Her eyes followed him as they made their way down the beach. At one point she thought Bear was going to run back to her, but Colin must have given a clear command, because the dog returned quickly to his side.
I'm not even good enough company for his dog, she thought angrily.
By the time she reached the place where Colin and Edmund stood in conversation, Celia had worked herself up to a full fury.
She was angry at the world, angry at Colin, angry at herself.
“Celia,” Edmund said cheerfully. “We will be privileged to take part in one of the grand spectacles of the Western Isles next week.”
“I pass,” she responded quickly, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.
“What do you mean, pass?“ Colin blurted out, surprised. “You do not even know what it is yet.”
“All right, what is it?” Celia asked in a resigned tone.
“The annual Easter hunt,” Edmund announced importantly.
“An Easter egg hunt?” Celia responded wryly, turning to Colin. “I thought that was only a French tradition. What kind of eggs will you hunt, m'lord?”
“We're hunting red deer,” Colin said in a disgusted tone, “and any bird we can find.”
“I do not think deer lay eggs, m'lord,” she responded innocently.
“We're not hunting eggs!” Colin exploded. “And the French be damned!”
“I really do not think you should be cursing the only allies we have in Europe, m'lord, just because red deer do not lay eggs.”
Speechless, Colin just stared at Celia, certain the woman had either lost her senses or was trying to make him crazy.
As Edmund laughed behind him, Colin realized that he was being had again.
“I know you're only jesting with me, Lady Caithness,” Colin said through clenched teeth, trying to recover. “But I'm sure you will enjoy the hunt. Our game forests are far superior to those you've been hunting with your court friends.”
“I'm certain they are, Lord Colin. I still pass.”
“Why?” Colin asked, totally perplexed. “Edmund has told me that you are an accomplished archer, and I've seen you with a sword.”
“Aye, but I find it stupid for grown men and women to race around forests and fields, in all types of weather, riding down and inflicting mortal wounds on defenseless little animals.”
No wonder Agnes likes her, Colin thought. He'd been hearing Agnes argue this every year from the moment he picked up his first bow.
“Then how in God's name did you become so proficient with hunting weapons?” Colin asked, becoming exasperated.
“It's very simple, Lord Colin,” Celia answered, with a smile at Edmund. “By riding down and inflicting mortal wounds on defenseless Highland lairds.”
With that, Celia turned her back on Colin and looked at the village.
“Are you going to show us the village, m'lord?” she asked sweetly.
Totally baffled by this woman, Colin led the two visitors into the village.
Soon, however, Colin's composure returned as he turned his attention to the growing town. Telling them of the changes that had been occurring, Colin swelled with pride at the recent efforts.
Two years earlier Colin had begun a revitalization of the town, convinced that if Scotland was to thrive in Europe in these changing times, they must develop new ways of doing things, develop new industries to employ its growing numbers of people.
Moving past the low stone warehouses that would soon be filled with wool, Colin excitedly led them to another long, low building.
“This is something they do not have as yet anywhere else in Scotland,” Colin said proudly, ushering them through the stout oak door.
Before her, Celia saw an amazing sight. The shuttles of ten looms were busily click-clacking away, and rolls of wool cloth were stacked nearby, ready for storage and shipment. Workers bustled back and forth carrying spools of spun wool and the rolls of finished cloth.
Colin towered alongside her as Celia returned the smiles of the master weavers who sat basking in the glow of Lord Colin's approval. She reached over and touched the wool; it was fine quality material, undyed, but clearly the product of skilled workmanship and the very good wool.
“This wool has the feel of Spanish Segovian!” she said in a shocked tone, looking up into his smiling, gray eyes. Celia was extremely surprised to find what seemed to be the finest of the wools that Europe was producing here in the Western Isles. The finest wool available came from Spain and the top Spanish wool came from the hills surrounding Segovia, and she knew all about the various qualities of wool in Europe from her experience on her father's merchant ships. Scotland's wool was far inferior to this. “This cannot be Scottish! But how could you get it now?”
“This is Scottish wool,” Colin replied, surprised but very impressed at Celia's knowledge of the commodity.
“It cannot be. This has none of the tar one finds on Scottish wool,” Celia said in disbelief. Scottish wools were unpopular owing to the tar frequently smeared on the sheep as a protection against the weather.
“But I'm telling you it is, Celia,” Colin said, taking hold of her hand for a moment. “This wool came from Campbell lands.”
“You're telling us that you are producing quality wool on your lands and making quality cloth in your village? This is incredible!” Celia exclaimed excitedly, pressing his hand as she spoke.
Colin grinned, pleased with the response. Without releasing her hand, he turned to go back out the door.
“Can you show us the rest of the cloth works?” Celia asked, stopping him with a tug of her hand.
Colin turned with surprise at her tone.
“Of course, if you're interested.”
“I am! I've never had a chance to see the inside of one of these places,” Celia's face was lit with anticipation.
Edmund's, however, was not.
“If you two will excuse me, I told Lord Hugh that I'd continue helping him with the new falcons. They're beautiful birds.” Hunting was a lot more interesting to this knight than commerce.
Hiding her disappointment, Celia let go of Colin's hand, saying, “I'll walk with you, Edmund. It's time I got back to Kit and Ellen.”
“Nay, Celia,” Edmund said with a gentle note in his voice. “I'll check in on Ellen and the bairn. It’s such a beautiful day; perhaps I’ll take them both down to watch the hawking.”
“I should go with you, Edmund,” Celia protested.
“Enjoy the day,” the knight said coaxingly. Celia had never shown such interest in a young man before. This would be good for her. “Think, lass, you might not get an opportunity like this again. That is, if Colin does not mind seeing you back to the castle later.”
“Of course! I do not get many opportunities to show off what we're doing here,” Colin responded, taking Celia once again by the hand.
Once Edmund left, Colin introduced Celia to the lead weaver in the building. As they walked through, Colin showed her the various types of cloth they were producing. The ten draw-looms, with a weaver seated and a draw boy working beside each one, were a constant blur of motion. Celia was impressed that Colin knew each worker by name.
Colin was ready to lead her out a door on the other side of the building, when he realized that Celia was no longer with him. Colin leaned with his broad back to the door, watching as Celia made her way back through the room, stopping at each loom and complimenting the websters on the weaves and their obvious mastery of the craft. She had a way with people, Colin thought.
Their eyes met for a moment across the room, and her delight was evident.
Entering the next building in front of Colin, Celia found a room full of spinners. The women were chatting and singing as they entered, but quieted somewhat when they saw Colin. Giggles and whispering could be heard instead, and Celia thought to herself that obviously she was not the only one affected by this man. She also noticed the appraising looks directed her way.
In the center of the room, an imposing middle-aged woman was frowning at her from where she sat. There was more than a hint of possessiveness in her look, Celia thought. She glanced back at the handsome laird and could understand the feeling.
But I do not need any more enemies, Celia thought. Not her, not any of these women. I have to make peace with these people. She walked toward the woman and stood beside her, watching as she skillfully, smoothly, spun the puffy shreds of wool into fine yarn.
“Your work is beautiful,” Celia said sincerely.
“Thank you, m'lady,” the woman responded politely. “But ‘tis simple work, really.”
“Could you show me how?” Celia looked into the woman's surprised eyes.
“You, m'lady?” The tittering around her made Celia very self-conscious, but she wanted to see this through.
“Aye. If you've the patience.”
“Sit, m'lady,” the older woman said, standing and glancing up at the laird for approval.
Colin watched as Celia took her seat at the wheel. The other women stared in silence as their fellow worker explained the process to Celia. Celia started, working slowly, hesitatingly, but in spite of her caution, or perhaps because of it, the work began to tangle within a few seconds. With an explosion of voices, the other women leapt from their places, flooding the giggling Celia with instructions and advice.
It occurred to Colin as he watched that even he could have done better at the spinning than Celia was doing. Then he realized that she knew exactly what she was doing. In one stroke, Celia had moved inside their circle. Everyone was enjoying herself, Celia most of all.