Chapter Eight #7
Emotion thickened in her throat, choking her.
After so warm a welcome, it was even harsher to be shunned.
Without the lord around, his staff saw no point in treating her with kindness.
It was not an uncommon fate for brides that were married off into other countries.
The lord might order his people to lower their heads but no man held the power to force any servant to like a foreigner.
For herself, she had no liking for false allegiance. Better to know the true feeling of the household staff than live in ignorance.
Yet it hurts.
Anne left the hall, not knowing where to take herself. Once more she was completely on her own. The despair that had imprisoned her when Philipa unveiled her scheme returned. It felt stronger now that she had escaped it for a time. Much more intense since the tender moments in Brodick’s embrace.
He’ll plant a child in you and return to his Scottish warring ways…
Philipa’s words slashed through the fragile happiness she’d enjoyed at Sterling. She walked past the steps that led to her chamber, their bed a place of torment now. Helen had hidden the true nature of the castle folk with her seniority. Now there was nothing to make them accept her.
She didn’t want dishonesty, anyway. Lifting her chin, she moved away from the tower her chamber was in to explore the next section of hallway.
Above her was the wall where the archers were poised.
Long fingers of sunlight stretched across the floor every five feet.
The shutters were open, allowing the morning breeze to sweep inside.
A soft voice touched her ears. It was a woman singing softly.
A doorway led to a large room where a young girl sat at a spinning wheel.
Her foot worked the pedal as her fingers pulled on the raw wool in her hands.
It was a fluffy ball that she skillfully fed into the twisting action produced by the wheel.
A large stack of carded wool sat near her and she reached for some of it, her foot pausing until she had mixed it with the wool in her hands.
A spindle was winding the new thread on top of the wheel.
“Who’s there?”
She didn’t look at her. In fact the girl didn’t really look at anything. Her eyes were strangely unfocused.
“I could use a pair of eyes if ye’ve a bit o’time to share.”
The girl was clearly blind but her hands were still clever and skilled at the art of weaving.
“How may I help you?”
The foot on the pedal paused. The smile fading from the girl’s face. Anne felt her shoulders resume carrying their heavy burden. But the girl suddenly brightened back to the cheerful state she’d been in before hearing Anne’s unmistakable English accent.
“Good morrow, Mistress. I be Enys.”
“Good day. How may I help?”
Enys paused to reach for more wool. “I didnae ken it was you, Mistress, when I asked.”
Her voice was still kind, lacking the chill that Ginny’s had adopted. It was most welcome, whatever the reason.
“I would be most happy to assist you. Shall I card for you?” Anne moved into the room.
The wooden cards were sitting near another stool with a mound of washed raw wool.
Each card had thin metal teeth that were used to straighten out the wool hairs.
Only after raw wool had been brushed back and forth on the cards several times was it ready for spinning.
“I need the bobbin changed and I don’t know where Tully set the empty ones. The room is rather large to go searching it with my hands.”
Enys added a smile to her comment, her foot steadily working the pedal. The foot-long wooden bobbin at the front of the wheel was getting full.
“I should be happy to lend a hand. It has never been my way to be lazy.”
Enys nodded her head. “I’m most appreciative. Since losing my sight, I find my pride suffering when I’m reduced to asking for help finding things.”
Anne searched the room, finding a crate of empty bobbins. “You weren’t born blind?”
“Nay, and I think that’s more of a torment. Knowing what I miss. My memories are as clear as the daylight used to be.”
Enys sighed, a look of longing passing over her face. She tilted her head when Anne pulled one of the bobbins free and the others clicked against one another. Her foot stopped and she allowed the wheel to stop turning.
“I was in the yard and not minding the horses. One kicked out, planting his hooves in the center of my head. To hear it told, I flew like a bird across the yard. When I woke up, my sight was gone.” She snipped the new thread with a pair of small shears hanging from a lace tied to her skirts.
With a confident hand she removed the full bobbin, holding it out toward Anne.
“You appear to use your hearing very effectively for one not born afflicted.”
They traded bobbins, Enys quickly attaching the new one to the end of her thread. The bobbin in her hand held fine work. The spinning was even and the thread thin, both difficult tasks for someone without sight.
“You do very good work.”
Enys beamed. “Thank you. I do enjoy knowing that I’m of use. My mother despaired when my sight didnae return.” She grimaced. “But the man I was set to marry took my cousin instead.”
“Obviously he hasn’t seen your skill with the wheel.”
Merchants paid well for even, smooth thread.
To weave good cloth you first needed the thread.
In London, young girls who showed such skill were coveted as brides.
They needed no dowry, only their skill. It was quite the modern thing now for some women to marry with the only thing changing hands between their families the skill they had.
The middle class flourished, too, some families amassing wealth that equaled that of the nobles.
Taking a seat on the stool, Anne reached for the cards. The room was a welcoming refuge from the chilly glances in the eating hall. Enys tilted her head once more when Anne drew the metal teeth past one another. She seemed unsure what to say as the mistress of the house joined her in common chores.
“Do not worry; marriage comes along to us all.”
“Ye sound as though yers took ye a wee bit by surprise.”
Anne sighed, pulling wool with smooth motions of her arms. “Yes, it did.”
But she did not lament it. That was rooted deep inside her now.
It was startling to notice just how greatly one week had changed her.
The girl who greeted Philipa each morning was foreign to her now.
Enys began singing again, a sweet tune of springtime.
Anne found her foot keeping time with the melody while her arms worked the cards.
In the wilds of Scotland
“Damn raids. I’ve had a belly full o’ them.” Brodick cussed under his breath.
“More like yer wife has a full belly with the way ye tumbled her in the stable.”
Brodick rounded on his brother. Cullen dropped his jesting when he looked at his brother’s face. He kicked at the ground.
“Och now. Why do ye have to go soft for a woman? That’s sure to ruin half my fun,” Cullen huffed, propping his hands onto his hips. “What am I going to do now? I thought ye were only getting married, no losing yer heart to a lass.”
“I’m nae gone soft.”
“Aye, ye be.” His brother added a Gaelic word under his breath. “Ready to lay me low for mentioning what ye didnae mind shouting out to half the garrison last eve. If that is nae soft, I dinnae know what is.”
Brodick felt his anger deflate. Cullen had the right of it.
He had raised his voice, happy to ensure that everyone knew what they’d been about.
The true reason for his foul temper was frustration.
Looking back over the burnt-out shells of three homes, he cussed.
Druce turned to look at him, a frown marring his face.
“They are hiding in the canyons, no doubt.”
“No doubt.” Which meant he and his men were set on a merry chase that might not end soon.
But it was a sure wager that they could not return to Sterling.
There would be another few homes destroyed by tomorrow if they didn’t chase the guilty down.
It was the duty of the lord to protect his people.
Every man riding with him served his time in trade for the protection his family received.
As the English queen grew nearer to dying, the neighboring clans became bolder.
He had to defend his land with hard steel.
He was the McJames.
’Twas his duty and one he shouldered with honor.
In spite of his frustration, he mounted his horse to take up the task with renewed faith.
The reason was simple; he had a sweet wife who needed the strength of his sword.
She was a McJames now and he would not return to her bed until his lands were safe for her and every other McJames soul.
“Let’s run these villains to ground, men!”
A cheer broke the evening chill. His men mounted, determination shining in their eyes. Gaining his own saddle, he led them forward.