calling them by name. Despite the appearance of a beautiful redhead in their midst, not one of the men leered at her. In their eyes, Nash saw only respect.
Perhaps it was her skill at designing ships but, reconsidering, he rather believed she and William knew their craft and treated their workers well.
His conclusion was confirmed when she said, “They will have time off for Hogmanay to spend with their families, so they work hard to finish what they can before they leave.”
“That’s generous of you and William.”
