The First Test

P ayton and Tavish paused in their labors for the first time in hours and stripped off their shirts. Sweating profusely and dying of thirst, Ash gladly accepted the water skin Tavish offered. After gulping down a few swigs, he removed his own sodden shirt, aware he must look like a weakling compared to the well-muscled Scotsmen. He'd eased off his ruined boots after the first hour. Now, barley sprouts poked out from between his toes. His feet had turned an odd shade of brown.

He'd never done so much manual labor in his life. Every muscle in his body screamed its objection to the repetitive bending, shoveling and tossing, but he felt strangely satisfied. He'd kept up with the experts, though the three of them had worked through less than half of the extensive malting floor.

"Time to eat," Tavish declared.

He and his brother made their way to sit on a low wall at the side of the cavernous hall and shouted something in a foreign tongue Ash thought might be Gaelic. He sat beside them on the wall, assuming an employee would appear with food.

He clenched his jaw when the troublesome redhead entered the hall, three small baskets looped over her forearms.

She handed a basket to Tavish, then another to Payton. When Ash's turn came, she thrust the third basket at him and declared, "Lady Maureen sent this for ye."

Sulking and glaring, she was obviously not pleased to be waiting on him. Little did she realize the pouting lips, flashing eyes and deep blush sent his cock into full salute. He hadn't failed to notice her perusal of his bare chest. The ache intensified when she turned on her heel and left, nose in the air, hips swaying.

He became aware of Tavish's narrowed eyes on him. "Dinna even think about it," the Scot warned.

Cooling her face with her hands, Makenna slumped into the chair in her little office. "I must be ailing for somethin'," she murmured. "A noxious malady contracted on the journey."

She chuckled. The only noxious thing she'd brought to Glengeárr was Ash Halstead. But, cripes, he had a beautiful body. He wasn't as broad nor as well-muscled as Tavish and Payton, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on his lean frame. She understood he'd led a life of dissipation, but his torso didn't show any sign of it. Army discipline must have kept him fit.

Fists clenched, she turned her attention back to the ledgers, but the figures swam before her eyes. All she could see was the sheen of sweat on Ash Halstead's body and the barley sprouting from his long toes. It was ridiculous to be preoccupied with a man she didn't even like.

But he'd evidently worked hard, something she'd doubted he would deign to do.

The shadows were lengthening by the time they finished turning all the barley spread on the malting floor. Ash derived great satisfaction from the surprise evident on the King brothers' faces. He'd surprised himself too. As the long afternoon wore on, there'd been times he'd been tempted to cry off, but he'd kept at it. He hadn't taken care of himself since returning from France, but army life must have toughened him up.

"Ye did well," Tavish declared, extending a hand.

Ash suspected this Scot rarely gave out compliments, so he accepted the handshake. "My thanks," he said. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Aye, same task," Payton replied.

Ash's spirits plummeted, but he was determined not to let his dismay show. "See you on the morrow then."

"I think we nigh on killed him," Tavish said after Halstead left.

"Nigh on killed ourselves in the process," Payton replied. "I don't think we've ever finished turnin' a whole maltin' floor in one day."

"He doesna need to know that," Tavish said with a smile. "We'll get some of the lads to pitch in tomorrow."

"Good, I'm for home and a warm bath."

Makenna chuckled. She doubted Tavish and Payton realized their voices carried to where she stood ready to leave. Ash Halstead had apparently passed the first test.

She blew out the candle in her office and stepped outside, wishing she had stayed indoors when she realized Halstead was staring up at the moon. "Good evening, Miss Guthrie," he said politely.

Not sure if she was being teased, she replied, "Good evening, my lord."

"Ash will do fine," he said.

Stifling a ludicrous feeling of disappointment that he'd put his shirt back on, she frowned. "I dinna think 'tis a good idea to use given names," she said, sounding prudish to her own ears. He'd passed the first test set by the Kings so why could she not give him the benefit of the doubt?

"As you wish, Miss Guthrie."

This time, the unmistakable sarcasm left her feeling stupidly bereft. He'd offered an olive branch and she'd thrown it back in his face. But a lass could never be too careful with a womanizer.

Drawing her woollen shawl around her shoulders, she hurried off in the direction of her cottage.

Ash watched the petulant redhead disappear into the gloom. He wasn't sure why he'd offered her the use of his given name. Whatever the reason, she'd thrown it back in his face. He should steer well clear of her. Tavish had made no bones about that. Yet, there was something about her that drew him. "Like a moth to the flame, idiot," he hissed.

There'd be no purpose in pursuing her, except perhaps he'd end up in her bed. "Doubtful," he muttered. "She's the kind who'll only give it up to a husband on her wedding night. I'll wager the folk of this village don't take kindly to lasses who get with child without benefit of wedlock."

Ash had never given much thought to marriage and he certainly couldn't wed a prickly commoner—a Scot to boot.

That truth left him strangely dispirited as he set off walking to Lockie House.