Portia had been struck by inspiration for a project while walking the halls of the building earlier. The armory was old and beautiful and probably had an interesting history, like any structure that had lasted so long.
“Actually, if you have any books on the history of the neighborhood, I have some plans for the website they might be helpful with,” Portia said. She left out the fact that the plans hadn’t been approved yet, but she was sure Jamie would be supportive of them. He’d seemed really interested in her ideas. That had been one of the reasons she’d been so excited for the apprenticeship—and so put out when she came face-to-face with the surly brick wall that would be her real boss. “I’ve found some stuff about the docks and local guilds, but I was thinking more architectural history.”
Mary looked off to the side, as if going through her mental shop inventory, then nodded. “I have a book or two that might interest you, if you want to come ’round. You should also check the library—they have deeds and newspapers and the like on microfiche.”
“Is it available online?” Portia asked.
“The library is two blocks away, love,” Mary said gently. “Getting out to see the neighborhood wouldn’t hurt for a newcomer, now would it?”
Portia appreciated the woman’s subtle shade too much to be bothered by it.
“Okay, I’m off.” Mary gave Portia’s arm a quick squeeze, then leaned in to whisper, “I know you Americans do things differently, but may I suggest some trousers with more breathability for the next class? Denim causes thrush, dear.”
Portia made another note to self to look up thrush, but nodded her appreciation and waved as Mary strode away. The crowd around Jamie and Cheryl was breaking up, so she headed over to them. She felt a little awkward, and sweaty, but they both seemed nice and Jamie had told her to come find him when the boot camp was over.
“Hey,” Jamie said over Cheryl’s shoulder. “How did you like it?”
“I loved it! It’s such a great concept. I feel like I can crush my enemies and take over the world,” Portia said.
Jamie grinned. “Brilliant! That’s exactly how I want people to feel. I sometimes wonder if I lay it on a bit too thick, so I’m glad to hear that.”
Cheryl turned, eyes going wide when she saw Portia.
“My champion!” She ditched Jamie and ran toward Portia, her ponytail trailing behind her like a streamer. She didn’t lay a giant kiss on Portia, but she did pull her into a hug, which she quickly released her from.
“Oh sorry. I just didn’t get to thank you this morning, or introduce myself. I was too busy fetching the milk and compresses.” She was trying to joke about it, but Portia still cringed at the reminder of her grand entrance that morning. “I’m Cheryl Hu. Partner of Jamie. Tolerator of Tavish.” She beamed up at Portia with a smile so welcoming it made Portia’s throat go rough.
“There’s nothing to thank me for, no worries,” Portia said with a shrug.
“Nothing to thank you for? You thought I was being attacked and you ran in like bloody Eowyn ready to take out the Nazgul, and all. It was grand!”
Portia didn’t know what Cheryl was referring to, but being on the receiving end of the closest human incarnation of Portia had ever seen made her cheeks go warm.
“It was silly,” she said shifting uncomfortably. “I should have realized what was going on instead of just rushing in and ruining your practice. And hurting your boss.”
Classic Portia. Think first, regret later. She twisted her mouth at the memory of how proud she had felt for that one moment before humiliating reality had set it.
Cheryl placed an arm on her shoulder. “Ach, no. Don’t feel too guilty about the mix-up. Tav deserved it, even if he wasn’t really attacking me. Comeuppance for being such a wanker all the time. You’re fine.”
“Well, glad I could do my part in wanker comeuppance delivery,” Portia said, trying to sound normal even though Cheryl’s compliments made her want to stick her head in the ground.
“Is that so?” a deep voice asked, cutting into the conversation.
Portia sighed. Of course, Tavish would sneak up behind her in time to overhear that. She turned to face him, propping her hands on her hips because they suddenly felt large and ungainly and she didn’t know what to do with them.
He’d obviously just come from his workshop, judging from the dirt smudges all over his clothes and exposed skin—the unshowered tradesman look really, really worked for him. He was like a rustic wooden table that grew more attractive from weathering, if tables could be sexy. 13 out of 10, would hit that—if she was hitting anything, which she wasn’t.
“Yes, that’s so,” she retorted.
What? What kind of weak comeback was that?
He was holding her heels, their straps slid over two of his thick fingers, and Portia had no idea why the sight of it prompted a pulse of want in her.
“I suppose this is your heroine pose, for when you’re out impulsively saving strangers,” he said, his dark brows arching upward. “Freckles McGee, vigilante at large.”
His tone was dry, but his gaze slid over her body like a pour of molten metal. She was already sweating, and looks like that didn’t help. Neither did the fact that the sleeves of his Henley shirt were pushed up to the elbow, revealing his veined wrists and forearms.
She reached out and snagged her heels from him, suppressing the shiver that went through her as their fingers brushed. “Yes. I’ve been busy keeping Edinburgh’s streets safe from the likes of the villainous . . . Knife Man.”
Tavish blinked several times. “Knife Man?”
“You had a knife this morning,” she said stubbornly. “You are a man. Knife Man.”
Jamie and Cheryl burst out laughing beside her. Tavish rolled his eyes and wiped his hands against his jeans and she noticed that Thigh Man would have also been a good name for him.
“Jamie, are we going to talk details of my schedule now?” she asked, turning away from Tavish. “Do I get to make a sword soon?”
Jamie looked sheepish. “We’re gonna start off slow, I think. Data entry is almost as fun as swordmaking, right?”
He elbowed Cheryl.
“Totally as good,” Cheryl said cheerily, but shook her head and gave a thumbs-down as soon as Jamie looked away from her.
“It’ll be a wee bit before you’re allowed to work with sharp objects,” Tavish cut in, drawing her attention back to him, though it hadn’t wandered far. “Especially since I’m the one who has to train you for that. Let’s see if you can go a week without doing me bodily harm and then I’ll consider it.”
She had messed up, badly, but she wasn’t down with being infantilized for the next three months because of it.
“A keyboard is a dangerous thing in the right hands, too, you know,” Portia said.
“I agree. Jamie for instance, used a keyboard to place the apprenticeship advert, and look what that got me.” He gestured in her general direction.
Portia faltered; Tav’s verbal jab had hit a soft spot, one that had been hidden under a sea of distractions for years and had only just begun to harden. She had no witty comeback for someone telling her they didn’t want her around. It reinforced what that ugly voice in the back of her head whispered at the most inopportune moments: no one would care if you left and never came back.
“You really are a wanker,” Cheryl said with a tsk, moving closer to Portia. She rested her hand on Portia’s back, not even pulling it away when it landed on a damp sweaty spot.
Jamie came to stand at her other side. “He’s always been like this, you know. I’m pretty sure my first words were ‘Mum, Tav is a right wanker, aye?’ And her reply was, ‘Yes, son. Su hermano is the one true wanker, the wanker to rule them all.’”
Cheryl giggled and Tav rolled his eyes. “Why are you bringing Mum into this? And why are you both surrounding her like I’m the threat? Might I remind you that I was the one attacked today?”
“Do you fancy some dinner, Portia?” Cheryl asked, ignoring Tavish. “I have some Char Siu pork in the slow cooker.”