The Prince and I (14 page)

“But the lumber,” she repeated. “How can it be from Loudan if it’s not from his mill?”

“You will not rest until I say, eh?”

She raised her brows.

“Stubborn, like a Romany. Fine, I will tell you. It is from the earl’s barn.”

A confused look crossed her face. “Why did Loudan have so much lumber in his barn?”

“No, no. It was not inside the barn. This wood, it was
from
the barn.”

She gaped, and then gasped on a laugh. “You took the earl’s barn apart?
All
of it?”

“
Nyet.
Just a portion of the back. But as we need more boards, we will take more
.”

“He willna notice?”

“Loudan has many barns and will never miss the back wall of this one, which is set far from the castle. It is very old and used for storage of forgotten things.”

She could only shake her head.

“One groom noticed us, and it was when we took tools, for those are stored in the main barns and sheds. He started to say something, but Orlov growled at him.”

“Growled? Like a dog?”

Max frowned. “
Nyet!
Orlov has a good growl. Like a bear.”

She laughed, soft and merry, and it was all Max could do not to sweep her into his arms for another kiss.

“Oh, Max. Thank you. Thank you for coming today, for helping repair the cottages.”

He couldn’t have been more pleased than if he’d won an entire war. “It will take more than one day, of course, but we have more time, and we are glad to do it. This work is good for my men. They are used to a more physical existence than the castle offers.”

“You dinna like to ride to the hunt?”

“In Oxenburg, we do not hunt foxes. We hunt wolves. They are much more cunning, and stronger and far more dangerous. My men are used to being challenged, and I fear they grow fat and lazy at Rowallen Castle.” He eyed her with a considering gaze. “We are happy now,
nyet
?”

“
Da
,” she replied, teasing.

He reached over and captured a strand of her hair, tugging it gently. “You remind me of my grandmother.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Oh yes. She is a strong woman. She never gives up, and she never hesitates to tell a man when he is wrong.”

Murian’s face heated, and she turned her face toward his hand, where his warm fingers brushed her cheek. What was it about this man that made her feel so— She didn’t know
what
this feeling was. It was desire, curiosity . . . and something more.

Max tilted her face until her eyes met his. “So? You accept this gift from the earl?”

“If it will irk Loudan, of course I will accept. But if he ever finds out, he will be so angry.”

“He deserves that and more. I consider it a payment for having to put up with his intolerable person. Every night at the dinner table, I must listen to that arse congratulate himself for his false accomplishments.” Max swept a hot glance over her before taking a reluctant step back. “I suppose I should get back to work—unless you wish for another kiss.”

She wet her lips, fighting a wild impulse to demand more—several more. But they had to remember where they were. “Not now.”

Her voice was huskier than she’d intended, and his gaze instantly darkened. He took a step toward her, but she quickly moved away, stepping out of the barn and back into the sun. “There are too many people aboot.” That, and she wasn’t certain she’d be able to stop next time. She thought of them in the stall, of how she’d wrapped her legs about him, and how she’d felt his hardness through her chemise. She’d been wanton, yet she couldn’t be sorry for a second of it; she’d enjoyed it all very much.

Max came to stand beside her in the sunshine. “You are right, there are too many people about.” He lowered his voice, “But know this: I
will
kiss you again.”

She fought a shiver, her throat so tight she couldn’t swallow. “I hope so.”

The words had been so easy to say, but now they hung between them, strong with meaning.

Max bent forward, his expression intent. “
Dorogaya moya
, you and I—”

“General!” One of the prince’s men hurried up.

Max closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he turned to his man. “
Da
, Orlov?”

Seemingly unaware he’d interrupted anything, the man bowed to Murian and then rattled off several sentences to the prince.

Max answered shortly. As soon as the man left, Max turned to Murian. “I’m sorry for the interruption. Orlov found some slate by the stream that will make good stepping-stones around the well. It is wet there, and very muddy.”

“That’s a good idea. We should rejoin the others. We’ve a busy day ahead of us.”

He smiled, and for a moment, she thought he might say something more . . . but then with a warm smile that promised much, he left. Murian watched him go toward Widow Reeves’s cottage. With nothing left to do, she went to find Widow MacDonald to help prepare their luncheon.

 Chapter 10 

Murian stacked two more broken shutters onto a pile. The thick woolen mittens she wore made the work slower than she liked, but the icy wind kept her from taking them off. As she bent to pick up more shutters the wind tugged at her hood, making her shiver. It was a cold, dreary morning, with gray clouds rolling overhead and the taste of snow in the air.

A heavy, wet snow, if one went by Widow Reeves’s aching knee. Murian straightened and rubbed her stiff back, looking around the village with satisfaction. The small lane bustled with energy, everyone hurrying to do as much as they could before the weather arrived. Everyone but Max, who’d been forced to remain at the castle this morning to attend to his grandmother. Orlov said the prince walked a thin line, helping with the repairs while also being visible enough at the castle each day to keep the earl from becoming suspicious. Loudan apparently considered Max’s men unimportant socially, and never inquired after them, no matter how many meals they missed.

She collected more broken shutters and carried them
to the pile, grateful her people would be warmer during this snow. A lot had been accomplished over the past five days, thanks to the prince and his men. Every morning a wagon filled with planks and assorted lengths of wood pulled into the village, and every afternoon an empty wagon pulled out. More often than not, the prince’s men hunted along their way, so fresh meat was now so plentiful that Murian planned to smoke some for their winter stores.

As a glad shout arose, she looked up to see Max riding into the village, dressed in his jaunty red uniform and looking so comfortable on his horse that he seemed part of it.

His men grinned and waved. Orlov and Golovin put down their tools and hurried to Max, both of them talking at once.

So many demands for his attention—yet as he swung down from his horse, he looked around until he found her. Their gazes locked and Max smiled, a quiet, only-for-her smile that made her heart quicken.

She found herself smiling back. She was just wondering if she should go to meet him when Orlov drew Max’s attention to Widow Brodie’s roof. Moments later, Max took off his heavy overcoat and joined the men working there.

She watched for a while longer, but then realized how silly she must look, staring at Max while everyone else worked. She glanced around furtively and was glad no one seemed to have noticed, then turned back to the shutters. It would be a while before Max was free to talk with her, or anyone else.

This week had been very frustrating. She and Max had seen each other every day, but they had been able to speak only infrequently, rarely for very long, and never without interruption. If it wasn’t his men coming to ask questions or to tell him of some accomplishment, it was her villagers doing the same to her.

It is ridiculous,
she thought, throwing some shutters into the pile with more force than necessary.
It’s as if we have thirty-some children, and they won’t give us a moment alone.

Still, even with so many unknowing chaperones, she and Max had managed to sneak off for a few moments by themselves, moments that had left her shivering with desire and aching with unanswered passion. If he were half as good a lover as he was a kisser—

A flush warmed her from head to toe.
I must stop thinking like this, or steam will rise from my skin.

But the more kisses one had, the more one wanted. Especially deep, wild, barely contained passionate kisses that left a woman panting and weak-kneed. She hadn’t felt this way since . . . well, ever, really. She wondered if she were being unfair to her memory of Robert, but she couldn’t compare the extremely young and innocent girl who’d arrived at Rowallen Castle and married an equally young and innocent Robert Muir to the woman she was today.

Life had cut short her time with Robert, throwing her to the ground and saddling her with the responsibility of an entire village. She couldn’t be distracted by a few kisses from a handsome stranger.

“Guid mornin’, me lady!” Widow MacCrae and her
daughter walked past, puffing frosty breaths as they carried a heavy bucket of nails together. They grinned at her, their cheeks red from the cold.

“Good morning.” Murian smiled in return. “I hope your cottage will be warmer with the repairs that have been made.”

“I hope so, too,” Widow MacCrae replied. “Widow Reeves’s knee has been achin’ somethin’ fierce this mornin’, so ’twill be a deep snow.”

“Aye, ’tis a dreich day,” Murian agreed. “Be careful on the path. ’Tis slick.”

“We will, me lady,” Widow MacCrae called over her shoulder.

Murian watched them carry the bucket to their cottage. There, one of Max’s men—she thought his name was Pahlen—stood on the roof. A large, burly man, he was dressed in a fur-lined coat, hat, and boots. It must be colder in Oxenburg than here, for all of the soldiers had such garments. Certainly, none of them seemed to feel the cold the way the rest of them did.

Pahlen removed a piece of broken slate from the roof and threw it off the back of the house onto a growing pile. Will would come by later with a cart and carry the debris to the stables, where they’d crush the pieces into gravel to pave the yard in front of the stalls.

As Widow MacCrae and her daughter set down the bucket of nails, Pahlen hung his hammer on his belt and climbed down the ladder. He greeted Leslie and her girl with a teasing remark that left them both smiling shyly. Still talking, he scooped out a handful of nails and dropped them into a leather pouch hanging from
his waist. Then, with what looked like the greatest of ease, he picked up four heavy boards and, balancing without effort on the narrow ladder, climbed back onto the roof. He set the boards down, placing them against the chimney, and then leaned over to say something to Widow MacCrae. A moment later, Murian heard the widow’s laughter as it floated on the wind, her daughter’s following.

“ ’Tis guid to hear tha’,” Ian said from where he’d paused at her side. He rested his wheelbarrow of sand, his gaze on the MacCraes. “I’ve heard more laughter these last five days than in the last three months.”

“I think the women have been missing a manly presence.” She hastily added, “Not that you and Will are not—”

“Whist, lass.” Ian chuckled. “I know wha’ ye meant. I think of ye all as me dauwters.”

“And is Will like a son to you, then?”

His smile faded as he regarded Will, who was leaning against the barn, arms crossed, sullenly regarding the work being done on Widow MacThune’s roof. “He’d no’ want me to call him ‘son,’ lassie. But I will say he’d be much better off if he’d been walloped more often when he was a bairn.”

“Robert said he used to be close to Will, but by the time I reached Rowallen, they couldna speak without arguing.”

“Aye, they were like brothers once. The old laird treated them equal, he did. But after his death, Robert decided ’twas best fer them both to remember their places. Will dinna like tha’.”

“I’m not sure I blame him,” Murian replied. “I half expected Robert to banish the lad, for he seemed determined to poke at Robert at every turn, while Robert never missed the chance to belittle Will. But why is Will angry now?”

“He wished to climb the roofs, bu’ the prince tol’ him no—tha’ ’twould be better left to his men, as they ha’ boots with soles made to grip slick surfaces. Ha’ ye seen their boots? There’s wee studs in the soles. I’ve ne’er seen the like.”

“That explains why they walk so easily on the rooftops.”

“Aye. So now the lad’s poutin’.” Ian watched Will kick at a stone near his foot. “He ha’ no business bein’ on the roof, anyway. He’s clumsy, and can barely walk across a floor wi’oot fallin’.”

Murian briefly closed her eyes. “And I suppose you told Will that?”

“Aye, which is no’ wha’ he wanted to hear.”

“Poor Will.” Since Robert had never had any patience with Will, she’d gone out of her way to be kind to him, and had perhaps spoiled him a bit. She wondered now if she’d made things worse. “He’s an adult, and we should give him more responsibilities. Let him be the man of his own house, at least.”

Ian slanted her a glance, looking suddenly uneasy. “He may be growing in age, bu’ no’ in wisdom.”

“He deserves a chance, Ian.”

“Life’s no’ always fair, lass. But mayhap ye’re right. If it’ll make him less moody, it canna be a bad idea.” He grasped wheelbarrow handles. “I’d best get this sand
to the well. We’re puttin’ in some slabs of rock to shore oop the wall where ’twas crumblin’.” As he spoke, someone called his name, and he went on his way.

Murian watched him go, her gaze passing on to other cottages where work was being done, some by the prince’s men, some by her widows, the older children joining in. Shutters were being attached to new window frames, solid wood doors replacing rotting ones, mud chinking smeared into open seams.

They’d made a good start, and she took pride in how well everyone worked together. When Max had asked her to make a list of their most pressing needs, she, Ian, and Widow Reeves had put their heads together and done so. And now those cottages were being seen to.

Murian found herself watching Max again, where he stood by Widow Brodie’s cottage. Of all the cottages, hers needed the most work. It was the largest, and with five boisterous boys, she’d needed the space. But the roof was steeper and more given to leaks, the chimney had been made too shallow and belched smoke, the windows were horridly crooked, and the door was so small that even the widow had to duck to go inside—and she was a short woman, rounder than she was tall.

Now, Piotr Orlov stood on a barrel beside the cottage. Dressed head to toe in wool and fur, he held up two long boards. On the roof stood Max, his feet planted on the slanted surface. Murian watched as he bent down, grasped the boards, and hauled them onto the roof.

He said something to Orlov, and the sergeant turned
to hand up a small pouch of nails. Two more of the prince’s men brought a heavy load of planks, which they placed on the ground near the wall, and then they stood back, watching the work. After a moment one of them called up to Max, pointing as if making a suggestion about the chimney.

Other leaders might not heed the advice of those they outranked, but Max listened, and even asked several questions. Finally, he nodded and then picked up one of the boards Orlov had handed him earlier, and walked up the steep roof, careful to put his weight on the rafters and not between. Murian had to admire his sure-footedness, for he didn’t hesitate once, his movements purposeful.

Everything Max did, he did with calm decisiveness, as if he knew the answers everyone else only guessed at. It might annoy her, but she realized that Spencer would like him; they were two of a kind.

Max reached the fireplace, placed the board, and then braced himself against the chimney to hammer the piece into place. When he was done, he bent down to view his handiwork. Then, apparently satisfied, he made his way back to the ladder.

Orlov said something to him as he neared it, and whatever Max replied made Orlov flush, while the other men roared with laughter.

Max’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. She was taken by the way he smiled. A joy in life, as if he savored each moment. Whatever it was, she responded to it, and it made her feel both warm and cold, almost as if—

“Yer eyes will fall oot of yer head from starin’.”
Widow Reeves stood beside Murian, her gaze on Max as well. “No’ tha’ it wouldna be worth it.”

Murian’s face heated. “Good morning. I dinna see you there.”

“That’s because ye were busy gettin’ an eyeful.” Widow Reeves watched Max climb down the ladder. “And a nicer eyeful I canno’ imagine.”

“Nay, I—I thought there was a crack in Widow Brodie’s window. Then I decided ’twas just the way light hit it, so there was no problem.”

“O’ course ye werena staring at tha’ bonnie prince,” Widow Reeves said soothingly, a grin breaking through. “Ye were jus’ countin’ the leaves in the trees. Innocent as a lamb, ye are.”

“Something like that,” Murian muttered.

Widow Reeves chortled. “Lass, ye’d ha’ to be blind no’ to notice a mon like tha’. And ’tis no’ just the prince.” Her gaze rested on the group of men standing at the foot of the ladder. “I dinna know wha’ they drink in Oxenburg, bu’ they seem to ha’ more than their fair share of bonny lads.”