Page 41 of To Winter at Wildsyde

“Want?” she repeated, all innocence, turning away from the stag with relief. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Ye ken well enough, I reckon. Ye have come to beard the lion in his den, have ye nae?”

Ruth gave the pink walls a pointed glance and bit her lip.

“Aye, and I’ve no doubt ye would have put a lion’s head on the walls, if ye could have laid hands on one, blast ye.”

It took considerable concentration not to laugh, but she held his gaze, attempting to look contrite and was arrested by something that might have been admiration in his eyes.

“I have been a terrible trial to you, I’m afraid,” she said softly. “I am sorry, Gordy. I’ll change it again so you can relax. Whatever you’d like, I promise.”

He snorted at that. “Ach, fair’s fair. I cannae be what ye were wanting in a husband.”

She smiled then, unable to keep the tenderness from her voice. “That’s where you are wrong, but I shan’t embarrass you by trying to tell you things you have no wish to hear.”

It was hardly a surprise that he looked away from her, but she felt bereft all the same. He shuffled the papers into a neat pile and put them in the desk drawer.

“Work seems to be coming on apace,” she said, hoping she had not chased him away so quickly. She ought to know better than to say such things to him. “Are you pleased with everything you’ve achieved?”

“Aye,” he said, the reply grudging as he got to his feet.

“The fishing boats have been a success? The catch has been as plentiful as you hoped?”

“Aye.”

“And at Freswick? The repairs you’ve been working on are complete now?”

“Nae.”

Ruth took a breath, holding her temper in check, too aware that he was purposely trying to frustrate her. “Is there a lot of work still to do?”

“Aye.”

She took a different tack. “How do you feel about violet, my cherished moonbeam?”

Gordy frowned at her, an uneasy glint in his eyes. “Violet?”

“Yes, sweeting, violet. As in, the colour.” She flashed him a blinding smile which made him look vaguely horrified.

“Ye are a despicable, calculating she-devil,” he growled, though she thought perhaps that glimmer of admiration was visible once more.

“Yes, my heart, but I’m your despicable, calculating she-devil.”

He grunted at that, shaking his head and giving a heavy sigh. “Very well.” It was spoken with tight-jawed resignation. “I am optimistic about the boats, though it is nae the season to tell with any certainty. It’s given work to the men, though, and the women are occupied salting the fish and carrying it to Wick. I won’t know for certain until the shoaling starts in July, but if it proves as successful as I hope I’ll buy more boats. I have every expectation it will be a profitable venture. The cottages at Freswick were in worse repair than I’d hoped, but the work is well underway, and I have more dwellings planned once the renovations are done, as the success of the boats will bring more tenants to me.”

“I’m so proud of you, Gordy,” she said, not attempting to hide the catch in her voice. “Truly, you are doing so much good.”

To her astonishment he flushed, and she saw the confusion in his eyes before he turned away again. He stood staring out the window, his back to her. “Ye are the most contrary woman I ever knew.”

She laughed at that. “I don’t doubt it.”

He glanced back over his shoulder, frowning, obviously at a loss to know what to make of her.

“Would you like to see my new project, Gordy?”

His expression grew wary once more.

“Will it give me nightmares?” he asked, his gaze straying to the sightless eyes that watched them from all corners of the room.