Chapter 16
D ressed in jeans and armed with the poor excuse for a broom that she’d found in the kitchen, Beth chased two mangy dogs, three children, and the idle priest out of the hall. She didn’t care if they all thought her crazed. They’d just have to live with it because the hall was in for an overhaul.
She swept rushes from one corner and started stacking the long benches in it. As she started dragging one of the many long tables toward the corner, Rachael appeared at her elbow.
“My lady, there’s nay reason to strain.” Within minutes, Rachael had summoned half a dozen women to help. Much to Beth’s surprise they all smiled at her now and appeared more than willing to do her bidding.
As they grabbed opposite ends of one trestle table, Rachael whispered, “Did his apology meet yer esperances —-yer hopes?”
“I don’t want to talk about him, Rachael. If the man dies of a heart attack, I don’t want to hear about it. Leastwise, not until after the funeral.” She’d given Duncan Angus MacDougall as much thought as she was ever going to expend on him.
“Heart ah tak?”
Beth rolled her eyes and clutched her chest as she pantomimed a heart seizure.
“Ah, oui . “ Frowning, Rachael muttered something in French before adding, “As ye luste, mon ami .”
Thankful her friend let the subject of her wayward husband drop, Beth said, “After we get all the furniture moved, I want the room swept clean. I don’t want to see so much as a crumb on the floor.” She wanted to see the wide-plank flooring gleam.
“Of course.” Rachael issued rapid instructions in Gael to four of the women and within minutes everyone was amiably chatting as they swept the rushes out the door and down the winding stairwell to the bailey. While one woman went for fresh rushes and Rachael dug around in the west wing for lavender and whatever herbs she could gather, Beth scrubbed everything made of wood. As she labored, she hoped the caustic lye soap did as much damage to germs as it was doing to her hands. If so, she’d be making headway.
With most of the tables scrubbed, Beth found Kari at her side.
“Please, to help ye, my lady?”
Beth nodded. “Aye, ye may.” She pointed to the soot-coated fireplace on the east-facing wall. “I think the stone work used to be cream-colored, or at the least beige.” In her time the fireplaces had elaborate white marble facades, but not so in Duncan’s. He had built them of etched sandstone with broad mantels. From his diary, Beth knew the keep to be ten years old. How the fireplace facades had become so disgusting in so short a time, she couldn’t fathom unless the chimneys needed cleaning. If so, she could address it later. Right now, she just wanted to dine in a clean room.
“Can you take a scrub brush to them and find out?” When Kari only smiled then shrugged, Beth had to wait until Rachael returned to translate. Once Kari understood what was being asked of her, Beth set Rachael to rearranging the tables.
“But the rushes, madame. They are not yet spread…down.”
“We’re not putting them down Rachael. We’re putting them up.”
Rachael’s sable, almond-shaped eyes grew round as quarters. “Pardon, madame? ”
“You’ll see in a bit. Just get the tables aligned like so…”
As they labored, Beth thanked God Miss I’m Too Sexy Flora never showed. Had she the nerve, Beth would have set her to cleaning the chimney flues. With a short-handled broom.
Three hours later her helpers stood looking about with mouths agape, then slowly, one by one, they all started to smile. Beth, admiring their labor, smiled for the first time in hours, too.
She congratulated them, and then asked, “Are the fresh rushes on the lowest level and the sign nailed to the door?”
Rachael translated and Kari grinned. “‘Aye, my lady.”
“And the dogs—-lymers—are washed?” They nodded again. “Great. Now to the kitchen.”
#
Duncan’s stomach growled and his eyes burned. Isaac and Angus had been sequestered with him for what felt like a lifetime, as they sorted out their dilemma.
Albany had ordered the clan leaders to pair up in teams of two for the first rounds of the tournament. He paired them not friend with friend but foe with foe in an effort to keep the peace, teaming Duncan with the Bruce, which to Duncan’s mind just tempted fate. He still wanted the man dead.
“So ‘tis agreed,” Duncan said, coming to his feet. “We’ll invite the Bruce and a limited contingent here.” It bothered him that his holding and table were not as impressive as the Bruce’s but Blackstone offered security. “Over mead we can work out our difficulties. He’ll no doubt want to ride first in all events, which I will agree to, as a condition to Isaac holding the purses. I want separate stabling and guards for my warhorses. I do not trust the man not to slip something to mine should we win the first rounds and need ride against each other for the gold cup.”
“It’s as sound a plan as any,” Angus agreed after he’d spent the last hour inventing what-if situations they might have to counteract.
Isaac yawned. “My lord, I’m starving and ‘tis past the time for clear thought. If ye don’t mind, I’ll like to see my wife and then my bed.”
Ack! My ladywife.
The last time Duncan had excused himself to seek out Beth, he’d been met with blatant hostility as she bustled about. When he’d asked for her time, she’d glared and closed all but her middle finger into a fist in answer. Stunned, he’d laughed. Victorious Sassenach archers used the same obscene gesture when confronting the French, men fond of cutting the third finger from captured enemy archers so they couldn’t fire a crossbow ever again.
Tired now, he had no desire to try broaching Beth’s defenses yet again, but try he must. He’d been in the wrong.
At the keep’s second level, Sean MacDonnell of Keppoch, now married to Duncan’s cousin, halted him.
“My liege, I’ve just returned from purchasing the iron in Oban and have news.”
“Aye?”
Sean shifted his weight nervously. “I’ve no fondness for carrying tales but…” He looked about and behind then lowered his voice. “I met a man there who, being in his cups and quite sotted, boasted of a relationship with a woman of our sept. He described her and she cannot be any other than Flora.”
“Then ‘tis good.” The thought of marrying his sister-by-marriage off made him grin.
“Nay, my lord, ye do not understand. The man is a Munro now attached to the Bruce clan.”
Duncan frowned. “The Bruce’s?”
“Aye, and he’s not inclined toward handfasting or marriage. He’s a tinker, my lord, someone beneath her aspirations. I did not have a good feelin’ just from his manner, my lord, so I bring it to ye attention.”
“Thank ye, Sean.” Flora, being a Campbell and in his household, had nay reason for meeting a man of the Bruce’s.
None.
As they continued down the stairs, Duncan murmured, “Angus, set a man to watch her. I want to know where and when she meets this man again.”
“Aye, but mayhap Rachael…?”
“’Twould be better, less conspicuous,” Isaac agreed. “I’ll bring it to my ladywife’s attention.”
Duncan nodded as he came to full stop just steps inside the hall. Angus, paying no heed, ran into his back.
“What in all that’s holy…?” Duncan asked no one in particular. His advisors stepped around him.
Angus started to laugh. “Appears yer ladywife took it into her head to civilize us.”
The great hall, normally just a clutter of chairs, tables, and benches scattered over rushes, had been swept clean to the wood and divided across the middle by a pair of waist high, open chests, their shelves still full of books from the library. The end of the hall in which Duncan stood held a long dais with a head table before the fireplace. All the other tables were arranged in neat rows, separated by a center aisle. Each table was adorned with wild flowers, two large wooden bowls, candles, and odd white fabric cones. Mouth agape, he stared at the opposite end of the hall to where chairs had been arranged in a circle before the fireplace. More seating—a half dozen benches— were positioned against the back of the book chests. One of the two colorful rugs he’d brought back from the Holy Lands now lay before the sitting area’s fireplace while the second hung in the center of the north wall. Two tapestries he’d brought back from France as prizes—and which he’d totally forgotten about—now hung on either side of the hanging carpet.
On either end of the mantles and sideboards sat large pewter pitchers filled with tall reeds and lavender. His coat of Arms, its bent armored right arm holding a cross-crosslet with the motto Vincere et morri —-”To win or die”—lounged not in a corner of the solar where he’d dropped it, but now hung above the dining end’s mantle. Above the opposite fireplace hung his best shield, it’s bright fields of red and gold announcing by candlelight his lineage and relationship to the King to one and all. Two of his best pennants hung on either side of the windows on the south wall, opposite the Persian rug.
“Merciful Mother, is there naught of mine she hasna plundered?”
Isaac, looking about wide-eyed, mumbled, “I dinna think so.” He pointed to his left. “There be yer heavy armor. Apparently, she couldna get yer new chain mail to stand on its own.”
Angus grinned. “What say ye, Duncan? Yer best lance in his hand is a nice touch, nay?” He lifted the helmet’s face guard and laughed. “‘Tis full of straw.”
Duncan, on the verge of bellowing for his wife, snapped his jaws closed when the bailey bell suddenly rang and people started marching up the stairs and into the great hall. The men, uncharacteristically mute, took their places at the tables while the women chatted in animated fashion and settle the bairn, who, wide-eyed, spun and excitedly extolled on all the changes Beth had wrought.
He silently took his seat at the center of the head table after checking to be sure nothing sharp lay on the seat. Angus, still grinning like an idiot, sat to his right, and Isaac took the seat to Angus’s right.
“Why are the men so quiet?” Isaac whispered.
“I don’t understand any of this, friend.” Duncan examined the pot of heather before him, and hoped his wife would make an appearance soon. He wanted an explanation.
“What are the bowls for?” Angus asked as he peeked under the white cone.
Duncan shrugged his good shoulder as three women marched in, carrying dozens of tankards. He sighed in relief as Beth followed, carrying a large flagon of ale. She whispered something to one of the women as she handed off the flagon, and then exited before he could get her attention.
As a lass filled his tankard, he asked, “What say my lady to ye?”
“Lady Beth cautioned that I should serve from the left, lest I be fond of scrubbing possets for a fortnight, my lord.”
Having no idea why serving to the left held importance, or why posset scrubbing would be just punishment should the lass not, he said, “Ah.”
The ale served, more women placed baskets of bread at each table as others arrived with platters of roasted venison, fish, eggs, and with what appeared to be weeds. Beth returned and stood by the door watching the proceedings as more women followed with bowls of sauce. When all met with her approval, the women took their seats, and Beth came to sit on his left.
All eyes were upon them as he pulled out her chair. “Good eve, my lady.”
She said not a word, only lifted a brow when Flora glided into the room and took a seat in the first row, directly before them.
Beth picked up her white cone, made a show of flapping it out before placing it in her lap. The women mimicked her actions. The men, frowning, followed suit. Not a one, apparently, was of a mind to garner his ladywife’s or his own wife’s disapproval.
As Rachael served Isaac, Beth ground out between clenched teeth, “May I serve you, my lord?”
Cautioned by the fierce glint of steel in her eyes, he said, “Thank ye. All smells verra good, my lady.” When the corner of her mouth twitched, he added, “Appears verra good, as well.” Her gaze slid to his lips, but she remained mute as she slung food into his wooden trencher. He scowled when she placed the weeds in it.
Pouring an oily red sauce over the greenery, she said, “Dandelions, fennel, and crest. Eat it. You’ll like it.”
He glanced down the table to see Rachael, having finished helping Isaac, now served Angus, who looked none too sure he wanted weeds either.
After the rotund priest offered grace, every eye came to rest not on him but on Beth. When she smiled and broke her bread, a collective sigh rose and the hall quickly filled with the usual clamor of sixty people trying to talk over each other as they ate. Of all the women he’d known, only the most powerful of dowagers commanded the level of deference he’d just witnessed. And odd that Beth now should.
Finishing a really delicious joint, Duncan glanced up and caught Kari slapping her husband’s wrist as her man tried to pitch a bone to the floor. Contrite, the soldier placed the bone in the big bowl. Duncan’s gaze shifted around the room to see others doing the same. Ah. The dogs will be sorely disappointed, he thought, placing his bone in the bowl before him.
And where were the beasts? He glanced around and found his normally boisterous lymers lying at the far end of the room, looking forlorn with heads on paws. At this time of day, he was normally tripping over them. How verra odd.
Having eaten his fill—even the weeds, which truth to tell tasted verra good with the wee pieces of egg and onion, he pushed back in his chair. “My lady, all,” his hand swept the table and the room, “is well done.”
“Of course, my lord. It’s what I do, arranging banquets.” She placed her napkin on the table. “Given adequate time and ingredients, I can put on a feast for one hundred that will knock your socks—-hose—off.”
He recalled her tale of life in the new York. Given he’d just consumed the best meal he’d eaten in years, he murmured, “I dinna doubt ye.” In fact, he could not remember the last time he’d enjoyed such simple fare as much. He studied the room once again. It did look more impressive, as if he were a knight with an income of five and two thousand pounds instead of one with a tally amounting to little more than one thousand. The Bruce will be impressed and think twice before plotting against him. Then again, the bastard just might double his efforts to acquire Blackstone.
Duncan leaned toward her. “Lass, we need speak of matters that keep us at dagger points.”
“Nay, my lord.” She stood and smiled at the people who now watched her. Without moving her lips, she whispered, “We’ve said all that needs to be said save this.” She glanced at Flora and color flooded her cheeks. “I’ll not tolerate her presence another day, so you’d best find a place for her outside these walls.”
He reached for her hand. “But Beth, ye dinna understand…”
A wane smile formed as she gently touched his lips. “Oh, but I do, you son of a—”
She spun on her heel and left in a swirl of emerald silk but not before he’d noted the wetness, a bright silver sheen, that coated her eyes.
To see the depth of her humiliation, and to realize she might still care for him despite it, hit him like a gauntleted fist.