by Laura Landon
“Yes, there is,” Katherine argued. “Someone is going to succumb to the heat.”
“Irsa did just last week,” Anna volunteered, and everyone turned to look at a young lass of probably no more than seventeen. The girl turned an even deeper shade of crimson, then clutched her hand to her protruding stomach.
“That’s because of the babe,” Margaret argued. “It was no hotter that day than it is today. Being with child will make you weak.”
Katherine didn’t know anything about that, but she did know that someone expecting a babe should not be working in such conditions. She took a step closer to Margaret and the other women. “Is there a carpenter here at Lochmore?”
“Aye, Kevin. But he’s busy repairing the cottages damaged from when the English raided us.”
Katherine ignored her barbed comment. “As soon as he has time, he will come to the kitchens to put in windows along these two walls that you can open and close at will. I think windows at the front will serve well, too. That will open up three sides and let air come in from all directions. It will be up to you, Margaret, to see it’s done exactly as you and the other women want.”
Margaret bristled, and when she spoke her voice was hard as nails and her words bristled with hatred. “Our kitchen is fine just as it is, milady. We do na need any of your English ways here at Lochmore.”
“Whether you think you do or not is unimportant. We will put windows in the walls because it will improve conditions in the kitchens. Not because it is an English way.”
“But the laird has na approved such an order,” Margaret objected, voicing the concern she could see written on every face in the room.
“I will speak with the laird. If he has any concerns, we have only to put him in this room for an hour or so and he’ll not question our request.”
Even Margaret couldn’t hide her shock and surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again as if she couldn’t find the words to argue.
“I will explain what I think will work best to the carpenter, and you decide where you want your windows put. I promise you will enjoy your kitchen more when it’s not nearly so hot.”
Katherine then looked around the group of women until she found the lass Irsa. “Gather your things, Irsa, and follow us to the keep. I’ll have Morgana assign you another position. When you have been delivered, you may come back to work in the kitchen if you wish, but not until you present your husband with a fine, healthy babe.”
Katherine ignored the shocked looks on the women’s faces and walked out the door. She took two steps into the cool, late summer afternoon and stopped to take in several breaths of clean air. “By the saints, I cannot imagine why they would not want to improve their kitchen,” she said, rubbing her hand against her damp forehead. “Take me to this carpenter first, Morgana. I want the windows in before too long.” Morgana gave her a closed smile then led her to the carpenter’s shop.
Katherine took one look at the carpenter’s flaming red hair and matching beard, and knew she’d found a Ferguson no more accepting than the women in the kitchen. His steely gray eyes leveled her with open mistrust as she explained in detail her design for changing the kitchen. She discussed and argued, using more persistence and tact than she thought she possessed.
It was not easy to convince the stubborn Scot that windows were more important than a shed for some pigs, but before she left, they’d reached an agreement of sorts. Anyway, she hoped they had. The carpenter seemed to like her no better than anyone else she’d met today, but at least he’d finally listened without criticizing, and even nodded his head a few times.
Katherine left the carpenter’s shop feeling a heavier weight tighten around her heart than she thought it was possible to bear. The hostility she’d battled on every front wore her down. The gnawing in the pit of her stomach told her as much.
She wanted to run back to her chambers and shut herself away, but she could not. She would not allow Duncan’s Scots to force her into hiding. She would face them with the pride and stateliness her father would expect her to exhibit.
She walked through the inner bailey, ignoring the whispered comments, listening as Morgana pointed out each building and shed. They toured the stables, the armory, the blacksmith’s workshop, and the storehouses. The bunkhouses, the granary, the tanner’s workshop, and the alehouse.
At each building, Katherine stepped inside and met the workers. She spoke to them, asked questions, then made mental notes of everything done in each area. The names would take her longer to learn. She had never been very good at remembering names.
She’d hoped as they went along the greetings would warm, the stares would be less hostile. They weren’t. It would take Duncan’s Fergusons a long time to accept an English mistress.
“I think we should go back to the keep now, mistress,” Morgana said when they reached another row of storage houses. “You had best get settled in your chamber.”
“Yes, Morgana. It would be good to get our new mistress settled in her laird’s chamber.” The husky female voice behind them made them both turn to see who had spoken. From the look on Morgana’s face, she wasn’t especially pleased to see the young woman facing them.
“Did you need something, Regan?”
“Aye, Morgana. I would like to meet my mistress.”
Katherine couldn’t help but stare as the dark-haired beauty stepped closer. She found herself looking into the most vibrant pair of green eyes she had ever seen. The beauty’s raven-colored hair shimmered as the bright rays of sunlight hit her, casting her lithe form in a glow. She was as dark and alluring as Katherine was fair and commonplace.
“Everyone in the courtyard talks of nothing but our laird’s new wife,” she said, evaluating Katherine as if she had a right to make a comparison. “Do you hope it will take only a smile and a kind word for us to forget you are English?”
“Regan.” Morgana’s voice held an unmistakable warning.
“Nay, Morgana. The Lady Katherine should know her smiles will na charm us into forgetting that vile English blood runs in her veins.”
Katherine faced her accuser with determination. “I am glad to meet you, Regan, and I have not forgotten that English blood runs in my veins.” Katherine took a deep breath and steadied herself to keep her temper in check. It would do no good to get into a fight with one of Duncan’s subjects on her first day here. “I do not expect my husband’s people ever to forget that I am English. I am as proud of my heritage as you are of yours.”
“And is our laird proud that you are English?”
The breath caught in Katherine’s throat. She couldn’t find an answer. None that she wanted to share.
The girl lifted her head and jutted her chin, then braced her fists against her hips. “Why did our laird marry you? What do you have that is so important he would sacrifice his pride to take an English for his bride?”
Katherine summoned a strength she didn’t feel. “You will have to ask your laird that question.”
Regan took another step closer and drilled Katherine with eyes that held more hatred than she had ever seen. “He will never love you. Duncan will never love anyone but—”
“’Tis enough, wench.” Angus’ voice was soft behind them, but the harshness was unmistakable. “You had best get yourself back to your cottage and see to your mother. I hear she is na doing so well.”
Angus reached into his pocket and handed her a small vile of white powder. “Give her a small amount of this in a cup of warm ale twice each day. It should ease the pain and make her sleep.”
The dark-haired beauty reached for the vile, then cast Katherine another hooded scowl before she sauntered off.
“I am sorry, mistress,” Morgana apologized. “I did na think Regan would be so forward.”
Katherine watched the Ferguson beauty until she’d passed the inner bailey wall and was out of view. “She’s very bitter,” Katherine said on a sigh. “I would like to know what keeps her hatred burning so fiercely. Did she
lose someone to the English?”
Morgana and Angus both looked at each other and it was Angus who answered. “The man she thought to marry, milady.”
“No wonder,” Katherine said. “It will take her longest of all to forgive.”
“Do na worry about Regan, milady. She will change in time.”
Katherine gave Angus a hollow smile.
And perhaps she will never change. Perhaps none of the Fergusons will ever change toward her.
“Take your mistress back to the keep, Morgana,” Angus ordered, then turned his attention back to Katherine. “There is a little time before the evening meal and I’m certain you need to rest.”
“Thank you, Angus,” Katherine said, placing her hand atop the older man’s forearm. “For everything.”
Katherine didn’t know exactly why she felt the need to thank the wizened old warrior with the bushy white beard and the knowing look in his eyes. Perhaps because he had healed her from Bolton’s beating. Perhaps because he had defended her from Regan’s attack. Perhaps because, although his look was not warm, it at least contained no hatred.
“Go on with ye, now,” he said, then turned his back on them.
Katherine walked silently at Morgana’s side through the inner courtyard, then stopped suddenly and grabbed the servant’s hand. “Go to the keep without me. I have something to ask Angus. I will be back shortly.”
Morgana’s eyebrows raised high as a fearful look of concern crossed her face. “Oh, no, mistress. You canna go by yourself. The laird gave strict orders.”
“I will be fine. I must hurry to catch Angus before he crosses the drawbridge. Go Morgana,” Katherine said, already running after Angus.
“But the laird—”
“I’ll be back before your laird even knows I have gone,” she yelled over her shoulder.
Katherine left Morgana staring after her with a fearful look on her face, but at the moment she didn’t care. The small seeds of an idea had been planted in her head, and no amount of reasoning would change her mind. Katherine looked ahead of her. He was almost to the drawbridge, and Katherine smiled as she watched his strides, still strong and steady. Still those of a young man.
He was too far ahead of her. She wouldn’t catch him before he left the safety of the walls, but that didn’t bother her. She would have to know the way to his hut if he was to help her like she intended. She would have to know her way outside the walls as well as she would learn her way on the inside before long. She would—
“Stop, mistress.”
Katherine took a quick glance at Angus to make sure she knew which direction he went, then turned around to face a lad of no more than fifteen, with golden blond hair and eyes of the deepest blue she had ever seen. “What is it?” she asked impatiently, fearing she would lose Angus if she was detained very long.
“I’m afraid I canna let you walk through these gates, milady. The laird would na like it.”
Katherine bristled. “The laird gave orders that I was not allowed to go beyond these gates?”
“Aye, milady. I think he does na even intend for you to be this far from the keep without someone to guard you.”
Katherine gave Angus’ fleeting figure another glance then turned her attention to the young lad pretending to be an experienced warrior. “I am only trying to catch up with Angus. If I hurry, I will be safe. You can watch to make sure I am.”
“I canna let you, milady.”
“You would stop me?”
“I would have to.”
Katherine breathed a resigned sigh. She couldn’t believe this. “Then you will have to.” She looked up, but could no longer see Angus in the distance. With a stomp of her foot and a sigh of exasperation, she stormed past the shocked young man, daring him to try to stop her. She knew he would not dare to touch her. She was his mistress. The laird’s wife. But she knew he wouldn’t waste any time going for someone who would.
Katherine ran across the drawbridge as quickly, yet as cautiously as possible, then to the right where Angus had gone. She followed the dirt path into the tall, thick trees. Ahead of her was a small hut.
The door of the cottage stood open, inviting her to enter. She called out his name as she ran to the entrance.
Angus came out of the dark opening and stared at her with raised eyebrows. “You left the walls without a guard? Your laird will na be pleased.”
She would not give him time to lecture her. “If I come to you, will you teach me your potions?”
“The laird does na want you to learn them.”
She repeated her question. “If I come, will you teach me? Please.”
He studied her a long moment, then lifted the corners of his mouth slightly. “The laird will na like it.”
“I know.”
More silence. Then Angus dropped his head back on his shoulders and laughed out loud. “Aye, mistress. I will teach you.”
Katherine unclenched the hands she didn’t realize were fisted at her side. “Thank you, Angus.” She wiped her sweaty palms against her skirt and smiled at the old man. “Perhaps I will come to you tomorrow.” She took a step backward. “I must go now, before my laird finds out I have disobeyed him.” She spun around to race back to the keep and collided with a body as solid and immovable as a stone wall.
Duncan’s soft, deadly voice shattered the silence. Her heart skipped a beat. “It’s too late, milady. Your laird has already found out you’ve disobeyed him.”
Katherine lifted her gaze. The angry gleam in his eyes turned murderous. The way he gritted his teeth and fisted his hands at his side was also not a healthy sign.
“I needed to talk to Angus,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded as controlled and steady as it did.
“Did not Brandon order you to go back to the keep?”
“Is that the young man I talked with at the drawbridge?”
“Aye. That is his name. If you have need to speak with him further, you will find him cleaning out the castle garderobes from now until next spring.”
Katherine squelched a rising surge of guilt. “But it was not his fault, Duncan. I didn’t give him a choice.”
“He had a sword. He had a choice.”
Katherine stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief. She could see Brandon’s golden hair and smiling blue eyes. Those eyes would now contain the same hatred as she’d seen on every other Ferguson today.
Chapter 8
Duncan slammed his tankard of ale on the table and shoved back his chair with such force it crashed to the floor. He’d put off going to his chamber until all save a few of the younger warriors in the great hall had gone to sleep. He’d hoped the ale he’d consumed and Malcolm’s company would make him forget how angry he was with her. It hadn’t.
Duncan crossed the rushes, ignoring the warning lift of Malcolm’s brows, and climbed the stairs to his chambers. He thought of Kate waiting there for him. By the saints, she was a frustration. She was the most obstinate, singleminded, stubborn woman he’d ever met. Was there nothing she feared? Was there nothing she did not rush headlong into because she thought it was for the best?
He strode down the long hall to his chamber, each thud of his boots pounding off another reason she’d angered him today. The closer he came, the hotter his blood boiled in his veins. By the time he reached his door, he was even angrier than he’d been when Brandon ran through the great hall to tell him his mistress had left the safety of the castle without an escort.
By the saints. He’d had Fergusons lined up before him all afternoon complaining about something their mistress had done. First Anne and Margaret from the kitchen; then Kevin, the carpenter; then Morgana; and finally Brandon. Didn’t she realize the turmoil her ideas caused? The danger in which she put herself?
Duncan shoved at the latch and stormed through the door with the same fervor he felt riding into battle. He expected to find her asleep and anticipated waking her just to give her the scolding she deserved. One she would never forget.
S
he was not asleep. Far from it.
His wife sat on the edge of the bed. Waiting. The dozen candles she’d lit to brighten the chamber cast her long, loosely woven plait in a golden glow, making her seem soft, contrite. He knew she was not.
She was defiant and rebellious. He’d come to know her too well. The sight of her sitting so demurely was not the Kate he’d married. His Kate had issued orders and made decisions today with clear, calculated thoughtlessness. She intended to create chaos in his life and had done a good job of it. He could not let her rebelliousness go unchecked.
He crossed the room, fighting the ominous foreboding that gnawed deep in his gut, the feeling of impending doom that rumbled like a roiling thundercloud building over Scotland. How could he win her over when her actions were a constant irritant? How could he win her trust when he couldn’t even win her obedience? It was only a matter of time until someone came for the crown. He prayed it would be the English. He could fight them to the death as his father had. But how could he slay his fellow Scots to protect the crown his English wife wouldn’t give him?
He stood before her, feet braced, arms clasped behind his back. She lifted her deep blue eyes and studied him, as if she had resigned herself to accept his wrath without complaint or argument. She didn’t move except to clench her hands tighter in her lap and lift her shoulders in readiness to receive his reprimand.
“Do you have any idea the problems you caused today, wife?”
She lowered her eyes submissively.
“You argued with me in front of my men. Gave orders to rebuild my kitchens without first consulting me. Went outside the castle walls without a guard when you were told you could not. Then, you went to Angus to have him teach you his potions, even though I forbade you to do so. And this is only your first day here!” Duncan slapped his fist against his thigh in frustration.
She opened her mouth as if to say something, then wisely closed it again.
Duncan paced before her stoic figure sitting on the edge of the bed. “Anna and Margaret are convinced you want to change everything to your English ways and have vowed to fight you every step of the way.”
