Chapter Nine #3
One of the other women tittered, a petite dark-haired woman with a pointy face and a somewhat ragged-looking appearance, as though she hadn’t taken notice of her clothing or her hair in some time.
“Aye, I believe congratulations are in order, miss. The fierce warrior Kade Mackenzie, no less. We’ve all heard of him. ”
“Commission me, if you please, to deliver his meals,” chuckled one of the other women.
“Gladly,” retorted another. “Serve his food cold and you’ll likely get knifed for your trouble.” This comment was followed by uproarious laughter.
Isla attempted to wipe the smile from her face.
“’Tis not for you to concern yourself with such matters as the cleaning of the hall, nor the preparation of meals, milady,” she said to me, taking my hand and ushering me toward the door.
“I will see to it that some meat is provided for the men upon their return.”
I held my ground, although her grasp and her persuasion were somewhat insistent. “He wants them to be served fresh meat,” I said. “And fresh-baked bread. And vegetables picked from the gardens.”
Isla again made a face of mock obedience, entertaining the women to no end.
“I’ll see what I can find.” And with that, she shooed me through the door of the kitchen and returned to her friends.
I could hear their laughter as I retreated to the fireplace.
How had I never noticed how dirty this hall was?
And how mediocre our food was? And how disrespectful the staff was?
I suppose we could hardly expect outpourings of respect, however, when we did so very little to earn it.
My sisters and I sequestered ourselves behind closed doors most of the time, chatting idly, reading, engaging very little with any of the workers.
And my father used threats to enforce his will when necessary, although in truth he appeared to be past caring about the state of his own keep beyond its army, who tended to dine in the barracks.
Something would have to change. And it was clearly up to me to change it.
It surprised me slightly to realize that, rather than worrying about his anger, what concerned me more was that I didn’t want Kade to be disappointed in me, and he certainly would be if I failed to follow through with the few simple tasks he’d asked of me. I strode back into the kitchen.
Again, the women went silent, this time eyeing me with less amusement and more irritation. “I said I would like the grand hall cleaned,” I repeated. “And I would like you to do it. Now.”
Isla rose once again from her seat. “Milady—Miss Stella, isn’t it?”
I gave a disgruntled nod.
“I’ve been appointed by your father,” Isla continued, “who is more than satisfied with the way the kitchens are run. If you have an issue with the management, why don’t you take it to him? And we’ll carry on here with our duties.”
“It doesn’t appear that you’re doing any duties, Isla,” I commented, somewhat more coolly than I intended.
“We are breaking our fast,” said Isla indignantly. “The workers need sustenance in order to work, do they not?” At this, the other women made various noises of support.
“Will you clean the hall when you’re finished? And light the fire?”
“Aye.”
“Kade requested fresh bread for the men. I’ll go out to the gardens now and see if I can find someone to get us some vegetables.”
“As you wish,” Isla replied with overemphasized deference that bordered on mockery. “Is that all?”
“I— Aye. Thank you, Isla.”
She bowed slightly, to the continued amusement of her rapt counterparts, and I took my leave of them.
That hadn’t gone too badly after all, I thought, as I made my way out to the gardens to see if I could find one of the gardeners.
They had obviously become accustomed to a somewhat lax schedule, as had we all.
It wouldn’t take much to gently encourage a more strenuous work ethic.
My sisters could help me, too, once I discussed my new plans with them.
I could now see the logic in my husband’s reasoning.
It would be nice to have better food to eat, a tidier living environment and higher standards in general.
And I could help make that happen. It was energizing to have a purpose, for a change; it felt good to have a goal to aspire to.
I secured my cape more tightly around me as I stepped out of doors, immediately noticing the chill. It was autumn, and wisps of the coming winter weather were beginning to make themselves felt.
It had been a long time since I’d taken a stroll in the Glenlochie gardens.
There were vegetables still hanging on vines that had never been picked and were now rotten and unsalvageable.
And the place looked abandoned compared to the industrious Mackenzie orchards, where gardeners lovingly tended their plants with an attentiveness I had never witnessed in our own keep.
This difference certainly reflected in the taste and size of the produce, too.
I wandered farther to the storage buildings, which were located where the vegetable groves met the edge of the training grounds.
In the distance I could see that the soldiers’ area was the busiest of Glenlochie.
It was in the barracks and their dusty surrounds where the activity of this clan was concentrated, making it clearer than ever that considerations of all but our military might had fallen to the wayside.
And even our military might, if my husband was to be believed, was not only weaker than it should be but also harboring traitors.
It was here that I stopped walking. I had no intention of entering the training grounds or even being seen by any of the soldiers.
I was out of doors alone, after all: a crime punishable by a beating, certainly.
Or at least it would have been just days ago.
But I was a married woman now. I didn’t require a chaperone everywhere I went.
And my husband’s oath lingered in my mind.
You’re mine now and you have the protection of my body and my sword.
Let my father’s men beat me; I almost wanted to see the look on their faces when Kade exacted whatever revenge he would.
I was tired of feeling afraid, and my husband’s reassurances gave me a tentative peace of mind that my soul seemed to want to run with, like a calm sense of liberation had settled around me and refused to be dislodged no matter how much trouble I was asking for.
The door of the nearest storage building was unlocked.
I entered. After the bright sunlight of the day, it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dimness.
I had never been in any of these buildings before.
The mingling smells of earth and sweetness and decay hung strongly in the air.
The walls were lined with shelves and bins, and the middle part of the space was filled with worktables that were entirely covered with jars, dirt, vegetables and fruit in various stages of drying, pickling or preserving.
The entire scene was a study in disorganization.
Judging from the smell and the appearance, a good percentage of the food was rotting before it could reach whatever state of preservation it was destined for.
I noticed then that two men were seated at the far end of the long table.
They were eating from several of the jars and drinking from large goblets.
A clear bottle of whiskey sat between them and was nearly empty.
They both stood as soon as they saw me. From their expressions, they looked as embarrassed to be caught eating the clan’s rations as they were angry to be interrupted doing it.
It was the anger in their manner that gave me pause.
I decided to state my request and then leave as quickly as possible.
Strolling the gardens unchaperoned was one thing, but making demands of two swilled, sizable men in a sequestered hut was quite another.
“I’m sorry to bother you both,” I said, making up a story that might be as quick and acceptable as possible on the spot. “My father the laird has requested fresh vegetables to be served at tonight’s meal—enough for at least a dozen men.”
“The laird doesn’t eat vegetables,” one of the men commented laconically. “Doesn’t like ’em.”
“But some of his men do.”
“I’ve yet to meet one of ’em,” the other man responded, causing both of them to chuckle heartily.
“His new first officer,” I said, feeling more and more uncomfortable with the glint of recognition in their eyes.
“The new laird-to-be?” one of the men asked. “Say, aren’t you the laird’s daughter—the one who just married...what’s his name?” he asked his cohort.
“Mackenzie,” the second man replied.
Both men regarded me with labored scrutiny, as though having trouble focusing. One of them swayed slightly on his feet. “Aye, that’s the one,” he said. “Gonna take over once the old man gives up the ghost.”
“Aye,” I confirmed. “And he likes vegetables.”
“Hear that, lad?” one of the men hollered over his shoulder, and it was only then that I noticed a boy sitting on the floor some distance from them.
He might have been ten years old, or twelve.
He was eating an apple, seeds and all. “Go and tell the laird that one of his lovely daughters has taken an interest in farming.”
“Nay,” I said. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll help myself and be on my way.”
“Go on, I said,” one of the men insisted, to the boy, who jumped up and ran out a back door.