Their laughter was echoed from a few other tables. Meredith slowly pivoted, taking the measure of her clientele. Now that she noticed it, a fair number of these men never darkened her door before midday.
“What?” she asked sternly. “What is it?”
The laughter only grew.
“Rough night indeed, Mrs. Maddox,” Larry said around a mouthful of eggs. “But the rough morning … now that belongs to your friend Ashworth.”
Dread seeped through her limbs. “What have you done?” Her voice shook a little, and she firmed her jaw to compensate. “Harold and Laurence Symmonds, tell me this instant. What have you done to him?”
“Easy, Mrs. Maddox,” Skinner said from the next table over. He winked at her over his coffee. “We didn’t hurt the man none.”
Harry muttered, “Not this time.”
The room broke into laughter again, but Meredith didn’t wait to sort it out. With a hasty word to Mrs. Ware as she passed through the kitchen, she tore out the back door of the inn and made a straight path up the rocky slope—the most direct route to the ruins of Nethermoor. If Rhys had hired the ponies, he would have to lead them up the circuitous footpath. Perhaps she could beat him there and intercept whatever unpleasant surprise Harold, Laurence, and the others had planned for him. How long had it been since he’d left that morning? An hour, perhaps? She would have to hurry.
After twenty minutes of hard walking and scrambling over uneven ground, she reached Bell Tor and skirted the ancient stacks of granite. Despite the warming sunlight, she shivered as she neared the ruins of Nethermoor Hall. Just over this crest was the flat where Rhys was building his cottage. Panting for breath and clutching her side, she climbed up those last few steep, rocky yards …
And found heartbreak waiting for her on the other side.
A half-dozen dappled ponies roamed the shallow depression, grazing happily on sedge and gorse. Their unloaded burdens of straw were stacked neatly in a pile, ready to be mixed with earth. And the foundation of Rhys’s cottage—the stones he’d spent a week hauling from the surrounding area and painstakingly fitting together to form a level, unshakable plinth—completely destroyed. Scattered to all corners of the moor.
Her heart twisted in her chest. So hard, she forgot all about the cramp in her side.
Rhys was there, stripped down to his shirt and breeches, clearing the area. Methodically picking up the stones one by one, then sorting them into piles by size. Preparing to build it all again.
She watched him in silence for a few minutes. When she approached, she could tell he sensed her presence. He didn’t greet her, however. He refused to meet her eyes.
“Oh, Rhys. I’m …” Her voice caught. Really, what could she say? “I’m so sorry this happened. I know you put so much work into it.”
So much work, and so much heart.
He gave a diffident shrug as he kept right on working. “I was worried I’d made the thing too small, anyhow. Now I can enlarge it.”
“Aren’t you angry?”
“What good would it do to get angry?” With a low grunt, he plucked a small boulder from the ground.
“I don’t know if it would do any good, but it would certainly be natural.”
He tossed the stone aside easily, as though it were an apple core. It landed with a resounding thud. “I’ve wasted most of my life being angry. Never changes a damn thing. I just end up hurting everything around me.”
Meredith hurt for him. She watched as he continued clearing and sorting the stones. His motions were brutish, and barely controlled. It couldn’t be healthy for him, holding his emotions in like that. If his unleashed anger inflicted damage on everything around him, what damage was it doing to him, when he kept it inside?
“Rhys …”
With a rock balanced in either hand, he strode over to confront her. His eyes burned into hers. “Tell me one thing.”
She mutely nodded her acquiescence. As if she could refuse.
“Did you know they were planning this? Is that why you came to my room this morning, tried to keep me in bed?”
“No,” she said quickly. “God, no.” Of all the horrid notions … no wonder he couldn’t bear to look at her. “Rhys, it wasn’t like that. I had no idea. You must believe me.”
With a rough sigh, he heaved the rocks aside. First one, then the other. “I believe you. Just had to ask.”
Before he could turn away, she caught his wrist. “Stop for a moment. Please?”
He stopped.
The wind gusted, tangling her skirt around her legs and forcing her to raise her voice. “I had no idea they’d do this last night, but I suspected they’d try something soon. You must understand, they’re concerned. I’m concerned, too. I heard what you told me earlier, about needing to build something here. And I understand, more than you could know. To you, this rebuilding plan is some kind of redemption, but to everyone in the village … it’s a threat.”
“A threat? How can it be a threat?”
“We’ve built a livelihood here, just barely. Mainly due to the inn, and Darryl’s little business touring the travelers, and …”
“And Gideon Myles’s smuggling ring.”
Her voice failed her. He knew about Gideon?
“Yes, I know. Myles and I had a not-quite-friendly chat just before he left town last week. Just how involved are you with that business?”
“I’m not—” She swallowed hard. What use was there denying it? “Not very.”
He gave her a queer look as he backed away, returning to his pile of stones. “That’s what I’d hoped. But this morning made me wonder.”
A queasy feeling churned her innards. She recognized it as guilt. And why should she feel guilty, simply because she’d done whatever she could to ensure the village’s survival?
“Rhys, try to understand. Our livelihood as a village … it’s a delicate balance, and you’re threatening to topple it.”
“Topple it? I want to rebuild it, on something more solid than ghost stories and smuggled brandy. My ancestors supported this village for generations.”
“Yes, but this generation doesn’t understand. There’s already a betting pool down at the tavern. The men are all laying wagers on how long it’ll take you to leave.”
“Oh, really?” His voice went dark. “What date is your money on?”
“I’m not a gambler,” she said, hoping a little smile would lighten the mood. “You’ve been gone for so long. It’s hard for people to believe you’re serious when you say you’re here to stay.”
“Well, I don’t know what else I can do to convince people”—his pointed look told her he meant the one particular person standing before him—“that I’m truly here to stay. Other than to stay. And keep building up these stones, no matter how many times they knock them down.”
“You truly mean that? No matter what they do, you’ll remain here on the moor?”
“Like a damned boulder.” An ironic smile quirked his lips. He ran a hand over his hair, then wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Let’s put it this way. It’s not like I have something better to do.”
Was that meant to reassure her? It didn’t. Perhaps it helped convince her he wasn’t leaving anytime soon, but it certainly didn’t make her any more inclined to marry him.
Marry me, Meredith. It’s not like I have something better to do.
“Just the same,” he said, “I’d rather not rebuild this foundation a dozen times. I suppose I’ll start camping out here to guard it. You’ve need of your guest rooms anyway.”
“Out here? At night?”
“I’m a soldier. I’ve camped in worse conditions than these.” He looked around the rubble. “Much worse.”
Her gut told her he wasn’t exaggerating. But even if he could endure it, she hated the thought of him staying out here in the cold when she had warm beds and hot food at the inn. Not to mention, the open moor was dangerous at night. Dark, damp, perilous. In protecting the cottage, he’d only be endangering himself. Next time Gideon’s supporters got up to their mischief, the house wouldn’t be their target. Rhys would.
“There has to be another way,” she said.
“Perhaps. If there is, I’m certain you’ll think of it. You’re cleverer than I am.”
And with that he went back to work, lifting stone after stone. He began to arrange some of them into a line.
With a defeated sigh, Meredith sat down on one of the largest boulders. She didn’t feel up to walking back just yet. She was fatigued and frustrated and boiling angry on Rhys’s behalf. Those Symmonds boys had better have cleared out by the time she returned, or she’d be breaking bottles over both their heads.
For the moment, she simply sat and watched Rhys, and the controlled wrath in his movements as he hefted and slung the rocks from one place to the other. Beneath his shirt, his muscles bulged and flexed. His face was a mask of grim determination. When stone cracked against stone, Meredith felt the echo reverberate in her spine, but he didn’t even flinch.
What must it be like, to possess that kind of power? If only she had the strength to build walls with her own two hands … She’d have already built her new guest wing for the inn.
An idea began to form in her mind.
“If you’re building with cob,” she said thoughtfully, “there’s a great deal of waiting involved. You have to build it in rises, you know. So the walls don’t buckle or crack. Just a few feet of height at a time, and you’ll need to let the walls settle between each rise. A week, at least.”
“I’m certain I’ll find ways to keep myself busy hereabouts.”
“Perhaps. But the ideal would be to have two buildings going up at the same time. While one rests, you add a layer of cob to the other. And the reverse.”
He propped one boot on a stone and looked up at her. “Are you saying I should build two cottages?”
“No.” She leaned forward, suddenly excited at the brilliance of the scheme. “I’m saying we should become partners.”
One eyebrow rose. “Isn’t that what I’ve been suggesting?”
“Business partners, not …” Her hands fluttered. “Just hear me out.”
Purposely mute, he made an expansive gesture of invitation.
“You want to build your cottage, but you don’t have laborers. I want to add on to my inn, but I lack the funds. We’ll work together and build both at the same time.” She rose from her stone perch and began pacing back and forth. “I’ll convince the men to work for us, and I’ll provide all their meals during construction. You’ll pay the wages and material costs. Once they’ve completed a rise on one building, they’ll switch to the other while it settles and cures.”
He scratched his neck and peered toward the horizon. “What’s the advantage to me, financing an addition to the inn?”
“It’s a gesture of good will.” She ceased pacing and went to stand before him. “Don’t you see? The villagers are afraid you’re going to disrupt their lives with these plans to rebuild Nethermoor Hall, and then leave them in worse straits than ever. If they see the improvements to the inn occurring at the same time … well, they won’t worry so much. No matter what happens with you and your house, Buckleigh-in-the-Moor will have come out for the better. And if the two of us are working together, they’ll stop fighting you every step of the way.”
“They?” He cocked his head and looked her up and down. “Am I truly to do this because ‘they’ won’t worry so much? Or are we talking about you and your own concerns?”