Chapter Seven
AILIE ARRIVED. SHE WAS dressed in a cream-colored gown of an unusual design, with half sleeves and a fitted section at the waist of a different, light green material, which flattered her slim figure.
Ailie’s hair had escaped its bindings, and curling wisps of it framed her face, giving her a young, carefree look that was slightly removed from her usual poise and elegance.
She noticed my outfit right away, pulling me gently by the hand so I was standing before her, and she circled me, taking in all the finer details of my outfit, as though responsible for making sure all was exactly as it should be.
“You look beautiful, Roses,” she said. “The gown fits you well. Here, though, let me adjust the waist. ’Tis a wee bit looser than I intended.
” She pulled a needle and thread from a small bag she wore, I would learn, almost always.
She began to sew at the mid seam at the back of the dress.
With my hair tied up, I was glad I had checked to make sure my tattoo was securely covered by the dress.
“You’ll get used to it, Roses,” said Christie. “She adjusts people’s clothing all the time and is, in fact, sought out by all the ladies of the clan for her flair with tailoring. ’Tis her obsession, though, so we humor her.”
“Humor me, indeed, dear sister. Who was it that woke me at an early hour this morning to seek my advice and my skill when in fact you were assigned as Roses’s chaperone and were instructed to check in on her on a regular basis?”
I felt the color rise to my cheeks immediately. I was devoutly grateful that Christie’s attentions had been otherwise diverted.
“Aye, well, here I am now, and look, she’s fine,” said Christie. “Wilkie’s up and about and Roses didn’t need a chaperone at all, did you, Roses? When I found her, she was confined to the antechamber alone.”
“Perhaps Roses needs a new chaperone, and one that’s not quite so easily distracted,” Ailie said.
“There,” she added, satisfied that the adjustments were suitably executed.
“Much better.” She smoothed my dress into place and eyed the garment critically.
“She won’t need a chaperone except at night, soon, anyway.
Wilkie will no doubt return to training today or tomorrow, and Roses will be busy with Effie.
We’ve been instructed to take you to the healing quarters now, Roses.
Has Knox told you that that’s to be your cover, while you’re here at Kinloch?
To distract rumors. We thought we might say you hail from the Macduff clan, and that you’re a healing apprentice, since you do have some skill. ”
“Aye,” said Christie. “Since it’s the farthest lands from our own, few of our clanspeople have any association with the Macduffs, so any gossip will likely fade away before it can be confirmed.”
I nodded. “The laird informed me,” I said. “I’ll be honored to be Effie’s apprentice, and I hope I can be useful to her.”
The sisters led me down the hall, and we descended a back staircase.
I couldn’t help noticing once again the clean, orderly appearance of every aspect of the Mackenzie manor.
The candles that lit the staircase had even been scented, and a citrus and spice flavor lingered in the air.
We walked down a dimly lit hallway, where several chambermaids passed us, carrying fresh sheets. They eyed me curiously.
I guessed that we were nearing the healing quarters; I could smell the medicinal herbs and treatments even outside the open door.
The healing quarters were large, astoundingly well stocked and admirably well organized.
I wished I could have shown these quarters to Ismay, they were so very impressive.
Ismay’s work area included a small corner of the kitchen, where she had only several small tables to prepare her medicines.
Here, separate chambers housed several beds where injured or infirmed patients could be attended to, but the Ogilvie healing chambers were cramped and somewhat dismal—not at all a pleasant place to coalesce.
And they had been inconveniently located, being several minutes’ walk from the kitchen area.
In comparison, these Mackenzie healing quarters were clean, comfortable, spacious and gave the impression that the infirmed were in decidedly good care.
The walls were lined with thoroughly crowded shelves, crammed neatly with bottles, jars, books and instruments.
Tables in the middle of the room were used for mixing and preparing medicines and tinctures, where several bubbled away on various heating devices.
And the far end of the room was arranged with three currently unoccupied beds.
Effie was already there, and she looked up from her recipe book, noticing immediately my new look, and the dress I wore. She spent several seconds surveying my body. “Well, well. The coveted Wilkie Mackenzie has finally met his match,” she said enigmatically.
Christie and Ailie took their leave for a time, to oversee the preparations for the visitors who were due to arrive next week.
I spent much of the day discussing recipes with Effie, who I found to be patient and exceedingly knowledgeable.
I shared with her my healing paste recipe.
She was mildly surprised that I was unable to read or write, but not overly so; many servants, after all, were not taught.
“I’d like you to make me a batch of that paste, lass, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said.
I assured her that I would be more than willing.
“I’m not sure if I have all the fresh ingredients here, however,” she said. “I’ll have to show you the medicine garden.”
She led me down a short corridor to a most exquisite garden the likes of which I had never seen.
It was a moderately sized patch full of well-tended medicinal herbs and plants of all descriptions.
The most unusual thing about this garden was that it was protected on all sides by a high rock wall.
At the far wall, an arched wooden door had been left open; through it, I could see the training yards far in the distance where several soldiers were practicing and discussing their moves.
I could see that Wilkie was not among them.
Against the west wall was a picturesque bench, as though this garden had been designed not only for the plants it grew but also for contemplation, as all good gardens were.
“Why is the garden gated, Effie?” I asked.
“We have a variety of plants here that are difficult to come by,” she explained.
“We get them from throughout Scotland, England, even from as far away as the Continent. We thought it best to keep them guarded from livestock and from wind. And many of them are also quite valuable. Best to keep them walled in.”
“What a very good idea.” I thought of the Ogilvie medicine garden, which was interspersed throughout the vegetable gardens.
It was true that many of the plants did not survive more than one season, due to competition with other plants or from the occasional passing sheep; they often needed to be re-sourced.
To separate them out like this would likely have been far more effective in seeing plants through from year to year.
This was not the first clever idea I had come across at Kinloch, where industrious invention was clearly valued and encouraged.
We picked the herbs we needed and returned to the healing quarters, where we busied ourselves for much of the day.
I was grateful for Effie’s company, which was steady and unobtrusive.
For the moment, she seemed less interested in the drama surrounding me than in my knowledge of medicinal herbs, and she asked many questions about Ismay’s techniques.
I wasn’t experienced enough in the methods of healing to answer many of her questions, but she was impressed by my knowledge of herbs and plants.
It was midafternoon when Christie and Ailie returned. They sat on stools, watching as I prepared a fresh pot of willowbark tea for the evening, in case Wilkie’s aches were paining him. The sisters relayed their progress in preparing menus and guest chambers.
There was one detail Christie had mentioned earlier that I couldn’t help but ask about. “Does Wilkie train every day?”
“Oh, aye,” said Christie.
“He trains every day that his innards aren’t threatening to spill,” clarified Ailie. “Besides, ’tis not long ’til wars will be fought.”
“Which wars?” I asked.
“Ossian Lochs. The situation has not improved, and in fact grows more explosive by the day.”
“Clan Stuart’s lands?” I asked, recalling Ogilvie’s mention of it, and the Mackenzies had mentioned it in passing, as well.
“Aye,” said Christie. “King William’s lands. The grandest keep in the Highlands. The king’s landholders maintain the keep, and it was hoped that his wife Mary would produce an heir. She has had difficulties.”
I knew some of the details of the situation, and the sisters seemed willing to discuss the topic freely with me. “So there’s no heir to claim it.”
“Not by Mary,” continued Ailie. “And she is now past childbearing. But the king has a public mistress, and he also, many years ago, had a secret one. The public mistress bore him no children, either. But his secret mistress, whose name is not known, did bear him a child. An heir. A product of the king himself. Ossian Lochs will become his, as soon as his whereabouts can be traced. ’Tis his birthright. ”
“Even if he was born out of wedlock?” I asked.
“In this case, aye. The king has decreed it. ’Tis his only child, and he has dictated that the child will inherit the estate. But the child remains elusive. The king has scouts searching throughout the whole of Scotland, England and across Europe. They’ve yet to find him.”
“Why was the child hidden?”