Chapter 4
Chapter Four
O ne would think that, after living with four sisters, two sisters-by-law, nieces, a cook, and countless maids, Aiden Randall would be better able to communicate with his wife. He hadn’t felt so incompetent around a lass in decades. Not since he was twelve and tried to kiss a cute little redhead named Deidre, who hadn’t been as keen on the idea.
He stood in the hallway and raked a hand through his hair. Patience, he decided, was what his new bride needed. After all, they barely knew one another.
From down the hall, he could hear little Magnus crying loudly. Moments later, Elayne opened the chamber door. “Go on, now,” she said to her three older sons. “Ye go below stairs and find yer da.”
Collin and Ian took off at a full run. “Wait for yer brother!” Elayne called out. The two older boys stopped and waited for little Fergus to catch up.
Elayne was bouncing Little Magnus on her hip as he wailed like a banshee, his face turning a deep red.
The noise, the chaos, crying bairns, little ones racing through the halls, mothers yelling after them… ’twas all music to Aiden’s ears.
“Do ye need help?” he asked Elayne, startling her.
“Dinnae do that!” she exclaimed as she spun around to look at him. Her chest heaved. “My children have already scared thirty years off of my life, Aiden. Between them and ye sneakin’ up on me, I will be dead next week.”
Aiden smiled and tried to take Magnus from her arms, but the babe wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck and clung to her tightly.
“Dinnae even try,” Elayne said as she continued to bounce the babe on her hip. “I fear this one will be stuck to my hip until he is thirty.”
Laughing, Aiden replied, “Nay. As soon as he learns to walk, he will be tryin’ to keep up with his brothers.”
Elayne smiled wanly. ’Twas then he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. The poor woman was exhausted. “Are ye well?”
“As well as any woman with four boys can be,” she replied.
“Do ye want me to find George? I can keep the boys busy while ye try to rest.”
“Nay, I would rather he keep the older ones from killin’ themselves,” she replied. “I am goin’ to feed this little heathen, rub some whisky on his gums, and pray to God he falls asleep. But I do thank ye.”
With that, she stepped back into her chamber and closed the door.
If Elayne hadn’t been so tired, he would have sought her advice on how to get his wife to stop being terrified of him. Mayhap, he could seek help elsewhere.
’Twas unusually quiet in the gathering room, especially for this time of day. A nice fire burned in the hearth, the candles in the chandeliers were all ablaze, and flickering torches lined the walls. Silence was a scarce commodity in their home. Nearly as scarce as the food in their larders and the coin in their coffers.
’Twas bitterly cold outside; he doubted the children would be playing out of doors. Then again, they were Magnus Randall’s heathen descendants. Lord only knew what trouble they were getting up to, and he supposed, as uncle and chief, he should find out.
No sooner had he made the decision to seek out his family than he heard their voices flittering in from the outer hall.
Faith, Hope, and Grace were leading the procession into the room. They were carrying trays of warm cider, sweet cakes, and breads and cheese.
“I get the first sweet cake!” Collin announced.
“Can ye let me at least put the tray down?” Grace asked.
“But I want a sweet cake,” he whined.
Grace stopped and spun around. Her expression stopped Ian in his tracks. “If ye dinnae wait patiently, I will give yer sweet cake to the dogs.”
Ian was old enough to understand that Grace never made idle threats. He hung his head and dragged himself to the table.
While his sisters set the trays down, the children scurried onto the benches. Alyce helped her little sister Meredith. Fergus was left to fend for himself, as his older brothers seemed to have forgotten he was even there.
After helping her younger sister, Alyce went to help Fergus. “I will help ye, Fergus,” she said happily as she glared at Collin and Ian. “Apparently, yer brothers dinnae have the sense God gave a goat.”
Faith, Hope, and Grace all giggled in agreement. “I agree with Alyce,” Grace said. “Because Collin and Ian could nae see to it to help their little brother, they shall be served last.”
The two boys voiced their protests rather vociferously, but their aunts were undaunted.
Ignoring the boys, Faith said, “Do ye hear whinin’ and carryin’ on, Hope?”
Aiden smiled as he watched the interaction betwixt his younger sisters and the children. Hope pretended to look around the room for the source of the sounds. “I believe I do, Faith. Mayhap we should feed Alyce and Meredith then take all this lovely food and warm cider back to the kitchens. Mayhap then the noises will cease.”
Catching on quickly, Collin and Ian closed their mouths tightly and sat up taller, pretending to be the gentleman every one else in the room knew they weren’t.
Aiden had watched in silence from his spot near the stairs. My wee sisters are growin ’ up, he mused, with a proud smile. They will never give me a moment's worry.
His attention was drawn away with the sound of a groan and a curse. ’Twas Lizabet, making her way down the stairs. She was a month away from giving birth and at that miserable and uncomfortable stage in her pregnancy. Quickly, he took to the stairs and offered her his arm.
“Thank ye, brother,” she said breathlessly as they made their way down the stairs. “If ye are lookin’ for Emery and George, they should be in your study.”
“My study?” Aiden asked with a raised brow.
“Aye,” she nodded. “I cannae do the stairs anymore. They are goin’ to move yer study into the vestibule.” His private study was on the opposite side of the gathering room, down the narrow hallway. He had no qualms about allowing any of his sisters or sisters-by-law to use it when their time for birthing drew near. Hopefully, his wife would someday be using it.
Aiden laughed. ’Twas the same thing she said when she was carrying Alyce and Meredith, an idea which was never acted upon. “My study is far too small for ye, Emery, and yer wee ones.”
“’Tis nae for them,” she said. “’Tis just for me.”
When they made it to the bottom of the stairs, Lizabet stopped, put a hand on her lower back, and let out a long breath. “I ken I carry a boy child,” she said. “I was never this big nor this tired with the girls.”
Honestly, he couldn’t remember. There had been a few more babes born in recent years.
“Do I smell warm bread?” Lizabet asked. Her eyes lit on the table. “I never ate this much either,” she mumbled as she walked away.
Nay, I shall nae be gettin ’ any advice from her any time soon.
Danial, David, and Keith came racing in from out of doors. Their cloaks and boots were covered in snow. “If ye step one foot onto Flossie’s clean floor, she will skelp yer hides,” Aiden told them.
Begrudgingly, they headed to the outer hall. As they shed their cloaks and brushed the snow from their boots, David called out in a hopeful tone. “Is yer bride in there?”
“Is she as beautiful as Lizabet said?” Keith asked.
Aiden leaned against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited for the lads to return. Sometimes, he fervently believed that his nieces and nephews were more mature than these younger brothers of his.
As he waited, his youngest brother, Hugh, came running down the stairs, with Symon right behind him. Symon was his brother Brodie’s son. The two lads were as close as brothers, even though Hugh was Symon’s uncle.
“Where have ye two been?” Faith called from across the room. “And stop runnin’!”
They didn’t, of course. They ran straight to the table and joined the others.
“Well?” ’Twas Keith standing behind him. “Is she here?”
“She is above stairs, restin’.”
Danial and David began to laugh and wiggle their eyebrows. “Restin’?” Danial asked.
Aiden knew what was coming. His younger brothers never wasted an opportunity to turn an innocent thing into something crass.
“At this time of day?” David asked, his confusion naught but a facade of ignorance.
Keith elbowed Aiden in the ribs. “Ye must have worn the poor lass out, aye?”
Aiden felt his ire flare. “If any of ye utter another disrespectful word about my wife again, I will beat the bloody hell out of ye.”
Soon, the gathering room was filled with nearly all of his family. George and Thomas were on border patrol and wouldn’t be back until close to the midnight hour.
Brodie was still locked away in his room, grieving the loss of his wife, Isobelle. He’d been there for weeks, barely eating, his grief far too profound. Aiden had tried speaking to him earlier that morn, but, through his locked door, he had shouted at him to go away.
Aiden understoood that his brother’s grief was far too fresh and far too deep; he would need time to heal from his loss. For now, Aiden would give him the space he needed. However, he missed having his counsel.
“Aiden, would ye like me to take a tray up to Margaret?” Grace asked, breaking through his woolgathering.
“That would be verra kind of ye,” he replied with a weak smile. He was quite certain the last person Margaret wanted to see was him.
Margaret had been forced to tend to her own needs, dressing herself and styling her own hair. It was a frustration, to be certain. First, she had to chip away at the ice that had formed on the water in the basin. She’d also had to stoke her own fire and warm the pitcher by placing it in on the stones the lined the hearth.
While she would have preferred to wear her burgundy gown, it would have required the assistance of a maid—a maid that was apparently not arriving any time soon. Thus, she was forced to choose a less-flattering blue gown that laced in the front. As for her hair, a long, simple braid was the best she could manage on her own.
These were chores she had seen to nearly every day of her life. Back home—and she still considered the MacCallen keep home— she hadn’t been the chatelaine. But, now, things were supposed to be different. From everything her mother had taught her, the chatelaine should be treated with the same respect and dignity one would treat the queen.
By the time she finished, she found herself in a most foul mood. She was also quite hungry, yet, she refused to go below stairs, mostly because she didn’t want to run into Aiden.
Aiden.
He seemed like a kind enough man, but she couldn’t trust him. Not now, not ever. Some men, her mother had instructed her, were only kind in order to get what they wanted. The other men in this world simply took whatever they wanted. There is nae a one ye can trust, Margaret. Nae a one. They are all the same.
As she paced the small room, her anger at the world growing by leaps and bounds, there came a soft knock at her door.
“Well, ’tis about time,” she said with much frustration as she went to the door.
When she opened it, one of Aiden’s sisters stood on the other side, a tray in her hands.
“Aiden thought ye might want a bit to eat,” she said as she stepped inside the chamber. Margaret couldn’t remember the girl’s name.
A tug of something pulled at her heart. Gratitude? Surprise? Both? She had been awfully rude to him, and still, he was showing her kindness.
The girl set the tray down on the small table near the bed. With a quick glance around the small, sparse room, she said, “Och! We need to make this room more comfortable for ye, aye?”
Margaret was relieved to hear that someone besides herself had thought about the bareness of the space. “Men, as we all ken, rarely think about the things that make a home a home. Such as tapestries, rugs, and pillows and the like.”
Margaret had very little experience with the opposite sex, but she was certain the girl was right.
“I will have Faith and Hope help me dig through the attics. Some of our mother’s things are stored there.”
Grace. Margaret was happy that she wouldn’t have to appear ignorant by not remembering her name.
What would Helen have said to accepting second-hand belongings? ’Twas doubtful she would have approved. For now, she would accept the hand-me-downs with aplomb. As soon as she set the keep to rights and made it understood what her expectations were, then she would demand new furnishings.
“That is a pretty dress,” Grace smiled. “That shade of blue compliments yer pretty eyes.”
“Thank ye,” Margaret said before placing the little stool next to the tiny table. Bread, cheese, a bit of jam and butter, and a sweet cake. ’Twasn’t much, but she was too hungry to complain.
’Twas apparent that Grace wanted to engage in idle chit chat, something Margaret presently didn’t feel like participating in. “Grace, would ye please ask Mrs. Randall to come see me?”
With a furrowed brow, Grace asked, “Mrs. Randall?”
Margaret was focused on buttering a bit of bread and therefore, didn’t look up. “Aye, Mrs. Randall. The cook I met last night.”
“Och!” Grace replied with understanding and a bright smile. “Ye mean Flossie.”
With her eyes focused on the tray, Margaret kept her tone even yet firm. “Where I am from, the cook is never called by her given name.”
Grace giggled. “Well, Flossie is nae Mrs. Randall. Her last name is MacHume.”
Margaret wasn’t about to argue with the young woman. “Either way, would ye go and fetch her for me?”
With her attention otherwise focused on the food on her tray, she couldn’t see Grace’s troubled expression. When she hadn’t heard the lass walk away immediately, Margaret finally looked up at her. “Now?”
Grace frowned, clearly hurt by Margaret’s harsh tone. Margaret regretted making the girl upset. She had meant only to sound firm and resolute, not mean and spiteful. “I am sorry, Grace,” she told her. “But I really must speak with cook.”
After a brief moment, Grace inclined her head and quit the room.
“Pardon me?”
Flossie stood in her laird’s chamber, as confounded as the day was long. She wasn’t certain she had just heard her laird’s new bride correctly.
Margaret stood near her many trunks, one stacked on top of the other, with her chin up and her shoulders as straight as the blade of a sword.
“I said ye are nae to refer to me as lass or by my Christian name. Ye are to call me my lady. Please make certain the servants understand.”
Flossie struggled to keep her laughter at bay. Oh, she had met women like Margaret before. Women who believed they were far better and more important than anyone else around them. My poor Aiden, she mused quietly. “Aye, la—” She immediately corrected herself. “Aye, my lady. I shall let it be known.” She knew her lady wasn’t done with orders yet, so she clasped her hands in front of her and waited patiently, eager to hear what other ridiculous ideas this young woman might have.
Apparently, her response satisfied Margaret, for she smiled as if she had just won some great victory. Margaret went on. “I require two maids.”
“Two maids, my lady?” Flossie feigned ignorance as she kept a facade of calm. Under her quiet smile, she was seething.
“Aye, two maids. To help tend to my needs. To help me dress and style my hair. I should like to start finding them immediately. I am certain ye can recommend someone.”
Flossie nodded her head. “Aye, I can recommend someone.”
“Good,” Margaret replied. “Now, I should like my morning meal brought to me by quarter past nine in the morning.”
Och! Aiden is going to have an apoplexy when he hears this.
“I shall like to have my bath each morn at ten.”
Flossie continued to feign ignorance just to see how she would respond. “Our bathin’ room is below stairs, just off the kitchens.”
Margaret quirked a brow in irritation. “Nay,” she let the word stretch out longer than necessary. “I will require a tub brought to my room. I will bathe every morn at ten and again an hour before the evenin’ meal.”
Flossie nearly choked on that order. “Sorry, my lady,” she said as cleared her throat. “My throat is a bit dry.”
Margaret didn’t show any concern, nor did she offer her any cider to help quench her thirst. “I will also need my own seamstress. Someone whose work is nothing short of perfection.”
“Perfection in a seamstress,” Flossie said as if she were taking the woman seriously.
“Should ye be writin’ this all down?” Margaret asked.
“Nay, my lady. I will nae forget any of yer”—she paused, searching for the right word—“requests.”
“These aren’t requests, Mrs. Randall. These are my directions and orders.”
Flossie coughed again. “My name is Flossie. Flossie MacHume.”
Once again, Margaret ignored her.
“I will also go over the menus with ye every week. Wednesday afternoons will work for me. But we can begin on the morrow.”
“Lizabet and I have already created the menus for this week,” she told her bluntly.
“Be that as it may,” Margaret said through gritted teeth, “I am the chatelaine of the keep now. Lizabet’s help will no longer be needed.”
It took every bit of energy to keep from bursting into a fit of laughter. Lizabet had stepped into her stepmother’s role years ago, after her passing. While she was heavy with child, tired, and found it difficult to do some things, she still took her role quite seriously. Nay, Lizabet wasn’t going to like this. Not one bit.
“Are ye sure ye will remember all of this?” Margaret asked.
Flossie tapped her temple with an index finger. “Mind like a trap, my lady.” She gave her a reassuring smile. “Two maids, a seamstress, baths twice a day, meals in yer room, and ye will plan the menus.”
Appearing satisfied, Margaret said, “Yes. That will be all for now, Mrs. Randall. Ye are excused.”
The woman didn’t utter another word as she turned away to step to the window.
Flossie couldn’t wait to tell Aiden and Lizabet. ‘Twasn’t because she was a gossip or a trouble maker; ’twas more that she needed to warn the two of them about just what kind of woman Aiden had married. Better he find out now so that he could nip it all in the bud.
Aiden had listened intently to Flossie’s account of her interaction with Margaret. They were in his private study, with he at his desk and Flossie sitting in a hard-backed chair opposite him.
The more he learned, the more dismayed he grew. Connor had warned him that Margaret could be a handful. But, truly, he thought the man might have been exaggerating. Onnleigh, however, had given the young woman nothing but her praise.
He had chosen to believe Onnleigh over Connor simply because he believed the man was angrier than a nest of hornets with Helen, Margaret’s mother.
But, now...
Mayhap Connor had been more honest than Onnleigh.
By the time Flossie was finished with her telling, a tic had formed in his jaw.
“I dinnae try to argue with the poor lass,” Flossie said. “I dinnae ken her well enough yet, to give her a piece of my mind.”
“That was probably a good idea,” he told her. “I will take care of it.”
Flossie paused at the door. “If ye dinnae stop this behavior now, Aiden, I fear she will have this entire keep in an uproar before the sun sets again.”