sexist is that? Honestly...’
‘I was trying to help.’
‘There’s been a bit of that about,’ she said. ‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate it; it’s just that I hardly ever need it. Bogs excepted.’
‘What were you doing?’ He hauled himself out of the water to the dry bank and surveyed his leg in disgust. His boot would take ages to dry. Jo, on the other hand, was drying her feet with a sock and tugging her trainers back on. All dry.
‘Washing tapestries,’ she told him and he forgot about his boots.
‘Tapestries...?’
‘The hall’s full of them. You should see. They’re awesome. But they’re filthy and most of them need work. I’ve brought one of the small ones here to try cleaning.’
‘You don’t think,’ he asked cautiously, ‘that soap and water might be more civilised?’
‘Possibly. But not nearly as much fun.’
‘Fun...’ He stared at his leg and she followed his gaze and chuckled.
‘Okay, fun for me, not for you. I’m obviously better at creeks than you are.’
‘Creeks...’
‘Streams. Brooks. What else do you call them? Whatever, they’ll act just the same as home.’ She gestured to the surrounding hills, rolling away to the mountains in the background. ‘Spring’s the best time. The water’s pouring down from the hills; it’s running fast and clean and it’ll wash through tapestries in a way nothing else can, unless I’m prepared to waste a day’s running water in the castle. Even then, I wouldn’t get an even wash.’
‘So you just lie it in the stream.’ He could see it now, a square of canvas, stretched underwater and weighed down by rocks at the edges.
‘The running water removes dust, soot, smoke and any burnt wool or silk. It’s the best way. Some people prefer modern cleaning methods, but in my experience they can grey the colours. And, as well, this way the fibres get rehydrated. They plump up almost as fat as the day they were stitched.’
‘You’re intending to leave it here?’
‘I’ll bring it in tonight. You needn’t worry; I’m not about to risk a cow fording the stream and sticking a hoof through it.’
‘And then what will you do?’ he asked, fascinated.
‘Let it dry and fix it, of course. This one’s not bad. It has a couple of broken relays and warps but nothing too serious. I’ll see how it comes up after cleaning but I imagine I’ll get it done before I leave. How’s the stone wall going?’
To say he was dumbfounded would be an understatement. This woman was an enigma. Part of her came across tough; another part was so fragile he knew she could break. She was wary, she seemed almost fey, and here she was calmly setting about restoring tapestries as if she knew exactly what she was talking about.
He was sure she did.
‘You saw me working?’ he managed and she nodded.
‘I walked past and you didn’t see me. It feels good, doesn’t it, working on something you love. So...half a yard of wall fixed, three or four hundred yards to go? Reckon you’ll be finished in a week?’ She clambered nimbly up the bank and turned and offered a hand. ‘Need a pull?’
‘No,’ he said, and she grinned and withdrew her hand.
And he missed it. He should have just taken it. If he had she would have tugged and he would have ended up right beside her. Really close.
But she was smiling and turning to head back to the castle and it was dumb to feel a sense of opportunity lost.
What was he thinking? Life was complicated enough without feeling...what he was feeling...
And that’s enough of that, he told himself soundly. It behoved a man to take a deep breath and get himself together. This woman was...complicated, and hadn’t he decided on the safe option in life? His brothers had all walked off the land to make their fortunes and they’d done well. But Finn... He’d stayed and he’d worked the land he’d inherited. He’d aimed for a good farm on fertile land. A steady income. A steady woman?
Like Maeve. That was a joke. He’d thought his dreams were her dreams. He’d known her since childhood and yet it seemed he hadn’t known her at all.
So how could he think he knew Jo after less than a day?
And why was he wondering how he could know her better?
‘So do you intend to keep the suits of armour?’ Jo asked and he struggled to haul his thoughts back to here and now. Though actually they were here and now. They were centred on a slip of a girl in a bright crimson sweater and jeans and stained trainers.
If Maeve had come to the castle with him, she’d have spent a week shopping for clothes in preparation.
But his relationship with Maeve was long over—apart from the minor complication that she wouldn’t tell her father.
The sun was on his face. Jo was by his side, matching his stride even though her legs were six inches shorter than his. She looked bright and interested and free.
Of course she was free. She was discussing the fate of two suits of armour before she climbed back on her bike and headed back to Australia.
‘I can’t see them back on the farm,’ he admitted.
‘Your farm is somewhere near a place called Kilkenny,’ she said. ‘So where is that? You head down to Tipperary and turn...?’
‘North-east. I don’t go that way. But how do you know of Tipperary?’
‘I looked it up on the map when I knew I was coming. There’s a song... It’s a Long Way to Tipperary. I figured that’s where I was coming. A long way. And you farm cows and sheep?’
‘The dairy’s profitable but I’d like to get into sheep.’
‘It’s a big farm?’
‘Compared to Australian land holdings, no. But it’s very profitable.’
‘And you love it.’
Did he love it?
As a kid he certainly had, when the place was rundown, when everywhere he’d looked there’d been challenges. But now the farm was doing well and promising to do better. With the money from the castle he could buy properties to the north.
If he wanted to.
‘It’s a great place,’ he said mildly. ‘How about you? Do you work at what you love?’
‘I work to fund what I love.’
‘Which is?’
‘Tapestry and motorbikes.’
‘Tell
