Chapter Twenty-Eight
“It’s been two bluidy weeks since everyone turned against me!” Emma shouted at Morgan as he finishing pleating his plaid, readying himself for the day.
He looked over at her with a surprise expression on his face. “Emma, I ne’er heard ye speak like that.”
She fisted her hands at her side. “That is because I’ve ne’er been this angry before.”
Morgan sighed. “I have problems, Emma. Many of them. I’m finding my way, too. I can’t make the people like ye.” He finished fastening the neckline of his léine and started tugging on his boots.
Morgan still limped but it was slight enough that she felt confident he would be pain-free soon. He didn’t practice on the list, which she thought had more to do with pride since he didn’t want to appear unable to swing a sword properly in front of his people.
She stopped admiring her husband and replayed his words in her head. “Do ye ken how that sounds? I had plenty of friends at Castle Leod. I dinna need anyone to make people like me. The clan actually liked me, and respected me as a healer.”
“Give them time. They will like ye here as well.” He stared at his waistline then rearranged the pleats in the front of his plaid.
“Like me! They loathe me. Thanks to whoever turned everyone against me—and I have my suspicions—they all consider me the enemy. I keep looking behind me, waiting for an attack.”
He placed his hands on his hips and glared at her. “I have my own problems. My limp is a constant reminder to everyone that I was absent from the clan for a month and that during that time Patrick took over what he’d planned to be a permanent spot as laird of the clan.”
She waved her arm around. “So throw him in the dungeon and be done with it!”
Morgan walked over to her and placed his knuckle under her chin. “I doona want to fight with ye, lass. But ye must understand that with the problems I have ye need to fix this yourself.” Then he kissed her on her nose like a bairn, and left the room.
Emma picked up one of her heavy garden boots and threw it at the door.
She sat on the bed and held back the tears. She couldn’t understand what had happened. Things had started out so well when she’d arrived.
Margaret had been happy to learn healing from her, and she’d been more than welcomed in the kitchen. Mary was happy to learn new foods from her, and they spent time visiting with each other over cups of tea and mugs of ale.
She’d taken over the healing herb garden, and just as she was beginning to see some of her hard work pay off, she was visited by Maisie, who told her there were others to do that job.
Maisie.
She’d appeared a few days after Morgan and Emma had arrived, stating she’d been visiting her family in the Oliphant clan. Since he knew her, Morgan had welcomed her back and immediately forgotten about her.
Shortly after that, things turned sour.
She made known to Emma right away that even though Emma was married to the laird, all the chatelaine duties belonged to her. She’d been doing them for years for the former Laird Gunn and didn’t need any help, thank you verra much.
Within a few days, Margaret informed her that she no longer needed Emma’s help in the healing hut. The poor girl blushed furiously when she told her that Maisie had said she should not bother the lady of the castle with healing issues.
When Emma sought her out, the chatelaine said it was the lady of the castle’s place to do embroidery and other lady things and leave the supervision of the servants to the chatelaine.
“But where I was raised, the lady of the castle was the chatelaine.”
Maisie shook her head. “Nay, my lady.” Then she merely turned her back and walked away.
Then the rumors started. It was passed around that Morgan had been forced to marry her or remain a prisoner of the Mackenzie clan.
The purpose of the forced marriage, she’d learned by listening at doors—much to her embarrassment—was to have Emma act at the Gunn clan as a spy for the Mackenzies who planned to take over the Gunns.
The keep’s dislike and distrust for her grew. Her food arrived cold, even though Morgan’s was not. No one cleaned their bedchamber, leaving that chore to her, which she didn’t mind since it gave her something to do.
Now, after wiping the angry tears from her cheeks, she drank a mug of ale which was delivered warmed—and left the room.
As she made her way to the kitchen, it occurred to her again that she’d had an easy life at Castle Leod.
She’d been accepted all her life, and once she began work as a healer, she’d been respected. At the Gunn keep they glared at her, believing she was brought with Morgan, not as a dutiful wife, but as a spy for he Mackenzie.
Gregory and his men had left a week before at Morgan’s insistence. He’d told her that he would never be accepted as their leader if he always had Gregory behind him.
The kitchen was, as always, busy. It took a lot of hands and a lot of work to keep the clan fed. She entered with a deliberately bright smile for Mary, the cook who had been so kind to her when she’d first arrived and who now barely acknowledged her.
“Good morn, Mary.”
The woman merely nodded and continued to stir what looked like a large kettle of porridge.
Emma sighed. “I would like to speak with ye when ye get a moment.”
Not turning back to her, Mary mumbled. “I ne’er have a moment.”
“I need ye to make some time for us to meet and discuss the food stores.”
“’Tis done.”
Emma fisted her hands at her side and ground her teeth so hard she was sure they were about to break. “Mary, if ye like it or no’ I am the laird’s wife, with the authority to supervise the employees, check the menus, and take a survey of the food in storage.”
Silence.
The lasses at the table kept their heads down during the exchange, a couple of them smiling at each other.
Not willing to give up, Emma walked over to Mary and stepped in front of her. “Please have someone take over the stirring of the porridge and come with me.”
“Ye have no authority here!” She slammed her cooking spoon down on the table, startling the girls chopping vegetables. “Ye are a spy! Our laird was forced to marry ye because Mackenzie needed a spy and the only way he would release our laird was if he married ye so ye could spy on us!”
Emma’s mouth dropped open at hearing this directly from the cook. “That is completely untrue. I am no’ a spy. And the reason yer laird and I married is no one’s business but ours.”
The woman huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. Emma was almost desperate enough to appeal to the lasses at the table and then realized how pathetic she would appear.
Stiffening her body, she turned and left the kitchen, knowing she’d just made a big mistake in her effort to take control, but since she was on the verge of tears, it was better to leave with her dignity intact.