Chapter 9
Still angry at Osgar’s insolence with Fiona, Erik left her to return to the men who were working in the forest, his temper cooling as he went.
But on the way, he encountered him, seated on a log in a patch of sunshine.
“Ye were supposed to be helping with the trees,” Erik reminded him.
“What are ye doing here? And what were ye doing with my wife instead of working?”
Erik was glad to see his earlier warning had some effect on the man. Though his expression quickly became surly, just as quickly, he apparently thought better of it, stood, and shrugged. “I heard she wanted to speak to everyone. ’Twas as good an excuse as any to leave the work for a while.”
“Ye’d have been better served to do the job ye were given. If I catch ye shirking yer work again, I will have to punish ye.”
“Will ye?” Suddenly, his insolence returned. “Can ye punish every man of Ross? Now that ye have a woman to warm yer bed, ’tis all ye care about.”
“Ye ken that isna true or I’d be there and no’ here, dealing with yer lack of sense. All the men, save ye, are hard at work to strengthen our defenses. Ye want a strong leader like Donas? What do ye think Donas wouldha done if he overheard ye threatening his wife?”
The man paled. Donas would have killed him and they both knew it.
Erik didn’t give him time to react to realizing that Erik was serious.
He shoved Osgar backwards with stiff fingers to the chest. “Ye recall it now, aye? Ye’d be a dead man already.
Donas would have dragged ye out of his cot and ended yer life in full view of the entire clan.
Is that the kind of leader ye want? I can be that kind, too, if ye provoke me. Threatening my wife will do it.”
The man quailed, stepping farther away from Erik until his back hit a tree.
Erik pounced, but with words, rather than using his fists, Fiona’s cautions fresh in his mind.
“Make sure ye understand, and tell yer friends, they dinna want to take me on. They’ll lose.
And they’re wrong, as are ye. Donas wasna a strong leader.
He was a bully. Instead of stealing lasses and picking fights with neighboring clans, a strong leader would have already done what was needed to protect this clan, to make this village fit to live in.
If ye lot have enough energy to fight me, I have a better use for it.
Ye can haul rock in addition to chopping trees for the curtain wall.
And if ye refuse yer laird’s orders, dinna wait.
Gather yer things and leave Ross. Ye willna have a future here. No’ one ye will want to live through.”
Frustrated after the argument with Erik, Fiona sank into the chair she’d vacated when he arrived to oust her unwelcome visitor, and dropped her head into her hands.
He was right, but he was also wrong. The blade’s weight along her thigh told her she could have defended herself.
The element of surprise would have worked in her favor.
Even Erik didn’t know she had it on her person.
But she couldn’t fault his determination to protect her.
She was a stranger here. If she was as wise as she’d reminded him to be, she’d pay attention to what he told her, and take care as she met with everyone.
They would learn more about her, too, and she couldn’t guess how they would use that information.
But Erik’s earlier warning had given her the steel in her spine to anticipate what Osgar was thinking and threatening, and to stand up to him. For that, she was grateful.
On a sigh, she pushed to her feet. She needed to get moving, to do something productive other than sitting and talking. Her list of potential tasks was long and would grow longer with the complaints and ideas of every person she spoke to.
Winter was coming. Did anyone keep an inventory of food supplies and what it took for the clan to get through the cold months?
The cook would know, and he would not be cutting down trees.
He would be preparing the next meal, one to satisfy hungry men after spending the day doing back-breaking labor.
His cot was on the opposite side of the village.
She’d yet to visit it, and its size surprised her.
Larger than most, it must be where foodstuffs were stored, and where most of the meal preparation took place.
The door stood open, delicious scents wafting out.
A small group of children of varying ages stood peering inside.
She realized it was nearly time for the midday meal.
“Greetings,” she said as she approached. She didn’t want to startle them. “Is the cook within?” She knew he must be, given their fascination with whatever was going on in there.
One of the children, a tall, thin lass with curly red hair, turned. “Ye are the new Lady Ross?”
“Aye, I am. And who are all of ye?”
“I am Sara,” the girl reported. And these are Roban, Ciaran, and the wee one is Cadan.”
“I’m no’ a wee one,” the youngest lad insisted in a piping voice. Fiona guessed him to be four or five years old. The other lads seemed a year or two older, and the taller lass must be nine or ten.
“Nay, ye are no’ wee, Cadan,” Fiona assured him.
The cook, who must have heard their voices, came to the door. “Ah, Lady Ross, ’tis good to see ye. What can I do for ye?”
“I didna realize when I headed this way how close it is to time for the midday meal. Can I help ye in any way? I havena broken any dishes in years.”
Cook grinned. “Well, ye could help me see these bairns fed. Would ye all like that? For the clan’s lady to help ye?”
“Aye!” rang out in an enthusiastic chorus. “We’re hungry,” the wee lad chimed in.
“Then come to the table,” Cook ordered and beckoned the bairns and Fiona inside with a smile.
“I usually feed the young ones first, so they’re settled before the older lads and lasses and the adults arrive.
And with the men working in the forest today, they’ll be late but hungrier than usual, I’ll wager. ”
The laddies and lassie settled on stools around the cook’s large table with such certainty that Fiona knew they did this often. Cook went back to the stone hearth at one end of the long cot and ladled steaming fragrant stew into bowls. “Let that cool a wee,” he warned.
“I see that,” Fiona agreed. She took spoons to the table and a stack of cloths for the children to use to protect their clothes or wipe up any inevitable spills.
Cups followed and a pitcher of weak, watered cider, more suited to children’s palates than ale.
After a few minutes, she carried each child a bowl of stew and placed it before them.
“Ye ken how to test if ’tis still too hot, aye? ”
“Aye,” wee Cadan shouted, then giggled.
Fiona could tell he had no idea. The others gave him side-eyed glances and nodded. “Tip of the tongue, or a drop on the wrist,” Sara reported. “Nay a spoonful unless we want to burn our mouths.”
“Very good,” Fiona praised. “I’m glad to see Ross raises such wise bairns.”
“What is wise?” One of the other lads asked. Roban.
“Smart, daftie,” Ciaran, the other lad told him, then tested his stew. “I will be wise and wait a wee while longer,” he announced.
“That is indeed most wise of ye,” Fiona agreed, though her own belly was rumbling from the delicious smells and the fact that she’d not eaten yet today.
Cook brought another bowl and spoon and gestured her to the empty seat where he placed them.
“Ye needna wait for the rest of the adults. I’ll join ye, too. ”
Before long, everyone was full and entertained by stories the cook told.
Fiona appreciated getting a glimpse of life at Ross from a perspective the children understood.
Once they ran off to play, she helped Cook clean up the lunch and asked him about supplies for the winter.
He filled her in on what they had on hand and how they preserved and stored it.
The inventory relieved some of her concerns, but not all.
They would need the men to do more hunting and fishing through the winter to supplement what was already stored.
“Should I look into getting more supplies from Inverness markets? I ken the vendors there, and have been to market many times. If there’s aught ye need or want that ye dinna grow here, we could attend market day before the harvest is done.
” There were supplies available in Inverness that might be scarce here.
Seed stocks, barley, things they should be able to grow.
It was time to plant winter crops, and to plan for spring crops.
There were also things like wines and ales there.
Fabrics from the low countries and France, some luxuries, but some simply sturdy and useful.
“I have also been to that market,” Cook informed her, “though rarely. Donas didna approve of spending clan resources there for things he could steal from others.” He glanced around at shelves lined with pots and topped with bunches of dried herbs.
“Let me think on what we might need that would make such a journey worthwhile.”
“Very well. I’ll discuss the option with Erik…
Laird Ross…and get his approval ahead of time.
Then if ye decide there’s aught ye need, we can take an escort and go on the next market day.
” And most personally, she wanted to go back to the house to retrieve clothes and other things left behind.
Her belongings might still be there. Lia and Hamish’s, too.
The house might still stand unoccupied. Arabella had left it to her, with the intention that she would also give Lia and possibly Hamish a place to live.
But now that she was married into Ross, she didn’t know what to do about it.
And something kept her from mentioning that she owned it to Erik or anyone else, save Mary.