Chapter Eleven
K errigan was growing anxious to finish the trip and arrive at his home. They were only about two hours from Luffness Castle. He’d been away a little more than a month. He had sent a messenger right after his marriage to alert the clan that he would be returning as soon as he could and with the money to purchase sheep, sustain them through the winter, and even begin the desperately needed repairs.
Christine seemed more nervous than excited, and he expected that was normal. He was returning to his home, yet she was beginning a whole new life. He had to remember that it would take some time for her to adjust. He was confident that she would have been trained as a lass growing up, as all English women were, in everything necessary to run his keep, hire and supervise servants, keep track of the larder and oversee the garden. She would most likely need a day or two to get settled, however.
He would send immediately for the animals to replace the lost sheep and other game to repopulate the woods that had been depleted with the clan folks hunting to feed their families. Aye, things would definitely be better. And with the bonny and cheerful wife he’d gained in addition to the money, he was quite pleased with his—overly long—trip to London.
He’d chosen to ride Fergus since the carriage was now crowded with Christine’s purchases during their stops. He was quite happy to ride his horse, unable to stand even one more day in the carriage. He looked around at the green hills and deep blue sky and took in a refreshing, deep breath of Scottish air. No more suffocating London air for him. He was happy here and he and Christine would have a good life. Raise strong boys and bonny girls.
He rode past the carriage and looked inside to see Christine gazing out the window. She’d tried several times reading one of the many books she’d purchased in villages along the way, but unfortunately, it seemed she was subjected to nausea trying to read in a moving vehicle. He’d teased her about helping to rebuild the castle’s library with all her books. Although with her duties as chatelaine, her time for reading would be limited until she got everything in the keep under control.
Finally, they rode over the last hill and around a curve. Luffness Castle came into view. He called to Christine and pointed. “There is yer new home, lass.”
She smiled, but he saw a slight hesitation as she gazed at his home. He was sure everything would be fine, and she would be comfortable in no time at all.
He jumped from Fergus as they came to a stop at the huge main door. Within moments the door slowly rolled open and his cousin, Patrick Lindsay, strode through the opening. “Kerrigan! We thought ye would ne’er return to us, that mayhap ye enjoyed the London life.”
They grabbed each other’s forearms in the traditional greeting and Patrick slapped him on the back.
“Nay, I dinna like London any more than the other times I visited. I was verra glad to leave it behind.”
Neil strode up to them with a bright smile on his face. “Welcome, home Laird.”
Patrick looked over Kerrigan’s shoulder. “We got yer message. Where is this wife of yers?”
Kerrigan walked to the carriage and opened the door, extending his hand to help Christine out. She was busy brushing her skirts and patting her hair. The lovely hat she’d put on that morning was crooked and it appeared the ribbons tied under her chin were knotted. Whatever it was she’d done to her hair hadn’t worked and clumps of it drooped over one shoulder. It mattered not to him. She was his wife, and she was bonny, kind, and smart. That was all he cared about.
Instead of taking her by the arm, he clasped their fingers together and walked her up to where Patrick and Neil stood. Just then several others came out of the keep, curious looks on their faces. He heard mumblings about “the Sassenach” and reminded himself to make sure everyone in the castle treated Christine with respect and no name calling.
He looked first at Patrick. “This is my wife, Lady Christine Lindsay.” Then he turned to Christine. “This is Patrick Lindsay. He is my cousin and right-hand man.” He then waved at Neil. “Neil Lindsay is my steward and supervises the shepherds.”
He beamed at the others who had gathered and, aside from very few dips and bows, for the most part they all just stared at her.
Christine cleared her throat. “I am most pleased to be here and to be part of your clan.”
Silence.
She turned to look at Kerrigan, a slight bit of terror in her eyes. “What do I do now?” she whispered.
“No’hing.” He spread his legs apart and crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed the silent group. “Lady Christine Lindsay is my wife. She is to be treated with respect. She will oversee the keep and ye will obey her orders. She will be assessing what has been and not been working to keep everything in good form. Ye will answer to her and I doona want to be made aware of anything that I might find unacceptable. Ye all ken that Lady Christine is English. That is no’ her fault, she was born that way. Ye are to forget that. Do I make myself clear?”
A few mumbles followed.
“I said, ‘Do I make myself clear?’”
“Aye.” A much more robust answer pleased him.
“Good.” He turned to Christine. “See, everything is fine.” He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “I have a lot of work to catch up on. I will see you at supper time.”
With that he walked away, deep in conversation with Patrick, Neil following behind them.
Christine felt her stomach take a plunge to her feet. Whatever was she to do next? She tried to imagine this was a large estate in the country outside of London. If she was in this position there, what would she do?
“Would one of you arrange to have my things brought from the carriage and to the bedchamber the laird and I will occupy?”
One of the women standing in the group in front of the main gate frowned and nudged the woman next to her. “What did the lass say? I couldna understand her.”
Her companion leaned over. “’Tis hard to hear for sure, but I think she said she wanted someone to bring her things up to the laird’s bedchamber.”
The woman peeked in the carriage. “The lass has a lot of packages in there. I wonder how much clothes she needs?”
Listening to the conversation that she had a hard time understanding, Christine felt as though she’d already lost whatever control she might have had. Again she cleared her throat and looked at one of the young girls. “Is there someone who can lead to me to the laird’s bedchamber?”
She had no idea if Kerrigan planned for them sleep together, but she thought it was a good place to start.
“Isla, get ye lazy bum up here.” An older man who had straw sticking out of his hair nodded to the young girl who had commented on her packages.
Isla stepped forward in a dirty dress and barefoot. “Aye?”
“Ye heard Lady Christine. Show her to the laird’s bedchamber.” He slapped the lass on the back of the head.
“Hear now,” Christine said, aghast. “I will have none of that.”
“What did ye say, lass?” the man shouted, his brows raised, his hand cupping his ear.
She raised her voice. “I said, there will be no slapping, hitting, or any other physical form of discipline.”
He stared at her for a few moments, obviously trying to figure out what she’d said. Then he shook his head, straw falling all around him. “Ye won’t be getting anything done, ye ken. ’Tis no’ a verra lively bunch ye have here.” With those words, which she had trouble understanding, he walked off, scratching the front of his trews.
When the other lasses began to return to whatever it was they’d been doing, Christine grabbed one of their arms. “My apologies, but can someone unload the carriage and bring those things upstairs?”
The girl she’d stopped huffed her annoyance. “’Twill be a lot of work. We have chores to do. Do ye need these things right now?”
She raised her chin. “Well, yes, actually I do.” It seemed it was time for her to take charge. If Kerrigan expected her to run the castle and keep—she wasn’t sure what the difference was but had heard him say it—she needed to be strong and let them all know that she was an Englishwoman, a lady, and the daughter of a viscount.
“If that is so, then Isla can carry these things to the bedchamber when she shows ye the way.” The girl turned and sashayed back to the steps leading to what Christine assumed was the keep, the other girls following her like ducks behind their mother.
She was still waiting for Isla to show her into the keep and to the bedchamber, but the lass stood there just staring at her. Were all these lasses dim-witted? Certainly being presented with their laird’s English wife should not have taken them by surprise because Patrick had seemed to know about it.
If Kerrigan was nearby at the moment, Christine would have hit him over the head with something heavy. How dare he introduce her and then stride off as if he’d done his duty. While she didn’t expect him to coddle her, since she knew the Scots were tougher and not as formal or aware of social graces as the English, she did think it would have been helpful had he shown her to their room, at least.
With a deep sigh, Isla picked up some of the packages. Christine gathered a few more. Goodness, she wasn’t aware of how much she had purchased on their stops. However, if she held these things in her hands, and followed Isla she would end up in her bedchamber.
The young maid was anything but chatty, which might have been for the best because it seemed they had a problem understanding each other. She juggled much more than Christine could handle, and after some of the items were in their arms, Isla took off, Christine right behind her. “Will someone else fetch the rest of my things?” she asked the young maid as she had to almost run to keep up with her.
The lass shrugged. “If no’ ye can get them yourself or have the laird do it for ye.”
This was the maid who had complained that she couldn’t understand her when she’d spoken before. Well, she was finding understanding her just as difficult. Had the lass said she should ask Kerrigan to retrieve the items?
It seemed odd to her that the laird would be expected to do what a lower servant should. She was finding she had a lot to learn about the differences between the English and the Scots.
Isla led her up two flights of stone stairs to a landing very poorly lit. She opened one of the doors and stepped inside before she not too gently dropped the things she was carrying on the floor. “This is the laird’s bedchamber.”
With those words she turned and left. Was the lass going to get the rest of her things? Was she off for the day and leaving? Was she going to summon someone else to get the rest?
She pushed all those questions aside when she went to one of the windows and pulled aside the covering, allowing bright sunlight into the room.
Her hand flew to her mouth as she looked around the bedchamber that appeared to have not been cleaned most likely since the Battle of Culloden. She slowly spun around, taking in the unmade bed, dirty clothes lying on the floor, used plates with questionable leavings on them stacked on two tables, and mouse droppings on the rushes.
She dropped to the bed, then screamed as a baby pig appeared from beneath it with a squeal. She shifted and the piglet grunted and pushed at her with his nose. “My apologies. Do you own this room? Now I understand why it looks like a pig pen.” She wrinkled her nose. “And why it smells like one, too.”
Once Christine rid the room of the pig by carrying it, squealing all the way to the kitchen door, she turned to those in the room watching her with surprise, and said, “The laird’s bedchamber is a disgrace. It needs a thorough cleaning.”
No one spoke. She turned to Isla. “Who is in charge of making sure the rooms are clean?” She lifted the piglet. “And that animals who belong outside are kept there?”
The girl shrugged.
One of the young maids sitting at a worktable cutting vegetables cleared her throat and looked at her. “My lady, there is no one in charge. Of anything. The laird told us when he left for London to find a wife that she would be in charge. I guess that means you.”
Christine pinched her bridge of her nose with her free hand, trying desperately to avoid the headache she felt coming on. Then she put the piglet down and approached the young woman. “I see you’re cutting vegetables. Who is the cook?”
All four girls shook their heads. Finally one of them said, “Llioni.”
Christine turned to look at the cold fireplace. “Where is Llioni? Shouldn’t she be cooking the nooning meal, or supper?”
“I doona think so,” Isla said.
As much as she wanted to present herself as a firm, but kind mistress, Christine was definitely losing her patience. She took a deep breath and said through gritted teeth, “Why not?”
“Because she died three days ago.”