Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
A iden’s sweet wife had slept like the dead.
He, however, barely got a wink of sleep in.
’Twas impossible, ye see, what with her snuggling up to him, her bottom nestled against his groin and her back against his chest. How could a man sleep with such a beautiful woman lying against him?
By the time dawn arrived, he was exhausted. Throughout the night, he would be close to falling asleep when she would move, burrowing herself as close to him as she could get.
As tempting as it was to roll her onto her back and make slow, passionate love to her, he couldn’t. To even tempt himself with a kiss would be tantamount to treason. He had, after all, made a vow.
And Aiden Randall was a man of his word.
By dawn, he could take no more. Reluctantly, he crawled out of his warm bed and dressed in the semidarkness. Before quitting the room, he stoked the embers in the hearth and added another log.
He took one last, longing look at his wife before leaving her to sleep.
The keep was still and quiet at this early hour. The gathering room was dark, save for the low-burning cinders in the hearth. A few of his men slept on the floor next to the fire, clearly having consumed too much spirits the evening before.
It wouldn’t be long before the keep would stir to life to begin a new day. A new day of wondering where their next meals might come from.
Feeling rather sorry for their plight, he crossed through the gathering room and headed for his private study. He need time alone, without the distraction of a most comely wife.
From a sconce on the hallway, he grabbed a lit torch in order to find his way around the room. His breaths hung in the air, the room cold enough to store meat.
First, he used the torch to light a candle on his desk before returning it to the hallway. Next, he quickly set about making a nice fire. It would take some time before the space would be warm enough to his liking.
Deciding it wouldn’t do for him to freeze to death, he grabbed a spare cloak from the peg by the door and wrapped it around his shoulders.
Before taking his seat at his desk, he poured himself a small dram of whisky, just to take the chill from his bones.
The warm, amber liquid felt good on his tongue. Not only did it warm him, it took off some of the edge.
Sitting alone in the dimly lit chamber, his mind soon turned to his people. If these border raids didn’t stop soon, and if they had yet another year of poor crops, his people wouldn’t live long enough to see another winter.
He soon found himself wishing his father were still alive. Garren would know what to do. His father had been a good man. For the life of him, Aiden couldn’t remember things ever being this dismal under his father’s reign.
Nay, his father had always found a way to get through any difficult times they may have had.
His quiet musings were interrupted by a soft wrap at his door. Puzzled as to who could be up at this hour, he got up and answered.
“Margaret?”
Margaret had woken to an empty and cold bed. She hadn’t liked it one bit.
At first, she was angry that Aiden had left her. She had wanted to wake up next to him, to tell him how thankful she was that he had kept her warm and that she appreciated his kindness and patience.
But he had taken that moment away.
However, instead of hunting him down like a cur and giving him a good tongue lashing, she decided to find him and ask him why he left her alone.
He looked confused as to why she was there.
“I dinnae like waking up alone.” She blurted the statement out and immediately regretted it.
He looked slightly amused, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “Why are ye smiling?”
Aiden was unable to hold back the chuckle that escaped. He wasn’t about to admit the real reason he was smiling. “I am simply glad to see ye. I hope I did nae wake ye when I left.”
“Why did ye leave?” She was growing confused by her own feelings and by his reaction.
“Come in, lass,” he said with a wave of his arm. “’Tis too cold out there.”
She did as he asked and was soon grateful for the warmth of the fire. Whilst she was wearing a fur-lined night rail and robe, ’twas far too cold in the hallway.
“Again, I ask why ye left.”
He sat her down next to the hearth and took the chair opposite hers. “I had work to do,” he replied.
There was something in the tone of his voice that made her doubt he was speaking the truth. Still, she didn’t wish to argue or to be too harsh with him. In truth, she didn’t want to be harsh or mean ever again.
“Is there anythin’ I can help ye with?” she asked as she glanced at the contents of his desk. The only thing she could see was the half empty glass of whisky and a couple of scrolls. Did he always drink so early in the morn?
Once again, Aiden chuckled. “Nae unless ye have a few hundred groats layin’ about.”
From the expression on his face that immediately followed, she was certain he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Not wishing to cause him any embarrassment, she replied, “I wish that I did, Aiden. But alas, I only have a few pieces of gold.”
He became quite serious. “I would rather be gutted than to take any money from ye, lass.”
Before she could voice the fact he had insulted her, he quickly added, “But I do appreciate yer offer.”
’Twas his warm smile that dissolved any upset she may have felt. She realized that if she were to ever fully trust him, he must also trust her. “I want to help, in any way that I can, Aiden.”
There was no mistaking the sincerity in her voice, or in the warmth he found in her blue eyes. She didn’t realize it, but she was giving him a sense of hope that he had not felt in a good long while.
Yet, the last thing he wanted was for her to think he couldn’t take care of her. He did, after all, have some pride left.
“I appreciate yer offer, lass. But ’tis naught for ye to worry over.”
She tilted her head to one side and studied him closely. “But I want to help wherever I can.”
While that had made a lot of headway in their relationship, he didn’t want her to worry. “Ye will learn that I sometimes worry far more than I should.”
’Twas her turn to laugh. “I have already learned that, Aiden.”
He thought back to the day he was preparing to send out a search party to find her, on only their third day of marriage. He had felt seven kinds a fool that day and was doing his best never to behave that way again.
“I ken that our larders are quite bare,” she told him. “But I have faith that ’tis only temporary.”
For a brief moment, he wondered if she was merely trying to pump up his male pride. But it only took a brief glance into her eyes to know she was being sincere. “I can assure ye, ’tis only temporary.”
Was he trying to convince her or himself?
Not wishing to disturb her husband or to rile him up in any way, Margaret left him alone to his work. Returning to her bedchamber, she tended to her morning ablutions. With a clean face and freshly braided hair, she went to her trunk and dug out one of her older dresses. A deep-red wool gown, the sleeves adorned with dark-green embroidered leaves and yellow flowers.
With clean woolens, she slid into a warm cloak and headed below stairs. Filled with a desperate need to help and feel useful, she made her way to the kitchens.
Before entering, she tamped the snow from her boots and opened the door. ’Twas blissfully warm inside and just coming to life.
Flossie was stirring a big pot of porridge over the fire. A few kitchen maids were at the sink, washing dishes, whilst another was getting wooden bowls ready for the morning meal.
Flossie paused mid stir, an expression of confusion drawing a fine line across her brow. “May I help ye?”
Margaret was quite certain that she was not one of Flossie’s favorite people. Wanting to start afresh and anew, she gave her a warm smile and attempted to be as contrite as possible. “I am here to help ye, ” she told her.
Flossie slowly tapped the iron spoon against the pot before placing it on a hook. She turned to face Margaret, looking at her as if she were some great puzzle to mankind.
Feeling uneasy, Margaret added, “I want to have a purpose, Flossie. I need to have a purpose.”
Flossie cocked her head to one side. “And ye wish to find that purpose here? In me kitchens?”
Margaret wasn’t sure how to take the questions. Days ago, her first instinct would have been to argue, to dress her down and tell her who was chatelaine of this keep. This morn, however, she decided to be repentant and kind. “Aye, Flossie, I do. That is, if ye will have me.”
A long moment passed by, as Flossie continued to scrutinize her. Finally, she let out a quick sigh. “Verra well, lass. Though I dinnae ken what good ye can do, since we have nae much to work with these days. Grab an apron.”
Much relieved, Margaret smiled affectionately at the cook as well as the kitchen maids. The younger women were staring at her as if she had just fallen out of the sky.
As she was pulling on an apron, Lizabet and Annabella came into the kitchens. They stopped dead in their tracks as soon as they saw Margaret.
“Good morn,” Margaret called out happily.
No one could deny the fact that Lizabet was stunned to see her here, especially at such an early hour. Thankfully, Annabella was kind enough to return her smile. “Och! ’Tis good to see ye, Margaret.”
“’Tis good to see ye,” she replied. “Flossie is puttin’ me to work this morn.”
Flossie laughed aloud. Looking directly at Lizabet and Annabella, she said, “She tells me she needs a purpose, and she hopes to find it here. ”
Annabella had to push Lizabet out of the way to shut the door. Poor Lizabet stood silent, with her mouth slightly agape. “Lizabet, close yer mouth, and hang up yer cloak,” Annabella said with a slight giggle.
Flossie wiped down the large table with a damp rag. “I told her there was not much to be done, but the lass would nae listen.”
Lizabet finally found her voice and agreed with Flossie. “Nae with our bare larders.” She shook her head, hung up her cloak, and donned an apron. “I dare say ’twould only take one of us to feed the entire keep these days.”
“But we must do our best, aye?” Annabella offered cheerily. “Now, stop, before ye scare Margaret into thinkin’ we are on the brink of starvation.”
Flossie and Lizabet looked at her aghast. In unison, they said, “But we are on the brink of starvation!”
Margaret stared at the two women quizzically. “Ye jest, certainly.”
“Och!” Flossie exclaimed. “Wish that I were, lass. Wish that I were.”
No longer able to deny the truth of the matter, Margaret began to feel sick to her stomach. All the demands that I made for my own maid, a seamstress, new frocks… How could I have been so selfish? So blind?
Fighting back the urge to shed tears of humiliation and embarrassment for her poor behavior, she stood mutely. “I am so verra sorry,” she whispered to no one in particular.
Her sisters-by-law and the cook were staring at her, trying to understand what she was apologizing for. Sweet Annabella stepped forward and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “All will be well, Margaret. Ye will see. All will be well.”
Margaret took in a fortifying breath. “And we women will make certain of it.”
The women in the kitchens did not believe her declaration, but they all pretended to agree. “Of course we shall, lass,” Flossie said. “Of course we will.”
For the remainder of the morning, Margaret was lost in her own thoughts. She was fighting hard to find a way to help her new clan. To help her husband.
Sheer determination had set in. There had to be a way to help. There had to be something she could do. Mayhap something all the women could do.
An idea finally came to her. It was so simple that it made her laugh out loud. Her laughter drew the attention of the other women around her.
“What is so funny?” Lizabet asked with a quirked brow.
Margaret smiled proudly, feeling as though she just cracked the secrets to all the world. “Ladies, what do we do better than our men?”
They all started to blurt out answers easily. “Cook, clean, express our feelings, take care of bairns, keep a good house, keep our men in line.”
The list was endless.
“Aye, we do all of those things,” Margaret agreed. “But besides those things, we are better at organizing, at planning feasts and the like.”
From the confused expressions, they couldn’t quite follow where she was so gently trying to lead them.
“Ladies, we are going to invite the clans we are nae warring with to visit us.”
Lizabet was convinced now that her new sister-by-law had lost her mind. “We can barely feed ourselves, Margaret. How on earth do ye suppose we feed others?”
“By asking them to feed themselves.”
Aye, she had most assuredly lost her mind. Dumbfounded, Lizabet shook her head and glanced at the other women around her. Aye, they were just as perplexed as she.
“Have ye recently taken a blow to yer head?” Annabella asked. Not with any malice of course, but with genuine concern. She stepped toward her and took Margaret’s hand. “Mayhap ye should sit for a bit.”
“I can assure ye that I am well,” Margaret said with a smile.
“Lass,” Flossie asked with much concern in her tone. “How many fingers am I holdin’ up?”
Margaret threw her head back and laughed. “Ladies, I am fine. Please, hear me out before ye call for the healer.”
Not quite convinced that she was in fact well, the women grew silent and watched her closely. Annabella stood next to her as if she were afraid she would faint at any moment.
“We are going to write letters to invite the women of those clans to come for a visit. In it, I will explain that I am the new chatelaine and want verra much to impress my new husband. I will ask them to bring ingredients for their favorite foods and teach me to prepare them.”
The women exchanged curious and doubtful glances.
“We will also invite them to trade wares with us. Blankets, fabrics, pottery, and the like.”
Lizabet couldn’t quite grasp what point Margaret was trying to make, and told her so.
Letting out a heavy breath of frustration, Margaret did her best to explain her idea. “They will trade with us, and we with them.”
“But we have nothin’ to trade with, Margaret. Our larders are bare.”
“Our larders might be bare, but we have other things to offer. I have seen some of the blankets Joan Randall makes, and they are by far the prettiest I have ever seen. And Rose, young Patrick’s wife. She gave me a jar of her berry jam the day I visited her. I have never tasted anything quite as good.”
They continued to stare at her with more than just a good measure of confusion. Lizabet, not wanting to cause her new sister any further upset, decided to play along for the moment. “So, we invite these women here and ask them to cook for us? Then we ask them to barter and trade with us?”
“Exactly!” Margaret exclaimed happily. “We have so many talented women in our clan. Women who can sew, weave, cook, and the like. Certainly, the women from the other clans will want some of Joan’s blankets, or Rose’s jams, or some of Flossie’s fine breads.”
Now it began to make sense to Lizabet. “So, we are basically going to open our own market.”
“Aye! Now ye have the way of it!” Margaret said, much relieved that at least Lizabet was beginning to understand her intent.
“Now, we all keen the men folk will nae allow their women folk to travel alone, aye? Therefore, our men will offer up things of their own. How is our blacksmith at making weapons? Is there someone who is good at making furniture?”
Soon, the clarity of her idea became quite clear in the minds of the rest of the women. Before long, they were all offering up ideas of their own as to what could be done to make the event a success.
Flossie, however, had a few doubts she had to put voice to. “I believe ye are all forgettin’ somethin’ important.”
“What is that?” Lizabet asked.
“We dinnae have but one clan that we are nae warrin’ with.”
That fact did put a slight damper on Margaret’s idea, but she was not about to give up. “Our menfolk might be warrin’ with the menfolk of other clans, but I doubt all the womenfolk like all the fightin’. I ken for a fact that I hate wars. I loathe the fightin’.”
There wasn’t a woman among them who didn’t agree.
“And we cannae possibly be warrin’ with every clan in all of Scotia.”
“Mayhap nae all,” Flossie said. “But damn near.”
Margaret wasn’t about to be deterred from her mission. She was confident it was a most excellent idea. Not only did they have the potential to increase their larders, they also might be able to bring peace to their clan.
And she knew that with peace could come prosperity.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling so hopeful for her future. The women were embracing her as one of her own, she had reached a peace accord of her own with her husband, and now, the future looked brighter than it had in a good number of years.
“Who should we invite?” she asked them, her excitement growing by leaps and bounds.
Flossie spoke up. “The MacCallens,” she began, to which Margaret replied, “Of course.”
“Then ye could try the MacKenzies and the Farquars. Though I dinnae trust a Farquar as far as I could throw one. But I met their lady once, years ago. She seemed quite nice.”
Margaret burned the names to memory. “We should invite them for spring.”
“Ladies, ye make a list of all the womenfolk who can sew, weave, cook, make pottery, or anythin’ else ye can think of,” she told them excitedly as she headed toward the door.
After removing her apron, she grabbed her cloak and opened the door.
“And what will ye be doin’?” Lizabet asked.
“I will be pennin’ some verra important letters.”
With that, she hurried out of the kitchens with a skip in her step and her heart filled with promise.