Page 11 of Memory of a Highlander (Arch Through Time #27)

C harlie put her hands on her hips and looked around the pottery workshop. The room was filled with the soothing scent of wet clay, overlaid with a hint of wood smoke from the kiln. It smelled like...home. Add to that the warm sunshine pouring through the window, dappling the floor with patterns of light and shadow, and Charlie almost felt...content.

What a strange thing to think, considering how far she was from home. Only a few days ago she thought she would never feel anything but terrified panic at being trapped in this time. Funny how things change.

She walked over to the kiln. Without a thermometer, she couldn’t be entirely sure of the temperature, so she would have to guess if the heat had built sufficiently through the night for firing, but she was pretty sure it was about right.

Great. Time to put things to the test. One of the basic pots she’d made yesterday—to which she’d added a handle and spout to turn it into a teapot—still sat on the table, looking a little forlorn. And useless. What need did Niall and his people have for teapots? What they needed was something far more valuable. They needed homes and the materials to build them.

The germ of an idea she’d had yesterday when discussing the refugees with Niall came back to her. They had the clay, they had the kiln. Why not make bricks and roof tiles to help house the newcomers? It would be a more practical use for her pottery skills and would help Niall and his people long after she was gone.

After she was gone.

The thought sent an odd little tremor through her. She placed the teapot into the kiln and then walked over to her workbench. If she was going to start making bricks, she’d need a mold. With a piece of charcoal, she sketched out a design on a bit of scrap wood and once satisfied with her sketches, set about making what she needed.

She used sturdy planks of oak, carefully cutting them to size and smoothing out the rough edges with the tools left behind by Niall’s mother. Using nails and a hammer, she knocked the pieces together until she had a large latticework that would make around ten bricks at a time.

This done, she rolled up her sleeves, dipped her hands into the basin full of wet clay, and began pressing and smoothing it out until it filled every corner of the latticework. When she’d filled each section, she carefully pried out the blocks of clay, revealing ten perfectly shaped bricks.

A surge of triumph washed through her. It had worked! Now all she had to do was allow them to dry thoroughly and fire them—hopefully without cracking. Then she really would be on a roll. She grinned and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, barely noticing the streak of clay left across her forehead.

By the time the sun was nearing midday, Charlie was covered in the stuff. Her hair stuck wild in all directions as she surveyed her morning’s work. She had made dozens of bricks, all lined up on the table, ready to be dried before their firing in a few days’ time. Charlie allowed herself to feel a little smug. Who said a ceramics degree was useless? Even the teapot she had fired had turned out well, showing the kiln actually worked. Progress!

Charlie stripped off her clay-stained apron and washed her hands in the basin, scrubbing away at the dried clay stuck under her fingernails, and attempting to smooth down her wild hair—an attempt that she was pretty sure failed. Damn. She would have to ask Flora to heat her some water later so she could have a bath.

Leaving the workshop, she began climbing the hill towards the building site, following the well-worn path that wound up the hillside, past fields of freshly planted crops, and orchards filled with blossom that hung to the trees like candy floss.

As she neared the top of the hill, she could hear shouting and chatter echoing from the construction site and spotted men hard at work, their silhouettes dark against the bright sky as they moved about on scaffolding made from sturdy oaken poles.

She found Niall at the top of the hill, as she knew she would, overlooking the site. His hair was tousled by the wind, and he’d clearly been laboring with his men if the way his shirt was plastered to his body with sweat was any indication. Charlie’s mouth went a little dry at the sight, and she forced her eyes up to his face as he turned to watch her approach.

“Ah, Charlotte. Come to check on progress?”

“Something like that.”

She stepped up beside him and followed his gaze. The windmill stood tall against the blue backdrop of the sky, the scaffolding higher than it had been yesterday. The construction of the tower was now complete and it was an impressive sight, she had to admit.

“Once the sails arrive, we’ll be able to start testing it. By the end of the month we might actually be able to start grinding our own grain,” Niall told her.

Charlie cocked her head, smiling at his boyish enthusiasm. “I’m pleased for you. And I have an idea of a way to house your new mill workers, too.”

“Oh?” Niall listened with interest as she laid out her plan to start making building materials.

“Bricks and tiles?” he asked when she was finished. “I thought ye planned to make pots and utensils.”

“I did,” she said with a shrug. “But then you mentioned how you are low on building materials and it’s too expensive to bring them from Edinburgh. We have the clay, we have the workshop, we have the kiln. Bricks and tiles will actually help the people here. And if I teach others, you can continue after I leave.”

He glanced at her sharply as she said that and she saw something flash across his face so quickly she almost missed it.

“Ye would do that for us?” he asked softly.

“It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.”

“But to produce enough for what we need would require something bigger than just my mother’s old workshop.”

Charlie nodded. “Yep. And more people. But seeing as you’ve got more people than you know what to do with, I can’t see that being a problem. I was hoping to train some of your folks up.”

Niall was silent, his gaze intense, as though seeing her for the first time. “Ye are quite remarkable, Charlotte,” he said softly.

She felt a blush creeping up her neck and waved the compliment away. “Nothing remarkable about making bricks and tiles. We need to find space to enlarge the workshop and the kiln. And I’ll need some volunteers who are willing to get their hands dirty and learn. Maybe some of the newcomers?”

Niall nodded. “Aye, there will be plenty interested in learning a new trade.” He gave her a smile that made her heart flutter in her chest.

She quickly shifted her gaze back to the windmill, not trusting herself to meet his eyes. For a few moments they stood in silence, watching as the windmill slowly took shape under the watchful eyes and skilled hands of Niall’s men. The rhythmical clanging of hammers and the coarse rasp of saws against wood filled the air, punctuated by laughter and banter. It was all so...normal.

Well, not normal , Charlie amended. After all, she was in the seventeenth century, but this kind of activity, with the banter and joking, the bustle and the bickering, went on the world over, regardless of the time period. It made her feel a little less displaced. A little more...at home.

And then there was Niall. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She didn’t even want to think about the effect he was having on her. It was confusing in the extreme.

“Niall!”

They both turned at the shout to see Joseph puffing up the hill towards them. “Ye’d better come,” he panted as he reached them, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “Visitors.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of visitors?”

Joseph straightened, and Charlie could swear she saw a mischievous glint in the old man’s gaze. “The ones we’ve been waiting for.”

Niall’s eyes widened. “What? Already? But they’re early!”

“Aye, they are. Ye better get down there, lad, before all hell breaks loose.”

“They must have had favorable winds,” Niall said. “I wasnae expecting them for weeks yet.” He turned to Charlie. “Ye must excuse me. I have to see to this.”

With that, he jogged away, leaving a bemused Charlie to follow at a more sedate pace with Joseph when the old man had finally caught his breath.

“What’s going on?” she asked as they walked.

Joseph’s expression was definitely mischievous. “Ye’ll have to wait and see.”

Charlie rolled her eyes but didn’t ask any more questions as they walked down the hill, through the village, and finally entered the walled courtyard that wrapped around the house.

A bizarre sight met her eyes. A long train of brightly colored wagons filled the space, some pulled by horses, some pulled by oxen, all stamping and snorting, and relieving themselves.

What the—?

Charlie rubbed her eyes. Men, women, and children bustled around the wagons, unloading trunks and crates and baskets. Their clothes were as bright and varied as the wagons themselves, with bold patterns and vivid colors.

She spotted Niall standing in the thick of it all, talking with a man who seemed to be in charge—a tall fellow with a wide-brimmed hat and a well-trimmed goatee beard. His clothes were made from expensive looking velvet and were as garishly colored as his wagons. The man’s laughter rang out, causing a flock of nearby pigeons to take flight in a flurry of beating wings and cooing protests.

Leaving Joseph, Charlie walked over to Niall. He lifted his gaze from the man he was talking to and locked eyes with her. His face lit up in a beaming smile that did strange things to Charlie’s insides.

“Ah, Charlotte,” he said warmly. “I have someone I’d like ye to meet.”

The garishly dressed man doffed his hat at her, giving her a roguish grin. “Madam,” he greeted, his accent clearly Italian. “Antonio Ferrani at your service.”

“Charlotte Douglas,” she said, offering her hand, which Antonio took and kissed lightly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Charlotte Douglas,” Antonio said, his grin widening. “Niall tells me you are from Cardiff?”

“Um,” she replied, glancing at Niall. “That’s right.”

“Antonio is the merchant I told ye about,” Niall said. He hesitated for a moment and then added, “He can arrange yer travel back to Cardiff.”

Charlie’s stomach flipped. “You...you can?”

“Indeed,” Antonio said with a smile. “I have river barges traveling to Manchester and from there I’m sure we can arrange your onward passage.”

“When?” Her gaze flickered to Niall and she found him watching her intently.

Antonio shrugged. “Perhaps a fortnight?”

A strange sensation spread through Charlie’s gut. A fortnight. She would be going home in a fortnight. She wasn’t sure whether she felt relieved or...disappointed. Whilst logic said she should be yearning for the familiarity of home, for the comfort of her own bed and friends and family, her heart most definitely had other ideas.

“Thank you,” she forced out. “I’m... grateful.”

Antonio doffed his hat and gave a flourishing bow. “Anything for a lady.” He turned his attention back to Niall. “Well, if that’s settled, do you want to inspect the treasures I’ve brought you?”

Niall was still watching Charlie. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then tore his gaze away and focused on Antonio. “Aye, lead the way.”

Antonio led them through the bustling courtyard, weaving between wagons and workers with an ease that suggested he was well used to such chaos.

They came to a halt by a wagon that was larger than the rest and covered with ornate carvings of winding vines and delicate flowers. The paintwork was a brilliant blue, so deep and rich it almost looked black in places. A group of men were busy unloading it, grunting with effort as they lifted out large, flat items wrapped in cloth.

The leader of the group, noticing Antonio’s approach, offered a respectful nod. “We’ve just unloaded the last of them.”

Antonio nodded approvingly and turned to Niall and Charlie. “This here is Luca,” he said. “One of my most trusted men.”

Luca gave them a curt nod and gestured to the wrapped items. “Would you like to check the merchandise?”

Niall crouched and unwrapped one of the objects. A piece of ribbed, flat wood lay beneath. It took a moment for Charlie to realize what she was looking at: a section of windmill sail, expertly crafted from oak. The wood was smooth and polished, the grain beautifully visible under the sheen of oil that had been applied to protect it from the elements.

As Niall pulled away more of the cloth, more sections were revealed, some with holes drilled into them, suggesting they were designed to slot together.

Luca crouched next to Niall. “Once assembled, it will be held together with iron rivets,” he said in his thick accent. “Plenty of which we’ve brought with us.”

Niall ran his fingertips over the wood. “How long will they take to assemble?”

Luca rubbed his chin and shrugged. “If the weather holds? Only a day or two. Providing the measurements were accurate and we don’t have to make adjustments.”

Niall nodded and climbed to his feet. Charlie couldn’t read his expression. He seemed caught between excitement and disappointment. Excited that the sails had arrived? Disappointed that it meant Charlie would soon be leaving? Or was she just kidding herself about that?

“Ye’ve traveled a long way and I know ye must be tired and hungry,” he said to Antonio. “My housekeeper, Mrs Ramsey, will ensure ye and yer men are rested and fed.”

“And then?” Antonio asked.

Niall smiled crookedly. “And then we finally get this thing finished!”