Chapter 7
The next morning, Lilliana was woken by a knock on the door. After spending most of the night watching Mackenzie to see if he would develop a fever, she was very groggy.
“Come in!” she called with a loud yawn.
Her stomach growled rudely as the door opened. Her heart soared, thinking it was Betsy with a tray. However, it was Moira. And there was no tray.
“Good morning to ye, Me Lady,” Moira said with a smile.
Lilliana took a deep breath and pulled a small smile from deep inside. “Good morning, Moira. What can I do for you?”
“Well, for one, I wanted to congratulate ye on successfully treating the young groom. I ken he’d have been in a bad shape had ye nae helped.
Also, I thought ye might like to see the healer’s garden.
It isnae in a good state, since Old Fergus retired, but there are a few herbs and such that ye might be interested in. ”
Lilliana almost turned her down. But then she paused.
What am I doing, waiting for my husband’s permission to see a garden? Surely this is not how low I have brought myself.
She threw the blankets off her and climbed out of bed. “I would love to, Moira. Give me a moment to change into something more suitable for mucking about in the mud.”
The housekeeper grinned. “Aye. I will wait for ye outside the door. And I have packed us some sweet bread as well, Me Lady.”
“Oh, good. Thank you, Moira.”
The castle was bustling with life as they walked, and Lilliana decided to get some information from Moira between bites of the sweet bread in her hand. “How many people live here?”
Moira shrugged. “It depends on the time of year. At the moment, the shepherds are up in the hills with the sheep. They will come down in the winter. The guards reside here in the castle and in the guard house. Most of the single lads take rooms in the castle while the others scatter to the village.”
“Oh.” Lilliana was a bit nonplussed. So much of their lifestyle differed from what she was used to. “Why do they go up to the hills in the summer?”
“Ach, the pasture is up there, and the sheep love it. Sometimes they make it down here one day a week. It really depends on the time of year. The wool grows long, and it is sheared in the autumn to make nice thick plaid for the winter.”
Lilliana nodded in understanding. “That is interesting. And—”
“Here we are!” Moira interrupted, pointing at a patch of ground with a flourish. She was right about it being neglected.
Lilliana bent down at once to pull some weeds.
“Oh, there ye are, Old Fergus. I think ye have met our new mistress already, have ye nae?”
Lilliana looked up to see who Moira was speaking to, and her eyes landed on an old man limping towards them, his gnarled right hand wrapped around the knob of a walking stick. She straightened to greet him.
His expression was ornery, and he did not seem pleased to see her.
What could I possibly have done to earn his ire?
She felt very put off.
Old Fergus came to a stop beside them and stared at her. “Mhm, aye, we have met, though nae formally. We sat at the same table during yer pre-wedding dinner. That was an interesting evening.” He chuckled to himself.
“Ach. Go on with ye and introduce yerself, will ye?”
Fergus snorted. “Can she nae speak for herself?”
Lilliana’s temper rose. “I can speak for myself quite well. I am not fond of speaking to rude men, however.”
Fergus’s eyes widened. “Ach, the sassenachs are always so fixated on mannerliness. I wouldnae have thought the Laird would marry one.”
“Fergus, it isnae yer place to decide what the Laird does,” Moira chided. “Now, greet Lady McGill properly, lest she think we are all ill-mannered scrunts and bend the Laird’s ear on it.”
Fergus narrowed his eyes at her before executing an awkward bow in Lilliana’s direction. “It is a pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Me Lady. Now, why are ye in me garden?”
“Oh!” Lilliana said with feigned shock. She refused to back down because if this garden ‘belonged’ to anyone, it was her husband and thus her.
“I did not know this garden belonged to you. Moira told me this was the healer’s garden, reserved for the healer’s use, and that the old healer had retired. ”
“And so? What of it? Does it nae make the garden mine?”
Lilliana cleared her throat. How tiresome.
“No, Old Fergus. It means that the garden is no longer yours, just as the healer’s quarters are also not for your use. So, we are here to clean up the garden of weeds—it is clearly in disarray.”
“Is that so? Do ye even ken the difference between a weed and a plant?” Fergus asked, as an old man might challenge an ignorant girl.
The amusing thing about this was that Lilliana was far from ignorant about this topic.
“Careful, Old Fergus. You must watch your tone to be effective in your argument. If you do not, you risk not being taken seriously.”
“Is that so, Me Lady?”
“Oh yes! I would know, of course. As the receiver of your argument, I can tell you that your tone is dangerously close to the point at which you lose credibility.”
At that, Old Fergus shifted, his eyes darting angrily between Moira and Lilliana and the weed in her hand. “Forgive an old man his grumblings, Me Lady. I meant nay offense.”
“I found no offense at all, Old Fergus. A little discord is healthy.”
“I agree, ma’am.”
“And to answer your question, this weed that I have pulled is chickweed, but there is some thistle and stinging nettle interspersed between. I know those can help treat various illnesses, so I am leaving them untouched.”
His eyes lit up. “Mmm, so ye ken a few things about plants then.”
“I do know quite a lot about plants. Back home in England, I have a whole library of books on various plants, their biology, and medicinal uses. I have read them all.”
“Ach.” The old man waved a gnarled hand. “Daenae mind me. I speak afore I think. Come here, let me show ye how I keep the snails from me plants. Mayhap ye can tell me how ye do it in England.”
Lilliana followed slowly behind Fergus as he rambled on about the garden and what plants he had grown over the years, and the various pests and diseases he had to fight in order to keep a healthy garden.
“Are you seeing to the villagers? Or are they fending for themselves?” she asked when there was a break in his monologue.
“Of course, the castle is doing what it can. We have sent supplies and help where we can, but I am far too old to travel, and Moira is far too busy. Perhaps if ye ken something about it, ye can take over.” He gave her an encouraging look.
She smiled. “I certainly wish to, but the Laird is not too keen on the idea.”
“Aye, seems so,” he said noncommittally before pointing out a bunch of heather growing next to dandelions. He listed their uses, and she listened respectfully.
“This place might not be so bad. I think the housekeeper likes me anyway… and Old Fergus,” Lilliana told Bramble as she arranged bags of dried herbs that he had gifted her.
“If his name is Old Fergus, that means there must be a Young Fergus, right?” she asked.
“I would think so. Fergus is quite a common name among the Scots.”
“Who are ye talking to?”
She jumped at the deep baritone coming from the doorway, squeaking in surprise. “Where did you come from?” she asked, hand on her heaving bosom, before sneezing loudly.
She looked up to see a smirk on Kayden’s face, and that made her sneeze even more as her ire flared.
Why does he have to be so infuriating?
His eyes dropped to the cat at her feet. “Were ye talking to yer wee cat?”
Lilliana also looked down at the cat, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I do that sometimes,” she said defensively.
“I see.” He nodded. “For yer information, there is a young Fergus. He’s a groom.”
She blinked at him, nonplussed. “I… see.”
He stepped into the room, looking around critically. “Doesnae seem to be a lot of dust in here. Is that the cause of yer sneezin’?”
Lilliana sneezed again, making his eyebrows rise in amusement. “It happens when I am around people who anger me,” she said tightly.
He threw back his head and laughed, a rumbling sound that made her think of stones falling. It was exasperating and even more infuriating that it made butterflies flutter in her belly.
Casting around for another topic, she threw down the gauntlet. “My Laird, if I am indeed your lady, I should be able to go wherever I please. Which means I should be able to visit our tenants at the village.”
His eyebrow arched even further. “Is that so?” he asked. Then his expression suddenly shifted from amused to irritated as he jerked.
He looked down at his feet, and she followed his gaze to find Bramble batting at his stockings.
“Bramble!” Lilliana cried before dropping to her knees to pick her up. “We do not attack others,” she admonished.
She ran her chin along the cat’s whiskers in gratitude.
Yes, he most certainly deserved it, Bram. Good kitty!
She rose to her feet and looked up to find Kayden watching her with dark eyes. “This is Bramble. She gets rather territorial at times, especially when she senses I might be upset.”
His eyebrows rose higher. “And were ye? Upset?”
“Well, I was certainly engaged in rhetoric which you seem to be ignoring,” she said acidly.
He smiled. “Why would ye bring a pet with ye if ye were expecting to find the plague here?”
She shrugged. “It was not my choice. Bramble has a mind of her own and decided to stow away in the luggage.”
“So, she is much like her mistress.”
She shrugged again self-deprecatingly, but could not resist giving him a smug smile.
“Kayden.”
They both turned to see Jacob standing in the doorway.
Kayden cocked an eyebrow. “What is it?”
Jacob tilted his head to the side, looking between Kayden and Lilliana. “Something has come up that ye need to attend to at once,” he said.
Kayden nodded before turning back to Lilliana. “It is an honor to have met ye, Bramble.” He bowed to the cat and then to Lilliana. “Me Lady.”
Lilliana nodded in acknowledgement, and then he turned and left with Jacob.
She looked at her cat. “Well, that was different. I would say that we were almost cordial with each other. Would you not agree?”