Page 74 of Highland Treasure (Highland Brides 9)

Elysande didn’t wait for his response to that, but whirled away to hurry back to the others.

Rory stared after her, noting how happy she looked. He suspected he was seeing the Elysande she had been before de Buci had marched in and raised such havoc in her life. Or as close as she would ever become to that young woman again. She was damned near glowing with joy at being reunited with these people. But then she had grown up with them in her life for so long and they had loved her enough to follow her to Scotland. She was getting her home back without actually having to set foot in the castle that held the terrible memories of her parents’ murder. And somehow, he had to figure out a way to let her keep that home, these people, with her.

“They are no’ going to all fit in the lodge,” Aulay said suddenly as if somehow following his thoughts.

Rory closed his eyes briefly and then speared Fearghas with a gaze and asked, “Sheep?”

“Aye. Sheep, a wagonload o’ chickens, a dozen cows and even a few horses, but mostly sheep, about a hundred I’d say,” Donnghail said when Fearghas merely nodded. He then added, “The English king hadn’t sent a guardian out to take over watching the land ere we left. I suspect whoever it is won’t be happy when he arrives to find the place pretty much empty, but we figured he’d just blame de Buci and it should be all right we brought Lady Elysande’s people here.”

“Dear God,” Rory moaned, rubbing his forehead harder. He had sheep. And cows, chickens, servants, and nowhere to put them.

“They are definitely no’ going to all fit in the lodge,” Aulay repeated as if Rory might have missed it the first time.

“Isn’t that the English king’s banner?” the Erskine clan chieftain suddenly asked.

“Aye, ’tis,” the Stewart chieftain responded. “Why do ye ha’e a bunch o’ Englishmen gathering on yer beach? Are we being invaded?”

“’Tis a damned good thing we came if the English are thinking o’ invading,” the Wallace chieftain said grimly, tugging out his sword. “We’ll send the bastards running in a hurry.”

“Nay!” Rory said abruptly, and then straightened his shoulders. “We’re no’ being invaded. And if any one o’ ye ever wants the benefit o’ me healing skills again, ye’ll leave those men be. They’re a gift to me wife from the English king for saving his life. He sent them to help construct the castle I’m building so she’d ha’e a home to raise our bairns in, and I damned well need all the help I can get now that I seem to ha’e a castle full o’ servants and nowhere to put them.”

There was a moment of silence and then one of the chieftains said, “Aye, ye’re definitely needing someplace to put all these people. They’ll no’ fit in that wee hunting lodge o’ Aulay’s.”

“What ye need is a motte and bailey castle to tide ye o’er until the stone one is done,” another said thoughtfully, and Rory stared at the man with wonder. That was the answer. An old-fashioned motte and bailey castle. A wooden structure on a raised bit of land, or motte, with a wall around it made from timber. That could be built pretty quick. Why, William the Conqueror had managed to make one in eighty days using only fifty men. With the two thousand he had here, they could have one built in a week easily and it would give them somewhere to live until the men finished the castle proper.

“I hope you are not expecting us to build a motte and bailey for you. The king sent us to build a proper stone edifice. We do not build mottes and baileys.”

Rory swung around at that announcement to find that a small contingent of the Englishmen had braved approaching while the other five or six hundred already ashore watched safely from the shoreline. Men were still disembarking from the ship and being shuttled to shore in the smaller boats.

“Now see here,” the Ferguson said, stepping up to Rory’s side. “If the king sent ye here to build, ye’ll build and—”

“Nay, leave off with that,” the MacGregor said, interrupting the older man. “They probably have no’ the skill to build a proper motte anyway. ’Tis better if the Scottish builders do it. We want a stable motte.”

“Do ye think our stonemasons’ll know what to do?” Ferguson asked now with a frown. “It’s an old skill.”

“Do you know how to do it?” the MacGregor asked him.

“Aye,” the Ferguson said at once.

“Well, hell, then let’s do it ourselves. With all the warriors we have here, and the servants too, we’ll have the damned thing up before those English have all their men and their tools ashore.”

Rory stood, mouth agape, as everybody but Aulay, Alick, Tom, Fearghas and Donnghail suddenly walked off, discussing what they needed to do to build him a temporary home.

“It looks like you’re getting a motte and bailey to tide you over,” Aulay said with amusement.

“Aye.” Rory sighed the word as he closed his mouth. He should be relieved, but suspected he had a lot of headaches in his future with the three different groups of men. He sincerely doubted that the nearly one thousand Scottish masons and laborers already working on the castle would take kindly to the arrival of the English masons and laborers, and as for the men who had determined to build him a motte and bailey . . . clans had never been known to work well together.

Shaking his head, Rory pushed those worries away for now and went in search of his wife. He wanted to be sure she was safely back at the lodge with her feet up and as many of her people around her as he could arrange for before he left her to lead everyone to the construction site.

It was a thump and a curse that stirred Elysande from sleep. Opening her eyes she listened to her husband’s hushed apology and smiled to herself. He’d tripped over Eldon again on his way up the hall. Or perhaps it had been Betty, or Ethelfreda, or one of the other women and children now filling the lodge at night. There were many of them—too many, really—and Rory was forced to tiptoe through them and hope he didn’t misstep and tread on anyone when he came to bed at night. But he didn’t complain.

She wouldn’t blame him if he did. The poor man usually didn’t stumble back to the lodge until late at night, and he arrived exhausted from long days overseeing building the castle while helping to build the motte and bailey. Although she suspected he got little actual work done. Most of his time these last two weeks since the king’s men had arrived along with the clans and her people, seemed to be taken up with trying to keep the English masons and Scottish masons from killing each other, and trying to stave off all-out war being declared between the various clans as they tried to work together on the motte and bailey.

She heard the faint creak of the door to the bedchamber opening, and waited silently as he entered, closed the door and crossed to the bed. Elysande heard his plaid hit the floor about halfway across the room. His tunic followed a couple of steps later, and then he was crawling into bed behind her. When his arm came around her and he gently rubbed his large hand over her swollen belly, she smiled and covered his fingers with her own.

“Good eve, husband,” she whispered, squeezing the back of his hand.

“Good eve, wife. Did I wake you?” he asked with concern as he pressed a kiss to her neck.

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