Page 46 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

Neat columns crossed the page, with additions pressed into the margins wherever a storm, failed harvest, or unexpected birth altered the distribution of stores. Some entries had been written by candlelight, the ink fading where exhaustion caused her hand to drag. Others had been corrected repeatedly until every measure balanced.

“How long?” he asked.

“Since Lachlan left for war.”

“All of it?”

“He sent instructions when he could.”

“And when he couldnae?”

Donaldina lifted one shoulder. “Decisions still required making.”

She expected doubt. Perhaps a question about which councilor approved her work or whether Father Maol supervised the accounts. Men frequently assumed a woman’s judgment must have been borrowed from some unseen male authority before it could possess value. Roy only pulled the other chair nearer.

“Show me.”

The simple request caught her unprepared. She sat opposite him and turned the ledger so they could both read it. The table was broad, yet Roy’s presence seemed to diminish the distance between them. The faint scent of honey still clung to him, softened now by leather, cold air and the medicinal herbs used upon his wound.

“The western farms paid less grain last autumn,” she began. “The storm ruined part of the barley crop, so I reduced their levy rather than leave the tenants without seed.”

Roy studied the entry. “Cormac approved this?”

Donaldina’s mouth tightened. “Cormac advised taking the full amount.”

“And ye refused.”

“I calculated that a smaller levy for one year was preferable tae empty land the next.”

Roy traced the figures with one finger. “Ye were right.”

Donaldina looked at him. He spoke without reluctance, as though agreeing with her cost him nothing.

“The stores remain lower because of it,” she revealed cautiously.

“But the farms still produce. Had ye taken the grain, half the tenants would have departed or starved before spring.”

“That was me judgment.”

“A sound one.”

Warmth stirred beneath her ribs. She bent over the ledger before he could see how absurdly his approval affected her. She had not known she wanted recognition until he gave it.

They continued. Roy asked about the fishing boats lost in the winter squalls, the grazing rights along the northern ridge, and the two families who paid their rent in wool rather than coin. His questions were precise, but never designed to expose ignorance. When she explained, he listened without interrupting.

He truly listened. Donaldina had forgotten how rare that was. Councilmen often waited for her to finish only so they might repeat her suggestion in deeper voices and receive credit for its wisdom. Others praised her knowledge of household matters, as though cattle, grain, and winter stores ceased to be matters of governance because a woman understood them.

Roy asked what she thought, not what Lachlan would have thought or what the council advised.

What she thought.

When she explained that the southern fishing families required a second storehouse closer to the shore, Roy did not dismiss the cost.

“How many boats use the inlet?” he asked.

“Eleven at present. Fifteen before the war.”

“And how much of the catch is lost carrying it uphill tae Dun Ard?”