It took Colin a while to extract her from her new-found friends. As he led Celia out of the building, he could still see the flush of excitement in her face. He watched as her face suddenly grew serious.
“You never said how you've managed to produce wool of this quality,” she asked, stopping and giving him a direct, questioning look.
“Aye,” he said, faking a hard look at her. “And how do I know you will not be selling our secrets to the enemy?”
“You're not going to let me fall into enemy hands, now, are you?” Celia asked, a pretense of fear showing on her face.
“Let?” Colin repeated mischievously. “Nay, lass. I might turn you over to them.”
Celia made her look so pathetically pitiful that Colin couldn't keep up the play. He smiled outright.
“All right, I'll tell you,” he said, growing serious. “We've been enclosing the land for sheep grazing as some of the larger barons are doing in England, but we are not throwing the farm folk off to become beggars. These people that you see working here are those that were struggling on the small farms. We've taught them the crafts. Here, they can earn a better life for themselves.”
“For themselves? or for the Campbells?” Celia asked, tossing her head in sudden defiance. How was this life better for those workers? Was it just another way to make the lairds richer?
“The Campbell lairds have been accumulating wealth for centuries,” Colin flashed defensively. “If it was just wealth we were after, we would not be spending money and bringing in outside tradesmen to build a school, to improve the village, to house these folk, and to teach them new trades. Our village has attracted some of the finest craftsmen in all Scotland.”
“You're doing all that?” she asked in a conciliatory tone. “That is not the way I've ever seen landowners behave. The custom seems to be to bleed the people of everything they have.”
Colin knew that what he was doing here was, in a way, revolutionary. And Celia was right about bleeding the people. But he was surprised to hear a court lady voice such concern for those beneath her.
“Aye, we're doing all those things, except the bleeding part,” Colin responded, lightening the exchange. “In fact, we still operate the spinning school, which I may have to enroll you in.”
“You think there is hope for me?”
“Absolutely.” He smiled. “If you’re planning on staying a while.”
“I might like that,” Celia returned. “But you still haven't told me why your wool is so fine.”
“The trick was getting the folk that have been left to tend the sheep to stop greasing the animals with the tar. There's no need, now, because we've built shelters—sheepcotes—to keep the livestock in during the coldest weather. Then, we use Spanish shearing techniques and sort the finest wool out for our own weavers to use.”
Taking a hold of her hand, he pointed to the third building.
“That building is where we do the sorting, washing, and carding for the spinners, but that's off limits to you...for today, at least. You've disrupted the works enough already,” he stated with an exaggerated frown. “Besides, I've other things I want to show you, as well.”
“You said you're building a school,” Celia anticipated, “is that what you want to show me?”
“Maybe,” Colin continued, patting the satchel strapped to his waist and whistling to his dog. “But first, you have to share this food Agnes packed for me. And I know a good spot.”
Still holding Celia's hand, Colin led her up past the warehouses and the docks until the paved road ended.
Celia felt happy and alive as she nearly ran to keep pace with the tall man's strides.
They followed a stony path up the hill that overlooked the village and the harbor. As they neared the top, Celia could see that only the castle was higher, and its view dominated the entire area. From here, she could see the building that was going on in the village. On the far side of the Marketcross, behind the church, there was considerable activity around a partially built structure of timber and stone.
“Is that the school?” she asked eagerly, letting go of his hand and pointing across the rooftops.
Colin could see in Celia the same thrill that he felt each time he looked at the ongoing changes in the village. He was surprised and touched by this woman's humane interest. This was no pretense. And Colin was finding himself attracted to her even more. If only he knew more about her.
“Aye, it is. You seem to be very interested in that school.” Colin took Celia's arm, and they continued over the crest of the hill as they talked. Bear began to wander, his nose to the ground, through the low, windswept grasses. Occasionally he lifted his head, looking back as if to check on his master.
“I am. Will the school be for all the children in the village?” Celia asked this tentatively, almost afraid that his answer would ruin her developing image of him.
“Aye, all the children will attend,” he responded matter-of-factly.
“The girls as well?”
“Aye, the girls, as well.”
“That is quite progressive,” Celia said, knowing that education for women was a rarity, even in the privileged classes.
Colin stopped and turned her toward him. He knew he had to explain.
“My mother read to me as a child,” he said softly. “Agnes reads and writes, as do all the women in the household. The Campbells do not hold with those who believe that education damns a woman's soul. We believe it makes her more valuable.”
Celia was amazed. She'd never heard such things from a man of Colin's stature before. She herself had learned many things growing up, matters of the arts of war, of sailing, of commerce and finance, of the mechanics of things, but not reading.
“I wish I'd had that opportunity as a child. I never learned until I arrived at court. My friend Father William was the one who taught me.”
No sooner had the words left Celia's lips than Colin shook his hand free of her arm and picked up his pace. His parting glance looked angry to her, but what reason had she given him for such a response. She had felt drawn by everything about this man. Now, on the heels of her admission, his unexplained anger cut her like the slashing tear of a Highland dirk.
Colin reached an outcropping of stone and threw down the satchel containing their lunch at the base of the rock and stormed a few paces off.
“Those must have been happy days at court,” Colin snapped, turning to face her.
Celia paused for a moment at the realization that Lady Caithness's reputation was the cause of his anger. If only she could tell him the truth.
“No, I hated court,” Celia said softly. She fought the tears that were beginning to well up in her eyes. “The happier days went before.”
“Before?” Colin was confused. He saw the hurt look in her face. He changed his tone, asking more soothingly, “Where were you before?”
Celia paused before answering. “Everywhere and nowhere. I lived with my father and Edmund.”
“What does that mean, `everywhere and nowhere'?” Colin pressed, fighting successfully to keep the irritation out of his voice. He was genuinely interested, but he hated riddles.
“I grew up on my father's ships. He was a merchant and he took me everywhere.”
“That was a dangerous way to raise a child.”
“He knew it was dangerous, but he couldn't bear to have me be away from him. I was all he had left.” Celia unconsciously unfastened her cloak, spread it on the ground before the boulder, and sat looking out at the blue of the sea. Across the water Celia saw islands that were a bluer shade than either sea or sky. She had always felt so safe beside her father out on those treacherous waters.
“What about your mother, the rest of your family?” Colin crouched beside her on the cloak, watching the expression of her profile. This was the first glimpse of her past that she had shared with him. So openly. So honestly.
“My mother died when I was very young. Edmund has been the only other family I've known. My father's English family never accepted his marriage to a Scottish woman. They never acknowledged me at all.”
“Clearly, that was their loss. But it must have been difficult for you.” Colin's hatred of English arrogance flared at the thought of any child being made to feel unwanted, particularly this one.
“Aye, because I never really knew a home,” Celia said pensively, but then her expression brightened. “But growing up aboard ship was a magical experience. Exotic lands with people of every color, speaking languages I could almost understand. Waking up to the sound of the sea and the motion of the ship. The smells of the ports and the cargoes that we carried. Hiding in the holds among bales of Spanish wool and spices from the East.”
Colin smiled tentatively at the image of the little girl playing happily while dangers lurked over every horizon.
“How long did you live on his ships?”
“My father died of a fever when I was fourteen. That's when everything changed.” Celia shook off her reverie, realizing that she had already said too much. She couldn't let Colin Campbell—or anyone—get close to her right now. She reached down and opened the satchel.
“How so?” he asked, trying to quell her sudden flurry of activity by laying his hand over her long slender hands. Her nervous fingers fluttered like a bird under his for a moment, and then lay still. Celia looked directly into his eyes.