CHAPTER TEN
“’Tis wondrous strange, isn’t it, milady?”
At hearing Robbie Guthrie’s remark, Laoghaire raised her head and peered at the castle reeve. Standing in front of her desk, he gestured to the wooden object that she held in her hands, his expression one of discernible awe.
“I believe this to be an abacus,” Laoghaire told him, as she slid several wooden beads up and down one of the device’s many rods.
Shaking her head, as befuddled as the reeve, she added, “’Tis used to calculate numbers.
” What she didn’t mention was that she discovered the peculiar device on the steward’s desk, the object having mysteriously appeared overnight, deposited there by an unknown person.
Did Galen leave the abacus on my desk? she wondered, only to reject the notion in the very next instant.
She’d not seen him since the previous evening when she left her wedding ring beside her plate after their heated altercation, making it highly unlikely that he bequeathed the gift.
While her husband was still very much a stranger to her, he did not strike her as a man who ever made amends for wrongs committed.
“If this is used for ciphering numbers, it will certainly aid in yer labors,” Robbie remarked. Picking up the wooden frame, he shook the abacus several times, causing the wooden beads to clack together loudly. “Although how exactly it will do that is beyond my ken.”
“Mine as well,” Laoghaire said laughingly, not about to feign an expertise she didn’t possess.
“Perhaps young Angus will be able to shed some light on the mystery.”
Laoghaire made no comment, not about to ask Galen if he would explain the workings of the exotic object. While tallying the daily expenditures in the household ledger was time-consuming, she’d rather calculate the figures by hand than have to ask “young Angus” for assistance.
And besides, I am soon to depart from here.
Bending over a sheet of parchment, she very carefully wrote out the number of eggs and amount of flour used in the kitchen on the previous day; after which, she recorded the cost at twenty pence and six pence respectively.
As though it were a holy relic, Robbie carefully set the abacus on top of the desk. “If ye will excuse me, milady, I must now go and assist the estate steward in the lesser hall with collecting the Michaelmas rents,” he said before taking his leave.
Glancing up, Laoghaire bid him farewell.
She then continued recording the household accounts.
Michaelmas, the holy feast day that celebrated the Archangel Michael’s defeat of Lucifer, was an occasion for much merrymaking.
But it was also a day of reckoning within Angus’s demesne.
On Michaelmas, all of the accounts for both the estate and the household had to be presented for the previous twelve months.
That meant the estate steward, Sir Auric de Quincey, was responsible for collecting and recording the yearly rents.
Similarly, as the household steward it was her responsibility to see that the domestic accounts were in order.
Head bowed over the parchment, Laoghaire entered the amount of wine that had been consumed from the castle stock.
She was about to make the next entry when she suddenly heard the sound of someone clearing his throat.
Raising her head, she was surprised to see Piers Burnett standing in the office doorway.
“The earl is desirous of having his countess join him in the stables,” the squire announced.
Annoyed, Laoghaire set her quill in its holder. “As ye can plainly see, I am entering the household accounts. Tell yer master that I am far too busy and cannot join him.” Moreover, I do not wish to see the knave, she silently appended.
“Lord Angus humbly begs your pardon for the interruption and—”
“Lord Angus is incapable of behaving humbly,” she interjected, suspecting the squire took it upon himself to embellish the summons.
Two telltale splotches of red instantly stained the youth’s smooth cheeks. “There is a first time for everything,” he mumbled, gazing at her with a pleading expression.
Worried that if she didn’t answer the summons Galen might take out his ire on the innocent squire, Laoghaire sighed heavily, resigned to her fate. “Although I, too, am worn threadbare by his ceaseless rants,” she muttered under her breath as she rose from the desk.
“Do you wish me to escort you, milady?” the squire inquired, clearly relieved that she had acquiesced.
Laoghaire shook her head. “There is no need for that. I am perfectly capable of walking to the gallows unescorted.”
At hearing her addendum, the squire’s eyes opened wide with shock. “I, er, . . . I bid you good day,” he stammered with a deferential bow as he backed out of the office before hurriedly disappearing from sight.
Her humors having suddenly soured, Laoghaire snatched her hooded cowl from a nearby stool and pulled the garment over her head.
As she did so, her braid snagged in the neckline.
With a yank, she irritably pulled the length of hair free.
She assumed that Galen intended to reprimand her for removing her amethyst wedding ring the previous night and depositing it by her plate.
He can harangue all he wants, I care naught. My mind is set. I want an annulment.
Steeling herself for what would undoubtedly prove a contentious encounter, Laoghaire left the keep and made her way across the inner bailey to where the stables were located.
Despite her disagreeable mood, it did not escape her notice that it was a beautiful morning, the sky a dazzling blue, the sun a golden beacon on the eastern horizon.
More so than usual, the inner bailey was a bees’ hive of activity.
Wrinkling her nose, she caught the scent of freshly baked bread gently wafting through the air; and in the near distance, she could hear the repetitive thud generated by laundresses beating wet sheets and tablecloths.
On the other side of the courtyard, a pair of men was headed toward the kitchen bearing a skinned stag tethered to a long pole.
Behind them followed a burly villein with a small cart laden with a butchered ox.
“’Tis the makings of a fine feast,” she murmured with an approving smile, her mood improving somewhat at the thought of all the delicacies that would later be served.
Though it pained her to admit it, Galen maintained a sumptuous table, the man generous to a fault when it came to feeding the denizens of Castle Airlie.
Laoghaire’s attention was next garnered by a gang of workmen who were pushing several barrows loaded with excavation tools toward the main gatehouse. Curious, she wondered if Galen had ordered some sort of renovation work.
Not that it’s my concern, as I will soon be leaving Glenclova, she hastily reminded herself as she entered the stables.
Almost immediately she was assaulted by the familiar scents of fresh hay and wet dung.
Walking past the stalls, she heard the occasional whicker, accompanied by the sound of rustling straw.
Off to one side she noticed a tack room, where one of the stable boys was industriously applying goose grease to a saddle.
There were other youthful villeins scattered about, all of them engaged in some activity, whether it was sweeping the stalls or feeding the horses.
At the far end of the stable she saw Galen standing beside his big, black destrier, his back turned to her.
At the sight of him, Laoghaire came to an abrupt standstill.
In those tense moments she suffered a bout of nervous unease, already dreading the argument to come.
Her heart pounding against her breastbone, she watched as Galen spoke softly to the massive warhorse, while at the same time he gently smoothed a hand down the length of its sturdy black neck.
That he could show affection for the creature astonished her, for she took him to be a man devoid of tender emotion.
Having procrastinated long enough, with dragging feet she advanced forward.
Upon hearing her footfall, Galen turned his head in her direction.
In that instant, when their eyes first met, Laoghaire suddenly felt the pulse beat wildly in her neck.
And though she knew she must be imagining it, Galen gave her a welcoming smile before he led the destrier into a nearby stall.
The shadowy light has caused my eyes to deceive me, she told herself. Furthermore, why would the same man who treated her so cruelly the night before now deign to greet her with a smile?
When Galen emerged from the stall a few moments later, Laoghaire could see that he was garbed in a short-sleeved brown leather tunic that was belted at the waist. Beneath it he wore a linsey-woolsey undertunic with long, tightly fitted sleeves that was dyed the same color as the leather.
Although his clothes were plainly fashioned, his garments emphasized the width of his shoulders, his powerful torso, his lean hips and long, muscular legs.
All of which made her wish that Galen was not so virile. Or handsome. Or commanding a figure.
Why can he not be short and stout? And ugly, as well.
Braced for a horn-locking row, Laoghaire swallowed back her nervousness before she said to Galen, “Ye summoned me?”
“I did.” The taut lines that normally framed either side of Galen’s mouth relaxed as he favored her with a ghost of a smile.
Realizing that her eyes had not played her false, Laoghaire was dumbfounded by Galen’s strange and unexpected response. “And I have come,” she said, stating the obvious, if for no other reason than she was so completely bewildered.
His smile visibly broadened. “So, I see.”
“When you summoned me, I was very busy in the steward’s office and I would—”
“Do you enjoy working in the steward’s office?”