He glanced at Claire, still standing before the fire, her arms still crossed. The blaze behind her suited her fiery countenance, a goddess of temper and ire. His jaw clenched as he made his way toward her.
“And what, pray tell, am I to do with these women and children? You know we do not have much food in the larder.”
“Anything you wish. Put them to work. Simon can watch over some of the women as they gather items in the woods to add to the supper this eve. I will see if any of the new men are skilled hunters.”
Claire didn’t respond.
Ian stepped closer as Claire dropped her arms and raised her chin.
“Listen,” he whispered. “I know the situation appears bleak. I was going to turn some away, but I couldna do it. Not seeing the wee ones. I am only acting with compassion as you did when we discovered Silas and his family in the vacant tenant home.”
Claire bit her bottom lip, and he took her hand in his. Her cool fingers fluttered in his and he grasped tighter. “All will be well in time. Have faith.”
Ian almost closed his eyes, marveling at the words he uttered. Had he actually asked her to have faith in him? He doubted himself, so how could he expect her trust?
She slowly pulled her hand away. Her gaze searched his, and then she gave a shrug. “You are right. I let my fear of the future blind me to their needs. As for faith in you, we shall see.”
Ian offered a brief smile and headed out to the bailey.
We shall see, indeed.
In time, they would all see whether or not he was worthy.
Claire surveyed the women and children littering the great hall. A pitiful lot they were, their garments threadbare, their faces tired. Children played on the floor, fussed in their mothers’ arms, or cried.
How could Ian have let this happen? In his quest to see to Whitfield’s greatness, he put a heavy burden on them all. Claire glanced at Edith, still in her chair by the fire, shock evident on her lined face. She looked spent already.
Edith put a hand over her chest. “Oh, my lady, what has your new lord done?”
“He’s not just mine. We all shall suf—” Claire caught herself before she uttered her final thoughts. She must put on a brave face in spite of their circumstances. Though she may not have agreed with Ian’s actions, she wouldn’t complain in front of her people. They needed hope, not complaint. Encouragement, not fear.
And afraid, she was.
But as she looked at the forlorn group, compassion filled her. They needed aid just as she did. If she could learn the extent of Ian’s coin, she might be able to rest in the decisions he made for them all. As far as she knew, his coin was still hidden in the woods. She doubted Ian’s ability to feed these people, hire guards, and have enough to repair Whitfield. It seemed impossible.
Claire breathed in deeply. “Edith, while the Scot’s decision brings much work upon us, we will utilize the women’s help whilst they are here. Their presence will ease our workload and bring some relief. Go fetch Alma and Leticia. They need to hear what I have to say.”
Claire walked over to the women who attempted to corral their children and quieten them.
“I am Claire Beaumont, Sir McGowan’s betrothed.”
“Ye aren’t the lady of the castle?” A dark-haired woman with a baby in her arms spoke.
Claire paused, surprised by the question. “Aye, I am indeed the lady of Whitfield. This has been my home for over ten years. Sir McGowan has been appointed lord by the king, and we were handfasted three days past. As Sir McGowan stated earlier, we will devise a schedule where a few of you will watch the children while the others work either in the kitchen or around the keep.”
Edith entered the hall with Alma and Leticia following behind. Claire introduced them to the group.
“These women will oversee the work that needs to be done.” Claire paused, distracted by a couple of the children furiously scratching themselves. Faith, they would all need baths.
“Leticia, have Noah bring every washtub he can find, large and small. Then some of the women without babies can start filling them with water. Alma, see what we can prepare for supper, even if it is only bread and cheese. Perhaps some salted fish in the celarium? Edith, I need you to fetch horsemint and rue in the storeroom, as well as soap—much soap. Oh, and more needles and thread.”
“Needle and thread?” asked Edith, as the other two women scurried off.
“I fear once we wash their clothes, mending might be required.”
“What do you mean, wash our clothes?” The same woman who spoke earlier came to her feet, shifting her baby in her arms.
“I am sorry, but everyone will bathe and wash their clothes.”
“I ain’t takin’ a bath.”
Claire stiffened her spine, prepared for a battle of wills. “I know you most likely didn’t have a say in whether you came to Whitfield. But since you are here in my home, you will follow my wishes.” She gestured to the children playing on the ground close to her. “The children are miserable, scratching at the bugs they carry. I have herbs that can help with that.”
The woman glanced at her companions, who nodded or shrugged their own consent. After a moment, she mumbled a reply, “Alright, for the children.”
Claire smiled and set about organizing the room. She had Noah place the tubs on one side and instructed a guard to bring a large kettle to boil water over the fire. Once the tubs were filled, Claire barred the door to the hall and then had the women bathe. Once bathed, they doused themselves with rue to kill the fleas.
Children’s cries, women’s chatter, and even an occasional burst of laughter permeated the great hall. It had been so long since the room had been filled with life. Claire’s heart swelled with the wonder of its energy. For so long people had been leaving Whitfield one by one, and she missed the jovial camaraderie, the warmth of fellowship. True, the women that served with her gave her that, but theirs was not quite so boisterous and free.
As the women took turns bathing themselves and their children, Claire and Leticia washed their clothes and hung them to dry around the fire. It took a while for everyone to bathe and for the clothes to dry enough to don. Edith sprinkled horsemint among the rushes to keep the fleas and mites at bay.
Claire’s body ached with exhaustion by the time everyone was cleaned and dressed. But the job was done, and everyone looked much better. She smiled. The husbands wouldn’t recognize them once they returned from the fields. She couldn’t wait to view their expressions when they looked upon the freshly scrubbed faces of their brides.
After unbarring the door, Claire had Noah and the women remove the tubs and kettle. Then she instructed them to add more straw to the far side of the hall. ’Twould make the floor a bit more comfortable and warm for the children.
Claire studied the room, pleased with the afternoon’s work. The older children chased each other around the tables. One of the smaller boys climbed upon a table. Claire walked toward him, worried for his safety, but his mother rose to assist him. The boy began to cry and then emptied his stomach all over himself, his mother, the table, and the floor.
Her shoulders slumping, Claire wanted to weep. Her work was not finished. “Leticia! Have the men bring a tub and the kettle back—and water.”
Leticia hurried to obey. After a short time, the mother and child were bathed, and their clothes cleaned once more. Some of the other women helped to clean the table and floor. With extra hands, perhaps the amount of work required wouldn’t be too overwhelming.
Claire excused herself from the group and trudged to the stairs, wanting only to lay her head down for short while. She placed her hand on the cool stone wall of the stairwell and slowly ascended. With a panicked cry, she reached up and scratched her head! Nay! After all her work this day, surely she hadn’t become the home of wayward fleas. Soon she itched all over, from real or imagined mites, she did not know, but one thing she knew for sure ...
She blamed the Scot!
Chapter 15
&nb
sp; After showing the new farmers the tenant homes and creating a plan for their repair, Ian returned to the castle in good spirits. With twenty men willing and able to work, he would have sufficient hands to build, repair, and hunt. While the large number put strain on Whitfield’s resources, it would be a blessing in the end.
Some of the men had balked upon viewing the state of their future homes, but with the promise of free rent until crops were planted and harvested, they swallowed their reservations and agreed to stay.
Now if he could convince Claire to put aside her doubts and frustration, life would ease into a new regimen—one of work and satisfaction in seeing the growth of prosperity.
Ian led the men into the great hall. He stopped just inside the door, wrinkling his nose. What foul odor had overtaken the keep? A group of women helped put food on the table, while children scurried around playing tag.
Did the disagreeable smell come from their meal?
Ian stepped further into the hall, noting Claire’s absence. Mayhap she was in the kitchen. He motioned the men toward the tables. “Ready yourself for supper.” Then he strode across the hall to the kitchen.
He pushed through the door and surveyed those putting food in trenchers. “Is that stench our food?”
Alma’s head jerked up. “Stench? ’Tis only bread, cheese, and dried fish. ’Twas all we had on hand.”
Ian frowned. “Then what is that foul odor?”
“Rue for the wee mites carried in by the new tenants.” Alma shook her head and muttered to herself as she continued filling trenchers.
A heavy weight settled upon Ian’s chest. Claire would not be pleased. “Where is Claire?”
“She must still be in her chamber. She had to bathe and change clothes after the grueling day.”
Ian grunted. The evening did not bode well for him.
And he had considered his days to be brightening with all that would be accomplished soon. His good spirits fled as if to avoid an approaching storm.
Ian headed for Claire’s chamber, wanting to make sure she hadn’t been overcome by the day’s events. He paused at her door, wondering if it was wise to inquire about her state. It could be detrimental to his emotional wellbeing.
Nay, he would do his chivalrous duty. She was his betrothed, after all. He rapped his knuckles softly on the door. No response. He knocked once more, a little harder.
“You may enter,” came the muffled reply.
Ian took a breath and opened the door. Claire stood before the fire, plaiting her damp hair. A tub of water was set nearby; a pile of discarded clothing lay on the floor.
Claire’s cheeks gleamed pink, whether from the bath or fire, he knew not, but she looked lovely. Fresh.
He was suddenly conscious of his own lack of freshness. He probably smelled as rotten as—he sniffed—the same stench as downstairs permeated the room. “For having just bathed, you dinna smell good.”
One of Claire’s copper brows rose high, as she continued to plait her hair.
“I mean, you dinna smell as nice as you normally do.” Ian glanced away. “Not that I make a habit of sniffing your person.”
A hint of a smile played about Claire’s mouth.
Ian cleared his throat. Why wasna she saying anything? “I heard you had to deal with mites today. Thus, the odor.”
Her pleasant countenance slipped into a frown. “You left me with a host of women, children, and fleas. I spent the whole of the afternoon washing clothes and people, plus dusting the hall for bugs.” She tied off her braid with a leather tie.
“’Tis sorry I am that you had to deal with all of that.”
“You should be. I had to douse myself for fleas.”
“You blame me? You might have gotten them anywhere.” He wasna taking the blame for mites.
“I’ve never had issues with the ungodly creatures. Those poor children came in scratching.”
Ian took a step, wanting to comfort her, but thought better of it. No sense in raising her ire further, so he remained at a safe distance. “I thank you for dealing with the problem. I ken you are more than capable.”
Claire tilted her head, her expression radiating wariness. “Are you throwing compliments my way to ease my anger?”
“Are you angry?” She wasna throwing a temper fit like she normally did when riled.
Claire played with the end of her braid, her gaze traveling over his face. “While I am frustrated, I know you did not purposefully heap all the work upon us. While I know you meant to show compassion, you should have sent some away. We cannot feed them all.”
“I think we can. As I said before, we will delegate the work. It can be done.”
Claire shook her head. “You are either incredibly confident or as daft as they come to take on so much so soon. I haven’t decided which.”
Ian grinned. “I havena either, but I am thinking confidence will win out over time.” He held out his arm. “Shall we attend to supper?”
She eyed his arm. “Are you certain you can stand the smell of me?” Her pink lips curved into a smile as she drew near.
“If I can stand my own smell, then I can certainly stand yours.” She stopped mid-stride, and Ian chuckled. “Dinna fash yourself about my smell. The stench of your treatment to rid us of mites will overpower my own foul odor.”
Claire sniffed, placed her hand on his arm, and they proceeded to supper.
The hall teemed with people. Gratified to see several of the women helping Leticia serve, Claire’s hope at being able to sustain a way of life at Whitfield rose. Working together. Pooling strength and ability to get things accomplished. This was the way.
Ian led Claire to the head table and settled her in her chair. He slid into his seat and pulled his trencher close. Tonight’s fare was a paltry display of bread, cheese, and dried fish. Just as Alma warned.
First thing tomorrow he would test the men’s marksmanship. If enough were good hunters, he would have them hunt in rotation. If there were only a few good hunters, perhaps he would designate them to do the task daily. He could spare them from other tasks so they would have ample time to bring in game.
“Did you have any issues with the women today?” asked Ian.
“Only one argued with me about taking a bath.” She nodded to the left side of the room. “See the dark-haired woman at the last table? The one talking loudly? Gesturing wildly? She’s the one.”
The animated woman appeared a bit rough. No doubt troublesome. “You got her bathed, I see.”
“Only when the other women agreed to bathe. Pressure from those around you tends to bend your will.”
“That can be a good thing—or a bad thing.”
“True.”
The main door swung wide, slamming against the wall. Ian jumped to his feet and drew his sword. The hall quieted.
Phillip strode in, a grin on his face, his arms spread wide. “I have for you, my lord, new guards to fill the garrison.”
One by one, men filed into the great hall. Large, small, outfitted like a guard, dressed in rags, young, and not so young.
Ian’s chest pounded as they streamed in. Sixteen in all.
By the saints! Sixteen guards to outfit and train. He studied the unlikely group before him, his hopes slipping as if sucked down by quicksand. He’d be fortunate if there were five able men in the bunch. What had Phillip been thinking to collect such a motley crew?
Ian sheathed his sword and glanced at Claire. Drained of color, her pinched face spoke her displeasure, no doubt considering their depleted food stores.
“What think you?” Phillip’s voice broke through Ian’s thoughts. He turned his attention to Phillip, standing before him like a triumphant knight after a well-fought war. “I rounded up a small army.”
“Aye, you rounded up men, to be sure.”
Phillip drew close to the dais and lowered his voice. “Now, I know what is going through that head of yours.”
“I dinna think you do.”
“You believe I brought
the dregs of manhood. Hear me when I say that these men are able-bodied and willing to learn. I did test them, and while most have had little training, they are all strong.”
“Even the wee one?” Ian eyed the short man at the end of the line.
“Especially him. He is one of the strongest in the group.”
The boulder on Ian’s chest grew heavier at this disheartening news. If the little one boasted the most strength, they were in trouble.
Ian nodded. “My thanks, Phillip.” He turned his focus to the new men. “Sit at the tables and eat. The food is sparse tonight, but we shall remedy that on the morrow. Phillip will oversee your training. You shall report to him in the bailey at dawn.”
Ian dropped to his chair, not daring to look at Claire. Her eyes were upon him. He knew it as sure as he knew his own name. Taking his drink in hand, he downed the contents.
“Sir McGowan.” Claire’s pointed voice raked along his nerves.
“Ian. Call me Ian.” He focused on the trencher before him.
“McGowan, did you truly intend to hire all those men?”
Ian drew a breath and told an untruth. “Aye.” He'd told Phillip ten, but then mentioned he’d prefer more—though he dinna think Phillip would manage to obtain even the ten. Ian wasna certain he had the funds to hire them all, but he dinna want Claire to know this number of men was not in his plan.
“You are aware of my trepidation?”
“Aye.” How could he not know? Her countenance spoke loudly.
“Do you not have words to assure me we will not succumb to ruin?”
Ian finally looked to the red-haired lass beside him. Her eyes glistened with a hint of tears, as if drowning in the chokehold of fear, the insidious stealer of peace. Compassion flooded through him for the woman who’d had so much taken from her. He felt her frantic need for control and security.
“I wish I had the right words to say to take away your fear, but I dinna. Aye, there is risk, but the reward will be worth the struggle.”
His to Keep: A Medieval Romance Page 13
