CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next morning began before Grizel had quite found her way back to herself.
A hand touched her shoulder, gentle but relentless, and when she opened her eyes, Eilidh was standing beside the bed with two other women behind her.
One was carrying fresh linen and the other a tray of pins, ribbons, and folded cloth.
“Up with ye, me lady,” Eilidh urged. “The house doesnae wait for anyone.”
Grizel blinked against the grey morning light. For one confused heartbeat, she did not know where she was. The chamber was unfamiliar, the bed too large, the walls too thick, and the air carrying the cold mineral scent of sea-stone rather than the drier draft of Calder.
Then memory returned all at once.
Malcolm’s hall. The rite. The red cord. The narrow passage. His voice in the dark.
Her body warmed before she could stop it.
Grizel sat up too sharply. “I am awake.”
“Aye,” Eilidh smiled, with no sign that she believed this meant anything useful. “Now we must make ye ready.”
Ready, it seemed, did not mean merely dressed.
By the time Grizel’s hair had been pinned, her gown fastened, and a cup of watered ale pressed into her hand, she had been moved from sleep into motion with such efficiency that protest was no longer an option.
Eilidh led her from the chamber into the passage, and the two other women followed, speaking quietly between themselves about linens, storerooms, and the state of the winter apples as if these subjects were matters of war.
Perhaps, Grizel soon realized, they were.
The castle unfolded before her a piece at a time.
First came the upper rooms where guest chambers gave way to family chambers, each with its own purpose and rank.
Then the linen room, fragrant with lavender and dried heather, and shelves rising high with folded sheets, blankets, and cloth carefully marked for use.
Eilidh showed her how each store was counted, what could be given out freely, what required permission, and what must be saved for storm damage, illness, or unexpected guests.
“Unexpected guests?” Grizel asked.
Eilidh glanced at her. “We have had one or two.”
Grizel chose to ignore the amusement in her voice.
After that came the kitchens, hot and roaring with life though the day had hardly begun.
Women moved between tables with flour on their hands.
A boy turned a spit near the fire, his face red from the heat.
Another carried a basket of onions nearly as large as himself.
The cook looked Grizel over once, decided something privately, and gave a brisk nod that felt like cursory permission to occupy space in her territory.
“This is where ye come if stores are short, if mouths increase, if men are sent out without warning, or if the weather traps us all inside,” Eilidh informed her. “Food tells ye the health of a house before any laird will.”
Grizel listened. She listened when they showed her the locked store for salt, grain, and dried fish.
She listened when they named the servants responsible for candles, cloth, soap, herbs, medicines, fuel, and keys.
She listened when an older woman named Fenella explained which lower passage flooded in heavy rain, which stair was fastest to the hall, which door stuck in winter, and which outer gate must never be left unbarred after dusk.
Every instruction was practical, and every instruction was also a warning. This was not a tour. This was not courtesy offered to a guest. They were teaching her the bones of a place she was expected to help keep alive.
By midmorning, Grizel’s head was crowded with names, doors, stores, routines, and responsibilities.
Her injured leg had begun to ache, but she gave no sign of it.
Pride held her upright where strength occasionally wavered.
She would not be the delicate Calder lady who required chairs and pity before noon.
“Are ye remembering all this, me lady?” Fenella asked as they passed through a narrow workroom where women mended sailcloth by the windows.
“Aye,” Grizel nodded.
The woman gave a doubtful hum. “We shall see.”
Grizel turned to her with a faint smile.
“Ye keep rosemary with the linens against moths, but lavender for guest bedding. The lower grain store must be checked after wet wind, because the north wall sweats. Candle stubs arenae thrown out but melted again for servants’ use.
The blue-marked blankets are for fever rooms only, and if the western stair smells of damp rushes, the roof above the passage wants checking. ”
Fenella stopped walking. Eilidh hid a smile.
After a moment, the older woman grunted. “Aye… well enough.”
It should not have pleased Grizel as much as it did.
They continued. At every doorway, she felt the same quiet pressure. It wasn’t spoken aloud, never crudely stated, but present all the same.
This will be yours tae ken.
These will be yer people tae answer tae.
This will be yer house tae hold.
By the time the sun had climbed high enough to lay pale light across the inner courtyard, Grizel’s body had begun to betray her.
The ache in her leg was no longer a single point of pain but a deep, pulsing weariness that climbed into her hip and made every step feel uncertain.
Her stomach felt hollow, though she could not remember whether she had eaten more than two bites at dawn.
The names of rooms and servants began to blur at the edges. She still said nothing.
They were passing through the lower hall when Malcolm appeared at the far end of it.
Grizel noticed him before anyone announced him.
That irritated her. She seemed now to sense him as one sensed weather turning.
The women around her straightened almost imperceptibly, but Malcolm’s eyes were already on Grizel, taking in what she had not said.
Her grip tightened around the folded list Eilidh had given her. He crossed the hall with his usual unhurried pace, but when he reached them, his gaze dropped briefly to the way she stood with most of her weight on one leg.
Grizel lifted her chin before he could speak. “If ye have come tae ask whether I am lost, I am nae.”
“I can see that.”
“Then perhaps ye have come tae inspect whether I have mismanaged yer linen stores already.”
“Nae,” he shook his head.
His eyes moved over her face, almost as if he were seeing her for the first time and wanted to memorize every line of her face.
Then he looked past her. “Eilidh.”
“Aye, me laird?”
“Bring some food and water.”
Grizel stiffened. “That isnae necessary.”
Malcolm did not look at her. “It is.”
“I am fine.”
“Ye dinnae look it,” he pointed out without any malice in his voice.
Eilidh wisely vanished before Grizel could appeal to her for loyalty. The betrayal was immediate and complete.
Grizel turned fully toward him. “I am quite capable of kenning whether I require food.”
“Are ye?” His tone was mild enough to be insulting.
She narrowed her eyes. “I havenae collapsed.”
“Yet… and if I might add, that is an admirable standard.”
She frowned, though she could see that his intention wasn’t to make her feel bad. It was simply to make her eat.
“I have walked through half this castle since dawn,” she told him.
“I ken.”
“Then ye ken I am managing”
“Aye,” he said. “Badly.”
Before she could answer, Eilidh returned with a small tray as though she had conspired with him from the beginning. Bread, cheese, sliced apple, and a cup of water were set on a nearby table. Grizel looked at the tray as if it had personally offended her.
Malcolm gestured toward the bench. “Sit.”
She inhaled before speaking. “I said I am fine.
He looked down then back up at her. “Then take the chair because yer leg hurts.”
Her breath caught. His eyes flickered, and she knew he had seen it. That infuriated her more than the order, the fact that he was attentive enough to notice and act on it.
“I have endured worse than a sore leg,” she told him.
“I dinnae doubt it.”
The answer landed softer than she expected. There was no mockery in it and no pity either. There was only certainty, and something beneath it that made her throat tighten.
She looked away first. With as much dignity as one could manage while being silently bullied toward bread, Grizel sat. She did not touch the food. Malcolm remained standing nearby.
She glanced up at him. “Are ye waiting tae see whether I obey?”
“Aye.”
“Then ye may be standing there some time.”
He shrugged. “I am patient.”
“Since when?”
His mouth almost moved. “Since I became responsible for troublesome women who make poor decisions about rest.”
Her eyes widened in mock shock. “I am nae troublesome.”
“Nae?”
“Nae.”
He looked at her for one long, level moment.
Grizel picked up a piece of bread if only to stop herself from arguing further. “This proves naething.”
“It proves ye sometimes dinnae pay enough attention tae yerself, and I will nae stand for it.”
She nearly choked on the first bite. “Ye really are impossible, dae ye ken that?”
“Aye.”
“At least try tae deny it,” she retorted playfully.
“I try nae tae lie before supper.”
Despite herself, despite the ache and the exhaustion and the humiliating warmth spreading through her chest, Grizel almost smiled. She crushed it ruthlessly and reached for the water instead.
She did so under Malcolm’s watchful eye.
He stood with arms folded and his expression severe, as though ensuring she ate was merely another matter of household order.
Yet he did not leave. He did not hand the matter to Eilidh.
He remained there, close enough that every bite became an awareness of him.
“Ye dinnae need tae behave as if I were fragile,” she urged.
His gaze sharpened. “Ye are injured.”
“Still, I am nae made of spun glass.”
“Nae,” he agreed. “Spun glass would be quieter.”
She glared.
He continued, dry as ever. “And less likely tae board a ship pursued by armed men.”
“That was just one time,” she replied in mock exasperation.
“One memorable time,” he corrected.
She set the cup down with deliberate care. “I dislike being watched over as if I were an insolent child.”
“I had gathered.”
She pouted at him. “And yet ye persist.”
“Aye.”
“Why?”
The question came out sharper than she intended.
Perhaps it was because the answer mattered to her.
Or perhaps, it was because every quiet act of care from him unsettled her more than any threat could have done.
Threats she knew how to resist. This was different.
This slipped beneath defenses she had built for crueler men.
Malcolm was silent for a moment. Then, his words came as if he had chosen them with great care.
“Because ye are currently injured and inconveniently alive under me responsibility.”
The words were rough, and almost careless. Yet his eyes did not leave hers, and there was nothing careless in them. Grizel’s fingers tightened around the edge of the tray.
“Inconveniently alive,” she repeated.
“Very.”
“Ye are terrible at comfort.”
“I wasnae attempting it.”
“Nae,” she said softly. “I suppose ye werenae.”
Something passed between them then, quiet and more intense than their usual banter.
She could call it concern, though he would not name it.
She could also call it awareness, though she wished she could deny it.
Or perhaps it was the growing certainty that his care had begun to sound less like obligation and more like a habit forming before either of them had agreed to it.
His responsibility.
Soon, she would be something else. The thought made her look down at the tray. She silently ate another bite.
Malcolm stayed. He stayed while Eilidh pretended not to watch from the far side of the room.
He stayed while the castle moved around them, while servants passed with careful eyes and the day’s work went on.
He said nothing more about her leg. He did not ask whether she was tired.
He simply waited until the bread was gone, the apple finished, and the cup emptied.
Only then did he step back.
“Try not tae be injured again,” he advised.
Grizel looked up. “That is yer parting advice?”
“Aye.”
“How thoughtful.”
“It would certainly make me day simpler.”
“Then I shall endeavor tae inconvenience ye at every opportunity.”
This time, the corner of his mouth shifted. It was tiny movement, practically invisible. It affected her absurdly.
“I dinnae doubt it,” he smirked.
Then he turned and left her there with the tray, the ache in her leg, and the uncomfortable knowledge that Malcolm MacAulay’s concern was beginning to feel less like a cage and more like shelter.
Grizel hated that.
She hated even more that, for the first time in far too long, she had eaten because someone had noticed she needed to.