Page 29 of Dance in the Stones

Which makes it our fault?

Which makes it no one’s fault. It was an accident. Redford appeared around the corner, phone still in hand. “Malcolm’s wife is on her way. She says to tell you two to stop hovering and go home.”

Ross laughed, which broke the tension. “That sounds like Eileen.”

An hour later, Malcolm was settled with his leg in a temporary cast and enough painkillers to make his speech fuzzy. His wife shooed them away with firm instructions to take care of the castle, not to worry about Malcolm, and to stop looking like kicked puppies.

Damon and Redford drove Ross home, then headed back up the winding road to Duncarrick as the first clouds gathered on the horizon. The moment the SUV was parked, Redford was out of it, surveying the site with a critical eye.

“How long do you think we have?” Damon asked.

“Three hours, maybe four before the worst hits.” Redford turned to face him. “The crew did good work on the foundation, but those tarps won’t hold in high winds, and the scaffolding needs additional reinforcement.”

“So we do it ourselves.”

“Without human eyes watching this time.” Redford’s mouth quirked. “Think you can keep up, hellhound?”

“Try not to fall off anything, gargoyle.”

Without their human audience, and definitely no one around to see them, they were a lot quicker than they might have been otherwise. Damon translocated supplies from the storage shed - ropes, chains, additional tarps, sandbags - while Redford used his affinity with the stones to sense weak points in their repairs. Thanks to their bond, they could move like two parts of the same being.

Pass me that chain.

Damon had it in Redford’s hands before the thought finished forming.

The northwest scaffolding is unstable.

Redford was already moving in that direction, climbing the framework in seconds.

They reinforced the scaffolding with additional support beams, using their bare hands and the strength of their arms to drive posts deep into the ground that would’ve required machinery for humans to put in. Tarps were doubled and tripled, weighted down with sandbags and tied with knots that wouldn’t slip even in hurricane-force winds. Tools disappeared into locked sheds, loose stones were secured, and drainage channels were cleared to prevent flooding.

The wind was getting worse by the minute, and the clouds were making the skies unusually dark for the time of day. By the time they finished securing the courtyard, the first drops of rain had started to fall.

“The tower,” Redford said, pointing to the partially repaired eastern structure. “We left equipment up there.”

“On it.”

Damon translocated to the tower top in a blink, there was no time left for climbing when the storm was right there. The wind hit him like someone had slapped two hands on his chest and shoved him – a force strong enough it would’ve knocked any smaller person off balance. He grabbed the surveying equipment and tools they’d left that morning, securing them in a waterproof container. Below, he could see Redford checking the tower stones. The tingle of Redford’s magic felt similar to the electricity in the air.

Translocating back to the courtyard, he met up with Redford as the rain went from drops to buckets in under a minute.

“I think that’s everything,” Redford shouted over the wind. “The rest will either survive, or it won’t.”

They made a final circuit of the site, Damon’s keen eyesight and enhanced senses checking for anything they’d missed while Redford’s magic reinforced what they’d secured. The rain soaked through their clothes, plastering them against their skin, while lightning cracked across the sky, followed by thunder that shook the ground.

“We’ve done our best. It’s time to go.” Damon grabbed Redford’s hand.

They ran for the cottage as the full fury of the storm hit. Wind screamed through the ruins, tearing at their clothes and hair. Rain came down in torrents, turning the path to mud. By the time they stumbled through the cottage door, they were dripping wet and covered in dirt.

“Fucking hell.” Redford leaned against the closed door, his chest heaving. “That escalated quickly.”

“Understatement.” Damon peeled off his sodden jacket, water pooling on the floor. “Shower?”

“Definitely shower.”

They stripped in the bathroom, leaving a pile of muddy clothes. The hot water felt like heaven after hours of cold wind and rain, and Damon groaned as it sluiced over his aching muscles.

“We make a good team,” Redford said, soaping Damon’s shoulders, his strong hands working out the tightness in his muscles.