Sin hefted the sledgehammer and slammed it down onto the post. Stay in Glasgow until he’d discovered the traitors? Bah. He swung the hammer again, the vibration in his hands at the contact a soothing balm. His resolution hadn’t lasted five minutes. The urgent letter from his mother requesting his return had seen to that. A wall breach and a flooded field. He hefted, pounded out his frustration. A field they could ill afford to lose, not when crops were already failing.
So, he stood in the mud and swung a hammer, something any simpleton could do. He had no solutions except brute force. No inventive plans to save Kenmore. Thwack. A marquess? Nae. Thwack, thwack. He was a bloody imposter. Not good enough to be laird of Kenmore. Not nearly good enough to be Winnifred’s husband. And now unable to take part in preserving the union.
At least Sutton and Summerset remained in Glasgow. They wouldn’t leave that city until they’d uncovered the plot.
A shout rose, and Sin spun to see the section of canal wall he and his men had been rebuilding for the past four hours collapse into rubble. He scrambled back from the splintering beams and the cloud of dirt, only to dart in when he saw the lad, Jock, half-buried beneath debris.
“Dig in!” he shouted to the others. “Let’s get him out.” The rocky soil sliced into his fingers as he hand-shoveled the earth off of the footman. The boy’s exposed face was a grimace of pain.
Other hands joined in, pushing dirt off and uncovering Jock’s limbs. Thank God the earthen wall of the canal still held. If it breached, the boy could drown. In a matter of moments, Jock was pulled from the scree and lifted out of the trench. Dozens of hands carried him to safety and laid him on the ground.
Sin climbed out of the pit and knelt by Jock. “What hurts?” He ran his gaze over the lad’s body but saw no obvious broken bones or abrasions.
“Besides from it feeling like Ole Man Seamus sat on me chest, only me knee, milord.” Jock pushed up onto his hands. “I’ll be all right.”
The crush of men gathered near laughed. Most of Kenmore’s tenants had come out to help with repairs. The canal was the life blood of all their fields, and the bit of sport at Seamus the crofter’s ponderous expense acted like a pin to a blister, popping the tension and relieving the pressure.
Sin blew out a breath. Only the knee. The boy sounded just like his wife, who also insisted she was unharmed even as she hobbled about her rooms, wincing with each step.
He’d told her to stay abed. But did the obstinate woman listen? Of course not. And now every pained step she took was a reminder of his failure to keep her safe.
He helped Jock stand and waved to another to bring his horse.
“I can stay and work more.” Jock straightened and tried to put weight on his left leg. He winced. “No need to send me back.”
“You’ll return to Kenmore and rest.” Sin’s voice brooked no objection.
Another failure. His tenants, his servants, his wife. It was his duty to care for them. Protect them. And he was failing on every front. “And if your knee isn’t better by tomorrow, we’ll send for the doctor. Now up with you.” He and two other men lifted Jock into the saddle.
Sin jerked his head at Gregor, and the coachman gathered the horse’s reins and led him away towards the castle.
Gavin stood at the edge of the trench, hands on hips, looking down at the mess in disgust. “What now?”
Sin joined him. The posts they’d used to anchor the wall hadn’t been deep enough, he could see that now. The weight of the canal required stronger bracing. More hours of back-breaking work. All for a bit of water that wouldn’t make a fuck lot of difference if the sun didn’t shine.
He forced optimism into his voice and clapped his friend on his shoulder. “Now we get back to work.”
A general round of grumbling met this announcement.
Sin jumped back into the trench and found his sledgehammer. “Quit your glumping, princesses. You aren’t going to let a toff show you up out in the fields, are you?” A strand of hair clung to his cheek, and he shoved it back with the back of his wrist. “I wager you that I’ll dig two holes for every one you lazy sots do, or a cask of ten-year-old scotch is on me.”
He grinned as the men pushed each other jumping back in the hole and picking up their tools.
“I think you’re going to doon a lot of fine whisky,” Gavin said.
Sin slammed the handle of his sledgehammer into the loose soil, marking the spot he would dig. “Your lack of faith pains me. Why would you think that?” Not that Sin hadn’t been planning on giving all these men a reward for their labors. But it took a rare man to best him in any physical competition.
Gavin jerked his head toward Kenmore. “Because you’re going to be too busy jawing instead of digging.”
Sin looked where he indicated and saw the lone figure coming toward them on horseback. His mother’s bright red hair was the only spot of color on the bleak moor.
“Hmph.” He slammed the hammer into the earth. As he climbed from the trench, his friend laughed behind him. “Come on, men. We have him at an advantage, you ken? Let’s use every minute of it.”
Sin strode to his mother, wishing it were another woman coming to see him.
She waited until he took the horse’s bridle before swinging her legs from the stirrups and hopping to the ground. “Hello, mo ghrâdh.”
Wished it were another woman telling him she loved him.
“Mother. Come to check on our progress?” He gritted his teeth. “As you can see, there’s very little. I didn’t have the men dig the posts deep enough and our first attempt failed.”
She pressed her lips together. “Well, blaming yourself won’t help anything. It looks like repairs are doing well now.”
Sin bit back a snort. Only a mother’s eyes would think that anything on this whole bloody estate was going well. He shook his head, giving her a fond smile. “It’s kind of you to say so, but I don’t require humoring. We both know Kenmore is a right mess, and I’ve done little to improve it.”
The stone and wood wall of the canal ran the length of the pasture. It had stood for over two hundred years, held together by every previous laird. “I am … sorry that I’m not the marquess the house of/Dunkeld deserves. I only wish I’d had more time to learn from father before he died.”
He’d been sent to school in England when he was eight. His education was useful for his life in London, but had never taught him the art of managing his own estate. Tavish and Sin’s mother had held the reins until Sin had come of age, and even then, he’d allowed them to make the decisions with but the barest interference on his part. His tasks from the crown had always been of higher importance, his duties in the House of Lords a higher calling.
He looked over his shoulder at the men working together, heedless of his presence. “I thank you for notifying me of the canal collapse, but as soon as it is repaired, I’m be returning to Glasgow.”
She gave him a shrewd look. “Just Glasgow?”
He looked away, not wanting to see her disappointment. “Then London. It is where I belong.”
“And your wife?” Her tone was flat, showing neither disgust nor the disappointment Sin knew she must feel.
“If Winnifred wishes to accompany me, she may.” She wouldn’t. He knew that now. Whatever passion he’d seen in her had been nothing but animal heat, not an indication of any feeling on her part. The extra slices of ham she liked to put on his plate at breakfast no more than friendly regard. “I think her new laboratory will keep her occupied here, however.”
His mother crossed her arms and sighed. “Tis a shame that I raised such a daft son. It must have been all that book learning. Forced the common sense straight oot of your head.”
He swiveled his head to stare down at her. “Pardon?”
“You heard me.” She poked his arm. “I know ye think that you’re being noble blaming yourself for every problem in Scotland, but there are many things that are outside your control. It does no one, least of all your tenants, any good to believe that you are king o’ the world.”
“I know I don’t control everything,” he gritted out. If he did, he would have heard four little words yesterday, I love you, too. “But keeping Kenmore in good condition is my job. Essentially the only job of a marquess. Father would have—”
“He would have done nothing but sit back with a large dram while Tavish took care of the canal.” She blew out her cheeks. “Lord knows I loved the man, but he wasn’t the sort to get his hands dirty with his own people. I’m glad ye remember your father as a wise and powerful laird, but the truth is more tangled than that.”
He turned to face her. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that your father was an able enough marquess who never had to prove himself.” She rested a hand on his arm. “It was easy for him to keep things running smoothly because he never faced difficult times. He was a fortunate man, and easy in his fortune. The biggest problem he ever had to face was when the Beattie family wouldn’t stop poaching on our lands. Don’t measure yourself by him; I fear the comparison would show him in a poor light.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I’ll never repeat this, not to my dying day, but you are a better man than my husband was. I see it with every burden you willingly shoulder, every tenant you climb down into the dirt to help. It’s time ye stopped your whining and started acting like the marquess I know you can be.”
Sin gaped down at her. It was absurd. His normally sensible mother was uttering nonsense. “You can’t mean—”
“I mean every word.” She sniffed and turned her back to watch the men laboring. “You’re old enough to put away your childish fancies aboot your father and see him for the man he was, flaws and all. And stop using his memory as an excuse to run away.”
Sin gripped the back of his neck and squeezed. That nonsense about being better than his father he couldn’t credit, but his mother was right about one thing. Sin had used his fear of not living up to his father’s memory as an excuse to avoid Kenmore.
Shame burned in his gut. He’d never wanted to be a man who avoided his duty, but there it was. That was what he’d become.
“Now, about that wife of yours—”
“No.” Sin raised his hand, palm out. “I’ve let you prattle on about father, but my wife is off limits.”
His mother slowly arched her eyebrow, a look Sin recognized. One he utilized with utmost efficiency to make his opponent feel a quiver of dread.
“Prattle on?” she repeated.
Sin leaned back before catching himself. He would not be intimidated by a five-foot four-inch woman. He would not.
“Just because you may not like what a woman has to say does not mean she is prattling.” She slashed her finger in the air between them. “And if I have something to say about your wife, I shall say it. Understood?”
He sighed and nodded in resignation.
“It’s clear you have feelings for the Sassenach, which is fortunate, since you’re bound to her for life. So why would you abandon her here while you traipse about the world?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And I willnae get any grandbairns if you two aren’t together.”
A strange pang squeezed his heart. Babes with Winnifred’s solemn eyes and his wild hair. It would be a perfect combination.
Their children would be even more perfect if they were conceived in the love of both parents.
“I want her to be happy.”
His mother nodded. “That’s a fine goal. Why wouldn’t she be happier with ye?”
A roar of laughter emerged from the trench, and Sin’s feet twitched, eager to take him away from this awkward conversation and go join them. “You’ve guessed my feelings, Mother. But Winnifred doesn’t feel the same.”
“Not yet.” She held out her hands. “She’s English; ye have to take that into account.”
“What do you mean?”
“We Scottish are more hot-blooded. Your father only had to look at me the right way and I was his for life.” She sighed, and shook her head. “The English use their minds instead of their hearts. You’ll have to work for it, but that’s no reason to give up. And leaving her here at Kenmore while you traipse about is a special form of surrender.”
He rubbed his jaw. Could his mother be right? Did Winnifred just need more time? They’d been married for hardly any time at all. He did have several decades to conquer her heart. “Winnifred’s a logical, practical sort of woman. Do you really think someone like her could love me?”
“She’s a queer one, your wife,” his mother said. “But she’s intelligent. And an intelligent woman couldn’t help but fall in love with ye.”
He grinned and pressed his lips to her cheek. “Thanks, mam.” She was biased, of course. But her words made his body feel lighter. Sin had always considered himself a fighter, and it was time he fought for what was most important to him. His wife and his home.
“Ye can’t just sit on your rump,” she added. “Ye have to put in some effort to win her heart. And that requires—”
“Living together.” He rolled his eyes. “I heard you the first five times.”
She patted his cheek, a little harder than the situation called for. “Good. Then my work here is done.” She strode to her horse and swung easily into the saddle. “I’ll see you at supper.” And with a toss of her fiery hair, she was off.
Sin strolled to the canal, ignoring the jibes from the men about the scotch he owed them. His mind was on his mother’s words.
He’d always faced life head on. If there was a plot afoot, he ended it. A problem, he fixed it. He only needed to look at his wife as a problem to solve. She didn’t love him. Yet.
He picked up his sledgehammer, found his post, and swung.
But he could be a determined man. And he was determined not to be the only one in his marriage suffering from this horrible, wonderful feeling called love. He’d broken through her reserve in the bedroom. He could break through the wall surrounding her heart.
Gavin clapped him on the back and hooted. “Still only half way on yer first post and the rest of us have planted all the rest.” He tutted. “A sad day for the reputation of the Archer family.”
Sin grumbled good-naturedly, his spirits too high to mind his trouncing.
He gazed at the smiling and dirty faces of his people.
Finally, he knew his place. Where he belonged, and where his duty lay.
And he was determined to have the heart of the woman who stood beside him. He wouldn’t settle for anything less.