Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
’ T was with a renewed sense of hope that Margaret returned to the gathering room. By then, ’twas time to help set the space up for the evening meal.
She kept herself busy, helping to bring trenchers and mugs in from the buttery.
With a pleasant disposition, she worked along side Faith, Hope, and Grace. Not only were these young women beautiful to look upon, they had the most beautiful souls. One couldn’t help but to feel it whenever they were near.
After completing the tasks, she grabbed her cloak and went to the kitchens to offer whatever help she could. One look at Flossie, and she knew the woman was worried.
“What is it, Flossie? What is the matter?”
Not wishing to let the conversation they were about to have be overheard, Flossie pulled her into a corner. “I am out of flour,” she whispered. “We will be servin’ our last bit of bread with the evenin’ meal.”
Margaret’s stomach tightened. “Is there nothin’ in the granary?”
Flossie used the hem of her apron to wipe away an errant tear. “Nay, lass. The granary has been empty for months.”
Unease turned to dread. “Is Aiden aware?”
“Of course he is aware,” Flossie bit out. “Ye think I would keep somethin’ like that away from our laird?”
“Of course nae!” Margaret said in a loud whisper. “I am merely trying to seek out all the facts.”
Flossie scoffed derisively. “The facts are simple. I am out of flour. We have nae way to make bread. We have less than a half a side of venison left. Only a few vegetables left in larder, and,” She sniffed and shook her head. “There be nae more salt!”
Oh, that was horrible news!
“Dry yer tears, Flossie,” Margaret said as she gave a warm pat of her hand to the woman’s shoulder. “We will think of somethin’. Ye will see.”
“Think of somethin’?” She was stunned. “Why are ye nae upset?”
Margaret offered her a warm and sincere smile. “Because gettin' upset solves nothin’. Cryin’ will only make my skin blotchy and my nose red. What we must do is to think of a way to solve this little problem.”
“Little?” Flossie exclaimed loudly.
“Wheest!” Margaret chastised her.
“Ye think this a little problem? Lord above, I would hate to think of what ye would call a full on invasion!”
“A spat.”
“What?”
“Ye asked what I would call a full on invasion. I’d call it a spat, Flossie.”
The poor woman’s mouth fell open. “Ye have lost yer mind.”
“I really wish ye would quit accusin’ me of losin’ my mind, Flossie.”
“Sorry, m’lady.”
Margaret had to resist the urge to giggle. ’Twas the first time she had ever referred to her as ‘m’lady’ without a contemptible tone.
“Now, dry yer tears and finish servin’ whatever ye can.”
“Where are ye goin’?”
“Off to find Aiden’s second-in-command,” she replied as she grabbed her cloak from the peg. She stopped mid stride. “Wait,” she said as she turned back to Flossie. “Who is Aiden’s second-in-command?”
Aiden’s second-in-command was his younger brother George. Margaret had only met him a few times and, as of yet, had not formed an opinion on his character. But, when she finally found him, it didn’t take much time to form one.
They were standing in the hallway outside the bedchambers. George had just exited the room he shared with his wife and children, when Margaret stopped him.
He wasn’t nearly as nice as Aiden or Brodie.
After explaining the situation in the kitchens to him, he said, “And what, pray tell, would ye like me to do about that?”
Oh, he was definitely a cold man. How Elayne could stand to be married to him was beyond her comprehension.
Rather stunned, it took a few moments to find the right words to express herself. “I was hoping ye could help me figure out a way to increase the foodstuffs in our larders.”
He grunted. As if she were an idiot. “Pardon me, lass. But do ye nae think that if I had a way to increase our foodstuffs that I would have done it by now?”
Well, that was a very good question, indeed.
Fumbling for words she said, “Of course ye would have.”
He grunted again.
“I merely felt that, since ye are Aiden’s second-in-command, ye—that is, we, together—might come up with something to help solve our problem.”
“Unless ye are willin’ to steal into Edinburgh castle and take from the king’s coffers, then I cannae help ye.”
He gave her a quick nod before turning away and heading for the stairs.
She had her ire up now. She wasn’t about to be deterred. “George! Wait!”
She heard him sigh heavily as he made his way down the stairs. Margaret hurried after him. “George, Please!”
Tossing his words over his shoulder, he said, “Lass, I cannae help ye.”
She paused in the middle of the stairs. “If ye will nae help me, will ye at least help yer brother?”
George turned. Fire burned in his eyes and a tic had formed in his jaw. He took three quick steps up and glowered at her. “And what it the bloody hell do ye think we've been doin’?”
Her throat had grown quite dry. She couldn’t answer and, truly, didn’t think she should even try.
“Do ye think we have nae been workin’ hard to find ways to feed our families? Our clan?”
’Twas a rhetorical question, she had no doubt.
George’s lips pursed briefly before he spoke again. “Why in the bloody hell do ye think Aiden married ye?”
Stunned into continued muteness, her stomach felt tight. Instinct forewarned her that she wasn’t going to like what he had to say next.
“He married ye for the wagons of food the MacCallen offered. Those shall be here on the morrow.”
Whoever said words couldn’t wound a person was sadly mistaken. Not only did George’s words hurt, so did the manner in which he spoke them. And the way he looked at her as he did.
Disgust. Loathing. Hostility. Those were all there in his biting words and tone.
Since neither of them had spent any time together this past fortnight, he had no way of knowing who she truly was. If he expected her to break down into tears and run away, he couldn’t have been more mistaken.
“He may have married me for foodstuffs and peace, George. But he did marry me. And it would behoove ye to remember that. I am his wife.” For good measure, she stood taller, pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “I want only to help.”
He shook his head and grinned at her with a level of nastiness she hadn’t seen since last she’d looked into her own mother’s face. ’Twas as disheartening as it was terrifying. But she hid her feelings well.
“Help? Help to do what exactly?” he asked.
“Ye dinnae trust me, do ye?”
He raised one brow and stared directly into her eyes. “Nay, Margaret, I dinnae trust ye. I dinnae even like ye.”
And with that, he spun around and left her alone on the stairs.
Margaret could have gone to her husband to tell him about the exchange she'd just had with his brother. She could have gone to George’s wife, Elayne, and asked her to talk to him. Aye, she could have done any number of things, most of which would have undoubtedly caused him a bit of discomfort.
Instead of doing any of those things, she decided to pretend it hadn’t happened. For the foreseeable future, she was going to treat George Randall as if they had been friends since childhood.
In short, she was going to make his life even more miserable than her husband or Elayne ever could.
And she was going to enjoy every moment of it.
As promised, the wagons with arrived the following morn. The men bringing the lifesaving foodstuffs apologized on behalf of Connor and Onnleigh. The inclement weather of late had kept them from delivering Margaret’s dowry.
Margaret and her sisters-by-law, along with Flossie, stood in the middle of the courtyard, relieved to see the three wagons. For their own safety and their mothers’ sanity, the children were kept indoors with Faith, Hope, and Grace.
“My, my, my,” Flossie said with much exuberance. “Three entire wagons of a dowry?”
“Ye must be somethin’ quite special and important to yer former laird,” Elayne quipped with a grin and a knowing glance towards Lizabet.
Annabella didn’t pick up on the gentle sarcasm in Elayne’s tone of voice. She stood in awe. “Aye,” she said with a whisper. “All my father could give George was a few pieces of gold, an old mule, and a trunk filled with wool.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. In truth, she knew she didn’t deserve one single thing contained in those wagons. However, she was without personal pride at the moment. The clan needed these things. She didn’t care how they were getting it.
Not only did the wagons contain those much-needed food supplies, but heavy tarps appeared to cover furniture.
While Flossie happily directed men to carry things into the kitchens, Lizabet and Elayne excitedly waited to see what was under the tarps.
Margaret’s happiness was short lived. As soon as the tarps were pulled away to reveal the contents, her stomach grew queasy.
Her mother’s things.
The heavy wooden table and chairs where they had dined in their old home. More little tables that had at one time contained Helen’s jewelry and baubles, all gained by deceit and trickery.
Trunks of fabric, an ornately carved chair upholstered in deep-red wool, dishes, crockery… Everything from their old home.
“Oh! That chair is so pretty!” Annabella exclaimed.
“Ye can have it,” Margaret said gruffly. “I want none of it.”
Grabbing a fistful of her cloak and skirts, she spun on her heals. Leaving the women standing in surprise, she rushed back into the keep.
For all she cared, they could burn every last bit of it.