Fuming as she closed the door behind the woman, Laura decided that merely murdering a blackguard like William Ross was too kind a fate.
Taking a few deep breaths, though, she sat on the chest by the fire and calmed herself.
“You are a survivor,” Laura said quietly, trying some of the food and then setting it aside. Whatever they had planned to do with that poor sheep, the scorched mutton had been rendered nearly inedible. The crusty trencher of bread looked no more appetizing than the meat. “Well, so far.”
Morning arrived--not as soon as she would have hoped--but it arrived all the same. And Laura was ready for battle.
She ran into the same older woman who had brought her meal up the night before just outside the door.
“Maire, how kind of you to bring this to me.”
The white-haired servant looked up with surprise and met Laura’s kindly gaze. “Ye remembered my name, mistress?”
“Of course.” Laura smiled and took the wooden tray from her hands. “Wait a moment, will you?”
Bringing the food--singed bannock cakes and some unidentifiable watery mush in a wooden bowl--into the room, she placed it by the foot of the bed. Quickly returning to the serving woman, Laura closed the door behind her and placed a gentle hand on the servant’s shoulder.
“Shall we walk down together?”
“But yer meal, mistress.”
“I thought I would eat it later and instead join you in the kitchen for a while.”
“But the laird!” She halted. “He--he--”
Laura ran her hands up and down her arms and let out a breath. She watched the frosty cloud dissipate in the air. “Is it only me? This cold, I mean.”
Maire tightened her plaid shawl around her shoulders and shook her head. “With the broken places in the roof and no heat at all down this wing... ‘tis godawful cold. Ye might as well be sleeping in the yard, I’d say, mistress.”
Laura started the woman again down the corridor. “I do believe, though, ‘twas quite kind of the laird to put me here.” She looked about her, watching a few flakes of snow drifting in from somewhere above. “I love serenity. Restfulness. And to be honest, this cold...I understand ‘tis excellent for both body and soul.”
“If ye say so, mistress.” Maire gave her a toothless smile. “Though we were thinking that ye must’ve done something horrid...to the laird, I mean, to get him so riled.”
“Is he riled?”
“Aye. It does appear so.” This time Maire laughed out loud. “Though Father Francis has been bragging to Janet and me what a good soul ye are. And now, having met ye, I’d have to believe the priest was telling it right.”
The woman turned down another darkened corridor, away from the stairwell that Laura had been brought up the day before. Trailing after her companion, the young woman soon found herself turning down a narrow set of steps.
“And what has the priest been saying?”
“Do not ask, mistress, for I willna be telling.” Maire chuckled, running a hand along the wall as she descended the steps. “This takes us right down to the kitchens. Ye have no need to be going through the Great Hall, this way.”
“Ah, good. I can’t have you getting into trouble on my account for disobeying your laird.”
Maire shrugged. “This isn’t disobeying, exactly, mistress. But in truth, our master is very good to us. But then...” She cackled and turned to look back at Laura. “He has to treat us well, for we’re the last of the kitchen workers left at the castle.”
“Yesterday, I saw quite a few men in the Great Hall.”
“Aye, but they’re mostly the laird’s men, good only for fighting and farming--when they need to do one or the other. But around the castle they’re as useless as extra toes, as far as I can see. No help at all when it comes to doing honest work. In fact, mistress, since Robert’s passing--he was the steward--and the cook running off, Janet and I have been taking care of everything that needs doing.” The older woman paused and edged along one wall as she stepped over a missing stair. “And all this in addition to everything else we were supposed to be doing before. Mending, washing, cleaning--and all the while with Chonny underfoot!”
“Is Chonny a little one?”
“Och! He’s no lad, mistress. He’s a full grown man.” Maire slowed again and this time pointed at a low overhang as she ducked down the steps. “Chonny lost both of his legs when he was a lad. Later, with both of his parents dying of fever, Lord keep ‘em, he was moved into the keep to be part of the household.”
“It must be difficult for him to be all alone like that.”
“Alone?” The woman scoffed. “Not too bad a life. All he does is stay in the kitchen. He is fed, and he has straw to sleep on at night. And if ‘twere not for his sour temper, I’d say most of us wouldn’t even notice him. But he has a way of getting himself heard.”
The smell of burnt porridge assaulted her nostrils as Laura reached a landing just above the kitchen. Smoke hung in thick clouds above heavy wood tables, cluttered with a disordered array of produce, trays, bowls, meats, fowl in every stage of preparation, and a multitude of other things, much of it unrecognizable. Three dogs were growling and pulling a haunch of mutton between two of the tables, and a heavyset woman--older than Maire--was shrieking at them. Descending the last few steps behind Maire, Laura listened with surprise to the loud curses of the irate woman. This must be Janet, she assumed.
Too engrossed in the activity in the room beneath her, Laura tripped over the body of a person pulling himself rapidly up the stairs on his hands.
Trying to catch herself, she grabbed the shoulder and found herself staring down into a dark scowl.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
Hostile eyes glared up at her from a swarthy, unshaven face. Beneath a man’s body two stubs of legs swaddled in woolen cloth supported him on the stairs. The man’s frown was unrelenting as she quickly looked back at his face.
“I’m Laura. Laura Percy,” she said quietly. “You must be Chonny.” Not waiting for an answer, she nodded at the smoke-filled chaos of the kitchen. “I know the laird threatened to do away with me if I was to leave my cell in the east wing. But how did he know I would be coming to the kitchens?”
The man didn’t smile. But his frown eased a little as he shrugged her hand off his shoulder. Moving to the wall, he pulled himself up to the landing and disappeared around the corner and up the steps.
“Of course ‘twas Chonny,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Turning in search of Maire, Laura peered through the darkness and smoke, and saw her companion already by the open hearth, stirring a huge iron pot and ignoring the commotion behind her. In a moment Janet gave up and moved back to the hearth as well.
Laura stood and watched the two. Janet mopped her brow with the back of one hand and stared vacantly into the hearth. A smoky fire was roaring in the huge stone opening, but no one was turning the spit, and a large chunk of meat was rapidly being reduced to cinder. From the smell of things, some kind of bread was burning in the stone oven.
Janet, who Laura assumed must be in charge of the kitchen, was still unaware of her presence. Maire, busily stirring the ruined porridge, reached down and threw another block of peat on the fire. It appeared she had totally forgotten the visitor.
Well, there was no purpose served in standing around, Laura decided. Moving quickly down the steps, she crossed the packed dirt floor. Deciding to save whatever she could of the breads in the oven, Laura reached for a tray. As she did, she slipped on some decaying object on the floor, nearly banging her head on the corner of a wood table. Catching herself at the last moment, she righted herself and moved toward the oven, only to trip over a pile of dirty pots and bowls stacked on the floor.
She picked herself up. Before she could take a step, however, one of the dogs--having successfully stolen the mutton from his rivals, barreled past her with the other two in pursuit, howling, barking, and snapping furiously at the leader.
<
br /> Chaos. Pure, unadulterated chaos.
Pulling her sleeves down to cover her bare hands, Laura moved carefully to the oven and smiled as warmly as she could at Janet, who was staring at her in surprise. Without a word she reached for the first flat loaf of bread, only to have an arm with a grip of iron wrap around her waist and pull her backward into a wall of human muscle.
A loud gasp escaped her, and for one stunned moment she remained tightly nestled against the man’s body.
In front of her eyes, the room erupted. More dogs raced between the benches, barking and harrying two sheep that bleated loudly as they tried to clamber onto tables. A chicken flapped for its life toward the smoky rafters, showering the world below with feathers. A giant wearing Ross colors and a prodigious beard appeared from nowhere, suddenly appearing at the hearth with a huge pot of water which he proceeded to throw on the sizzling meat. Janet shrieked with disbelief, battering the warrior with a large wooden spoon.
Laura squirmed and twisted, pushing the arm holding her captive, but the man didn’t release her, allowing her only to turn in his arms.
Why was it that her heart had to stop every time she looked into William Ross’s face?
“And you call this staying out of my way?”
He was too close. She could feel his breath caressing her cheek. From the place where his hands were holding her waist, a warm pool was spreading rapidly inward to the very center of her being.
She forced out her words. “I was. Or at least, I’m trying.”
“And what have you done to my kitchens?”
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Nothing. Why would I change anything here?”
Even as he released her, she was intensely aware of his hands still lingering at her waist. He was still holding her far too close for her to breathe. She flattened one hand against his chest to put some distance between them, but he trapped her hand beneath his own. Her pulse jumped wildly.
“You find this amusing?”
She looked up and met his gaze. “Don’t you?”
His attempt at a scowl was unsuccessful, and he looked more pained at the sight of the mess. Janet was still scolding William’s cohort unmercifully. The man, standing with his arms folded over his chest, was waiting patiently for his laird and doing his best to ignore the verbal barrage. “I wonder which will come first--Blackfearn Castle burning to the ground, or those who live here starving to death?”
Following the direction of his gaze, she nodded somberly. “Why don’t you bring in a new cook?”
He let go of her hand and turned away slightly. “I’ve already asked Edward to see to it. But he seems to be having no luck.”
Although she already knew the answer, she asked it anyway. “Is Edward your steward?”
“Steward?” William snorted. He nodded toward the bearded giant. “Nay, that dwarf there is Edward. He is the clan’s chief warrior.”
“Then, why not have your steward see to it?” Seeing his frown, she gentled her tone. “I’m no authority on the running of a castle in this country, but where I was raised, the steward would be the man to see to matters such as this.”
He placed his hands on her waist again and pulled her back as Maire, remembering the bread, rushed to the oven and started pulling out the blackened loaves.
“The steward died,” he said gruffly.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but if you don’t make a change here soon, you’ll be losing these two women as well.”
“Are they ill?”
She looked up into his face. Smoke was hanging in a cloud above his head. “Even young women can be overworked, and these two are not young women.”
To her disappointment, his hand dropped from her waist. “They haven’t voiced any complaints.”
“They wouldn’t. You’re the laird.”
His eyes narrowed. “But they would tell you? And who are you? An outsider who has been here only a night?”
Her temper flared again. “True, I’ve been here a night. True, I’m an outsider. But I would have to be blind not to see the signs.”
“Signs?”
She nodded. “Well, take the food, for one thing. The problem is not that you have a horrible cook who is careless; the problem is that two old women who have to manage the running of an entire castle cannot feed an army of men in addition.”
Laura glanced at the direction of Maire as she took out the last of the bread out of the oven. “They have clearly been doing what they can. Without even boys to turn the meat on the spits or helpers to clean up after them. Never mind someone to tend the fires properly, or organize the bread making, or butcher and hang the meats properly, or brew the ale, or pluck the fowl, or--”
“Janet is a fine brewer. She’s been brewing since I was a lad.”
Laura gentled her tone. “Whether they are silent out of their respect for you, or because they think that what they do is insignificant to other problems you must deal with, I do not know. But they need help here.”
“I am not everywhere. I cannot read people’s minds. Perhaps I am not gifted in recognizing signs.”
“How can we be anything but what we are? But this is where having a steward--someone whom you can trust and delegate such matters to--will make a difference.”
He eyed her for a moment and then looked at the two women digging in search of something through a pile of bowls on a table. Then, without a word or a sign, he turned and headed toward a door leading across a small passageway to the Great Hall.
Unwilling to be dismissed so abruptly, Laura hurriedly followed him into the Hall. “So are you planning to make a change here?”
Gesturing curtly to a number of men lounging on a bench in the Great Hall, William turned for the huge studded oak doors of the main entryway. She continued after him, trailing the laird down the steps into the cobble stone yard.
“William, Janet and Maire are both old women. As I said before, work them this hard, and they will become sick.”
He turned around to face her. As he waved Edward, the bearded warrior, and the rest of the men on, Laura suddenly realized that she was standing out in the freezing air without even the protection of a wrap. She wrapped her arms around her and tried to keep from shivering.
“You’re their laird. And they trust you to make a difference--to take care of them.”
Her eyes widened when he brought his large hand to her face, cupping her chin, lifting it. She looked up into his blue eyes, saw gentleness and then desire. He was going to kiss her; she was certain of it. Her heart stopped.
“And who is taking care of you, Laura Percy?”
His question was so unexpected that she lost her words. “Me? I...I...have no--”
“Are you still having those disturbing dreams?”
She was too shocked to speak. Her throat clamped shut. And despite the coldness of the air, a scorching heat crept into her face.
He gently brushed his knuckles against her cheek and let his hand drop. “We’ll get more help for Janet and Maire.”
He turned and strode off toward the arched gate and open portcullis, where his men were waiting for him. But Laura remained where she was, no longer feeling the cold, watching his retreat and wondering what all the fluttering turmoil inside her meant.
*****
No smiling or tearful crowd had come out to say farewell to the group. Miriam looked up wistfully at Hoddom Castle’s tall keep, searching the windows for some sign of her grandfather. But there was none. No waving hand, no shadow of him watching from his chamber.
Nanna Jean’s weeping gave way to a terrible, wrenching cough as she took leave of her sister. She was very ill and growing worse every day, but Lord Herries had insisted that they leave immediately.
Miriam watched Sir Wyntoun shake his head as he turned his horse toward the open gate, and the others followed. Two barking dogs raced up from the village, baring their teeth and growling at the travelers as the small group pushed down the road toward the ford.
&n
bsp; She bit her lip and fought back the tears burning her eyes. After one last look back at Hoddom Castle, Miriam turned and stared ahead at the endless line of hills leading into the mist-enshrouded mountains beyond. She had no memory of the place that awaited at the end of this journey.
William Ross. She repeated the name in her head. William Ross. Her protector. Her guardian. Her uncle.
Vowing silently to be the best that she could be, she thought of William Ross and everything that she would do to make her uncle proud of her once she arrived at Blackfearn Castle.
She would be brave. She would be kind. She would be a perfect seven-year-old, so her uncle would have no other choice but to love her.
Miriam stabbed away a runaway tear. And she would not cry. Not at Blackfearn Castle, and not here--even though she was leaving forever the only place she had ever called home.
Even if someone did not love her enough to say good-bye.
CHAPTER 13
William watched with interest the attack on the standing wood posts. His warriors were certainly becoming proficient with the new German halberds. An eight foot pole topped by an iron head that combined both battle-ax and spear, the weapon carved huge chunks out of the posts on the first assault. Once the fighting became hand to hand, the halberd was a vicious instrument of destruction.
God knows, the English had used it well enough in the butchery that took place at Flodden.
“Odds’ blood, wouldn’t Duncan Munro be surprised to find a hornet’s nest of these waiting for him on one of his raids into Ross lands?” Edward said, walking back from the well and handing William a bowl of water.
“Aye. And if Gilbert’s soothing letters to Sir Walter fail to have any effect, I’ve a feeling we’ll be using them against the Sinclairs before long as well.” The laird drank and handed it back. “Any improvement in the kitchen?”
Edward’s obscenity was graphic and to the point. “Peter’s wife came from the village to take over for auld Janet this morning.”
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