Free Enraptured by Candace Camp Page A

up. “I am sorry. I am keeping you from your bed.” That was foolish. The mere mention of her bed was enough to send fire shooting through him. “Ishould go.” Feeling inordinately clumsy, he pushed back his chair and closed the journal. “Good night, my lady.”
    He walked out, doing his best to keep his pace slow, as if he were not running away.

    Three men waited for Violet at the site the next morning, just as Coll had promised. One of them was the young man, Dougal, who had seen her at Coll’s table the morning before. He watched her with a combination of embarrassment and curiosity. They leaned on the handles of their shovels, picks lying on the ground around them.
    â€œYou won’t need your tools,” Violet told them, and began to pull implements from a sack. “I brought the things you will use to excavate.”
    The men frowned down at the trowels, gardening forks, and brushes of varying sizes spread out on the ground. “We hae our shovels. We dinna need those wee things.”
    â€œThis is a different sort of digging. You must be careful how you go about it.” She knelt and began to show them the proper way to excavate. “Here around the stones, you must be especially precise.”
    The men watched her. “I dinna see why we maun gae sae slow,” one of the gardeners said. “They’re already auld and in pieces.”
    It took her a moment to figure out what he had said. “No.” Violet shook her head emphatically. “That is exactly why you must be cautious. We cannot cause these stones any more damage. They are fragile.”
    â€œFragile! But they’re rocks.”
    â€œVery old rocks,” Violet countered.
    They continued to stare at her doubtfully. “But I dinna ken—”
    â€œI realize that you do not.” Violet fixed a firm gaze on them. “However, that is the way you must do it.”
    With a shrug, the men picked up the trowels and began to dig where Violet directed. Her own work went slowly, for she repeatedly had to stop one or the other of the men to correct his work. Still, she was pleased with the progress they had made by the time they stopped at noon. The men tromped off, presumably going back to Duncally to eat, but Violet had brought a cold lunch for herself in a basket, and she ate in solitude, sitting on a rock at the top of the cliff and watching the ceaseless roll of the ocean.
    Her mind went, as it had several times today, to Coll Munro. Last night, for a moment, she had thought he was about to kiss her. Obviously she had been wrong. He had not even been listening to her, and at the first opportunity he had bolted. Thank goodness she had done nothing to embarrass herself. At least, she hoped he had not sensed that she was leaning toward him, ready to give her lips to him.
    Her cheeks flooded with heat. What if he had been aware of her reaction and that was the reason he left? Had he guessed that her eyes had been drawn to the sight of his bare arms, sleeves rolled up? That while she talked, she had been studying the golden hairs curling on his arm, the bony outcroppings of his wrist, the wide, capable hands? Had he guessed she’d wanted to trace the lines of bone and sinew with her fingers?
    Violet prayed she had not been so transparent. Otherwise, she did not know how she could ever face the man again. She could only hope that he had merely been boredor that he thought her distinctly odd. She was accustomed to both reactions.
    Shoving aside these humiliating thoughts, she plunged back into her work. She was soon so absorbed in it that it was almost midafternoon before she realized that her workers had not returned to the job. Violet let out a sigh. She was not surprised. Over the years, she had found that few men were willing to take orders from a woman. It was one reason why her uncle had always dealt with the workers.
    It would take a long time to do all the work herself, but she had