Chapter Twelve
C hristine paced the filthy bedchamber, waiting for Kerrigan to join her. She knew that her prior life had been very different from what she’d experienced so far in Luffness Castle, but certainly living in filth was not anyone’s lifestyle.
She had worked herself up by the time the bedchamber door opened, and Kerrigan walked in. “Good evening, lass.” He walked up to her and placed a kiss on her forehead, then dropped the rest of her bundles on the floor. So, apparently, someone did ask the laird of the castle to carry her belongings upstairs like a servant.
“Good day to you. If you have a minute I would like to discuss something with you.”
“Aye, I’m here, lass.” He began removing his shirt and tossed it on the floor. He then looked in the wardrobe against the wall and after viewing the empty contents, turned to pick up the shirt from the floor, shake it out, with something small and furry that she didn’t want to think about dropping to the floor and scurrying away, and put it back on. All the while Christine watched in horror.
She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot in the filthy rushes. “Do you not see how dirty this room is?”
He looked around as he finished tucking his shirt into his breeches. “Aye. Ye are right, wife. It could use some straightening up.”
“Straightening up? The only thing to make this room more habitable is to burn it.”
He smiled. “Aye, lass ye will find things different here than in England.”
“Cleanliness is not just an English thing.” She blew out a deep breath. “You said I was in charge of the castle, correct?”
“Aye. Ye can do wha’ever ye want.”
Aside from cleaning this disaster she was expected to sleep in, she had no idea how to run a castle, or a keep. She had learned nothing about running a household from her mother before she passed, and Papa had never had the time nor the inclination to train her after that. All her papa’s homes had been run by very efficient housekeepers who had brushed off any of her questions.
“Who has been running the keep so far?”
He placed his hands on his hips and studied her for a minute. “I doona really ken, lass. I’ve been so busy trying to find ways to keep my folks from starving, and before that attempting to save as many of our sheep as I could, I ne’er paid attention. Ye might want to start off asking Llioni.”
“The cook?”
“Aye. I think I remember something about her being in charge.”
She was growing frustrated. “Llioni will not be doing any cooking. Or managing.”
He stopped brushing his hair. “Why no’?”
“Because she died three days ago.”
He shook his head and sighed. “Aye, she was getting up in years. God rest her soul.” He continued to brush his hair.
That wasn’t the reaction she was expecting. “Was there ever anyone in charge that ye remember?” Maybe she could learn from someone who knew what they were doing.
“My mam. But when she died over a year ago, my sister Fiona took over, but she married a few months back and moved to Ireland with her husband.”
“She didn’t train anyone?”
Kerrigan scratched his head. “Well, she did train Miriam a bit, but then she also got married and moved to the Highlands. ’Twas a bit of a hurried wedding, so I doona think she had time to do anything except prepare to leave.”
Christine was beginning to get the headache she’d be trying to avoid all day. All the women coming and going were making her dizzy. What it came down to, she was afraid, was that there was no one to do the job except her but no one available to train her.
And, more importantly, no one to cook.
When the lasses in the kitchen had told her about Llioni being dead, she’d asked them who had been cooking the last few days. Apparently, one of the young lasses had attempted but the people who ate in the keep were complaining.
Tired to the bone, Christine again looked around the room. “I cannot sleep in here, husband. I dread to think of what would crawl on me once I’m in bed.”
That familiar look immediately came into his eyes. “Well, lass, I ken who will crawl on ye in that bed.”
She huffed, her face growing hot. “Not yet. I am still not finished…”
His shoulders slumped. “Ah, I understand.”
“Seriously, Kerrigan. Where are we to sleep tonight? Are there no bedchambers that are somewhat clean?”
He took her by the elbow. “Come, let us eat whatever they prepared for supper, and we can ask the maids and see if they ken of any room we can use.”
“I really need to clean myself up from our journey. Do you think it is possible to get a bath?” Even as she asked, she realized it was unlikely. After all, the kitchen fires had been allowed to die; where else would she get hot water?
Again he scratched his head, which she realized was something he did when he was thinking. Or else when she asked him a question he didn’t know the answer to. “I think ’tis best to ask John.”
“Who is John?”
“The mon who helps in the stable.”
She smirked. “The one with straw in his hair?” If that was who she had to depend on to get her a bath, she was definitely not having one tonight.
Her frustration grew. She’d not had a bath in days. Was it possible the Scots didn’t bathe? That didn’t seem likely since she never noticed a bad odor coming from her husband. “Kerrigan,” she said, “how do you bathe?”
He shrugged. “In the loch.”
“And what about winter? Where do ye bathe then?”
“In the loch.”
Her eyes grew wide. “It is freezing in the winter.”
“Aye, but I am used to it.”
It didn’t seem worthwhile to ask him where the women of the castle bathed because she doubted very much if he knew. She was beginning to believe her husband knew absolutely nothing about the castle or the keep; his focus seemed to be only the sheep and the problems of the clan.
She looked around, hoping there was a basin or jug of water, but the two items stood on a table next to the wardrobe, empty. With a deep sigh, she walked to the bedchamber door, gave her husband a big smile she didn’t feel, took his extended hand as they left the room and descended the stairs to the great hall for supper. But of what use would it be to complain or take out her frustration on this man? She reminded herself she’d chosen him—without knowing him or his circumstances—as a way to avoid a life with a man she loathed. Despite all she’d seen so far, this was a better choice.
He patted her hand. “Do no’ fash yerself, lass. Once ye get everything under control, ye will see this is a wonderful place to live.”
So he did expect her to get things straightened out.
“I will meet ye at the dais in a minute.” Before he could question her, she hurried to the kitchen.
Chaos reigned.
Isla was shouting at two young maids who were rushing around, appearing to do nothing.
Supper didn’t smell at all appetizing and there didn’t appear to be any bread. She asked anyway. “Isla, do you have bread for the meal?”
“Nay. ’Tis Edward’s fault.” She waved her cooking spoon in the direction of a young lad, the contents from her spoon dripping onto the floor.
And her feet.
Her dirty, bare feet.
Continuing to wave the spoon around like a sword, bits of meat flying around the room, she continued, “The lad was supposed to go to the granary this morning and get the flour, but the mon told him he couldna give him any more flour until the bill was paid.”
Christine was aghast. “You mean the castle was denied flour because we are behind on the bill?”
A young man whom Christine assumed was Edward spoke up. “Aye, my lady, ’tis about six moons since we paid the mon.”
Her headache increased. “Go back to the granary and ask the man for an order of flour and tell him he will receive full payment tomorrow.” It was unlikely the flour would arrive in time for supper, but at least there would be bread when they broke their fast in the morning.
Edward shot out of the room on his quest, and Christine took a deep breath. At least something had been accomplished. “Is anyone aware of a room in this castle that is clean?”
“This is no’ the castle, my lady. This is the keep.” Isla answered.
Christine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. At least now she knew there was a difference between the castle and the keep. “I will re-phrase my question.” Two maids sitting side-by-side looked confusingly at each other, apparently not understanding her statement.
“Is there a clean bedchamber anywhere here? The castle, the keep, the stables, anywhere?”
“Aye, Jackson’s room in the stable is always clean. He does it himself e’er day.” Isla shrugged. “I doona ken why, but he does.”
“The old man?”
“Nay. John just hangs around the stable. He doesn’t work there, his job is to tend to the sheep.”
Of which they had none.
No doubt this group didn’t understand cleaning each day. “And that is the only room you know of that is clean? Is there no one assigned to the duty of cleaning the rooms?”
The other lass spoke up. “’Tis true. The rest of us leave after supper and return to our homes in the village, so we ne’er use any of the bedchambers. Since the laird’s mam passed and then Fiona got married and then Mariam, no one has really slept in the keep except the laird, Patrick, Neil, and the few guardsmen who don’t have a cottage in the village.”
And the laird had been gone for a month. That explained one of the reasons the castle—rather, the keep—was in such disarray. But that didn’t solve her immediate problem. “Someone please ask Jackson if the laird and I can use his bed for the night.”
“Aye, I will, my lady.” A young girl—she really had to learn their names—was off with Isla yelling at her that she needed her to begin bringing out the food. Based on what she’d seen so far, Christine made haste from the kitchen before she was asked to act as a maid. There were certain things she didn’t intend to do.
Kerrigan sat at the dais growing impatient. He had seen very little of Christine all day and it appeared that supper was not on time. There was a lot to do now that he’d returned with the money to take care of all those repairs that needed to be done as well as contacting the man from whom he’d purchased his flock from before.
Before all the sheep had died, they’d managed to save as much wool as they could. It had been washed, but the carding engine had broken down and without that, and the coin to either fix it or buy a new one, the entire production had come to a halt.
Tomorrow he would take a trip to Edinburgh and see about a new engine and also find other contacts to replace the sheep in case the man he usually bought from was unable to sell him any. He wondered, in fact, if the sheep farmer’s animals had been tainted by the disease that took his flock.
Just as he was about to go to the kitchen and find his wife and his supper, Christine appeared at the entrance to the great hall. She looked a tad frazzled and very tired. She walked to the dais and sat next to him. His cousin Patrick then joined them, sitting on Kerrigan’s other side.
“Do ye have any idea when supper will be brought out?” Kerrigan was quite hungry and those who ate at the keep kept looking at the entrance, waiting for the food.
“Isla is just gathering the maids to bring out the food.”
Kerrigan nodded as the young lasses came out with trays. They plunked bowls of some sort of stew on the tables, along with scant pieces of cheese. He looked at Mavis, one of the serving lasses, who had just turned to walk back to the kitchen. “Where is the bread, lass?”
She shrugged. “We doona have any.”
Christine nodded at Mavis and turned to Kerrigan. “I have arranged to have the overdue bill to the granary paid tomorrow, so there will be bread in the morning.”
He kept looking at the bowl of devil-knew-what and said, “No bread.”
“No.” Christine picked up her spoon and carefully dipped into the contents. She placed it in her mouth with a great deal of trepidation that—once the taste and texture settled on her tongue—had been well-deserved. But there was no fix for it. It would fill their bellies no matter the taste. She closed her eyes and shuddered as she swallowed.
Vile. Christine took a sip of ale to wash out her mouth before she turned to him. “We also will be sleeping in the stable tonight.”
He stared at her. “No bread?”