Tempting the Highlander (24 page)

The door opened and another man came in, but this one was far younger, shorter, and more portly. He was also agitated and was doing nothing to hide his frustration.

Returning her focus to the candle maker, Meriel asked, “Do you know where some beeswax is? I mean do we even have any?”

“Oh, aye, my lady. Lady McTiernay always ensures there is beeswax available for candle making.”

Meriel smiled and clapped her hands together. Problem averted. “Then I give you my permission to make today’s candles with beeswax, Jaime Darag.” She had scarcely finished the sentence when Jaime turned to leave and the angrier man stepped forward. “Let me guess, Fallon sent you to me.”

“Aye,” the man replied, crossing his arms. “You need to do something about those dogs!”

Meriel blinked. Dogs? “What . . . dogs?”

“Clyde’s dogs. He left them here and with Meghan visiting Lady Ellenor up north they are running loose and this morning they broke in and snatched most of the bread before I could chase them out again. Now there’s not enough to feed everyone tonight. You need to decide just who is going without.”

Meriel felt her mouth drop open. This could not be a typical day. And if it were, she had been right to loathe the job of Lady of the Castle. It was a nightmare without measure. She would rather be Myrna, who had to cut the vegetables, clean the pots, skin the meat, and deal with Fiona—the most disagreeable cook ever to be born.

With a sigh, she pointed to the door and followed the baker to the scene of the crime. She was no more than fifteen feet into the courtyard, when a scream was heard just as several of the livestock broke free from their pens. Within minutes the stable hands had the animals back under control, but not before three carts full of goods were turned over and several people got knocked down, some of whom were slow to rise on their feet again.

“My lady!”

Meriel shivered and glanced at the boy racing across the courtyard, ignoring the mess and the chaos around him. “The steward wants to know your decision about the Lower Hall’s rushes.”

Meriel closed her eyes. The next time the priest gave a sermon on hell, she would know just what he meant. She needed to last through today. For tomorrow, she was going to convince her identical twin sister to take her place.

Raelynd turned the village well’s handle and stared incredulously at the empty rope. Someone had removed the bucket, making it impossible for anyone to get any water. She was already angry for being made to do servants’ work, which had been compounded upon learning that the water she needed to clean everything with needed to be obtained by her.

Grabbing the two empty buckets, Raelynd marched back to Aileen’s cottage, located not far from the well, but certainly not close either. Inside, Aileen was playing with Bonny, teaching her how to stack wooden blocks high without them falling over. The boys were jumping around using blankets from the beds as capes and sticks for swords. Raelynd felt her frustration rise again at seeing the woman do nothing but entertain herself and several children.

“Aileen?” No response. “Aileen, there is no bucket in the village well. We are going to have to get one of the servants to bring us water from the castle’s water supply.”

Aileen grinned at the little blond girl in front of her and shook her head. “No, no, no,” she cooed. “One of the boys must have taken it again. Just tie one of ours on the rope.”

Raelynd opened her mouth to protest. Tying one bucket to the rope meant she would only have one to carry water, doubling her labor and her trips. Saying so would be pointless as it had obviously happened before and this had been Aileen’s solution. Forcing herself to remain silent, Raelynd took both buckets back to the well and did as suggested.

During the third trip, Raelynd felt her fingers begin to ache as the metal handle pinched her skin. She switched back to her right hand, but it had not recovered from carrying it previously. Carrying two buckets would not have been possible. They were incredibly heavy and the weight of the water only seemed to grow with each trip.

“There,” she said, nearly out of breath as she almost dropped the bucket onto the table.

Aileen looked down at the damp wood from where the water had sloshed over. “Well, I guess you can begin with the table. Today is cleaning day and everything in this cottage must be scoured and rinsed.” Seeing Raelynd’s appalled expression, Aileen waved her hand and smiled as if she understood the horror she was asking. “Finn hates his home to be soiled in any way and it wasn’t until I had Gideon that I could convince him to reduce the chore to once a week! Anyway, there’s a cloth on the chair behind you. Just dip it in the water and start here at the table and work your way through this room and into the bedrooms. Oh, and before it gets much later, you should think about supper. Finn will be coming home in an hour or so and will want something to eat as will the children, myself... and you of course.”

The simply stated request vexed Raelynd enormously. “I’m supposed to cook supper? Am I also to prepare tonight’s dinner?” Raelynd gasped.

“No, no. Just this afternoon’s meal. Because Finn is the commander of the laird’s elite guard, we are invited to the castle to dine at night.”

“But I can’t . . .” Raelynd whispered as terror twisted in her stomach. She had overseen the preparation of food and meals many times, but to cook it herself? She didn’t know where to begin.

“I do it every day. Be glad you don’t have to manage the young ones at the same time.” Aileen chuckled with supposed encouragement. “I’ll talk you through the steps and you will realize it is not that difficult a task. The meat can wait until tomorrow to be skinned. Finn won’t like it but he can survive until dinner on just vegetables, fruits, and bread.”

Raelynd felt as if her chest had collapsed and all the air in her lungs had escaped. Was Aileen serious?
Skin the meat?
Raelynd was more than familiar with the onerous chore and had yelled at many a scullery maid for wasting meat by skinning it poorly. But physically doing the chore itself? Never.

“Tomorrow you will need to make a trip either to the castle or one of the nearby farms for more vegetables, but I am fairly certain we have enough to feed everyone today,” Aileen said as she continued looking around. “You’ll need more water for cooking the vegetables and of course you’ll need to start the fire. Oh, I didn’t clean the hearth this morning, so that must be done first. At least the outside woodpile has been replenished.”

Raelynd stood transfixed, unable to speak or move. Aileen sighed with compassion. She bent down and picked up Bonny and cradled the young girl on her hip. “I realize you may not be aware of all that must take place to keep a home running—”

The comment snapped Raelynd back into the present. If Aileen thought managing a single cottage home difficult, she had no idea the effort it took to oversee a castle and the needs of multiple families, not just one. “I am more than aware, Aileen.”

Laurel’s friend reached up and yanked off the kertch from her head to reveal the lovely tawny mass it had been concealing. “Then I guess I should leave you to do what you know must be done. Children! Come! Let’s go play in the meadow and give Lady Raelynd some room.” A minute later, Aileen was gone and Raelynd was left alone to prepare for Finn and his afternoon supper.

Raelynd collapsed on her bed. She should be dressing and preparing for dinner—something she not only had been looking forward to all day, but needed. Her body, however, was not cooperating. Every muscle was exhausted and aching with pain. But that throbbing in her limbs was nothing compared to the sharp pounding in her head. She had lived nearly twenty-two years and in that time, never had she been scolded and admonished as she had been today.

Oh, Aileen had used a pleasant tone with each and every nitpicking thing she found to be corrected, but Raelynd knew it was not genuine. For it was the exact tone she herself used with her servants when giving them instruction. The difference was that Aileen
knew
the effort it took to perform all the chores. Finn, however, did not care and in his home, it did not matter whose daughter you were or to whom you were engaged. When Aileen stated that the man did not like his home to be soiled, Raelynd had thought she meant obvious grime, not a thin layer of dust on the mantel no one was using! The man was insufferable!

He complained at the lack of meat and asked why the newly harvested crops were not being served. He bemoaned the vegetables he was given, claiming them to be poorly cooked and bland. Both assessments she inwardly agreed with, but it bothered her that neither he nor Aileen cared that she had never cooked before and was just learning how to manage all that she needed to do in the short amount of time she had. An encouraging word was what she had needed. Not a tedious account of all she failed to do well.

Raelynd closed her eyes, recounting Aileen’s routine.

Clean on Monday
Wash on Tuesday
Mend on Wednesday
Churn on Thursday
Bake on Friday
Visit the sick on Saturday
Rest on Sunday

Sunday was a very very long time away.

She had survived Monday, but Tuesday was laundry—the one chore for which she demanded near perfection from her servants. Would Aileen be just as critical? Maybe she could convince Meriel to change places with her. But before she could plan out how and when, Raelynd was asleep, still dressed in her soiled kirtle and with slippers on her feet.

“You are still doing it wrong. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?” Brenna asked candidly, as only a young child could without fear of retribution.

The young boys in the room began to giggle and Meriel closed her eyes and counted to five, wishing again that she had risen in time to talk with Raelynd about switching roles. Unfortunately she had fallen asleep and only awakened when Fallon started pounding on her door. “My mother died when I was twelve,” Meriel finally answered.

Brenna was not sympathetic. “I’m only seven and I know all the dances. How are you supposed to teach what you don’t know?”

Meriel bristled, praying someone would come in and ask for the little girl. Brenna’s question was a legitimate one, but it rankled that it came from someone so young. Raelynd probably did know everything Brenna did at the same age. She had received such instruction like a dry cloth absorbed water. Meriel had resisted against such teachings and her mother acquiesced to her rebellion. She never knew the Lady of the Castle also was responsible for educating a handful of selected young boys on the topics of religion, music, dancing, and hunting before they grew old enough to begin weapon training.

“Ah-hem.” Meriel twisted to look who was clearing his throat in an effort to gain her attention. No surprise, it was Fallon.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved at the possibility that she was going to have to end this week’s lessons prematurely or fearful at what new problem he was going to pass on for her to handle. Didn’t he remember yesterday? She could still hear Fallon’s booming voice ringing in her ears about how no one who grew up in a castle could be so inept as to how to run one.

“Fallon,” she acknowledged.

“You are needed, my lady, in the buttery.”

Meriel rose to her feet and followed Fallon to the corridor that linked directly to the buttery and the kitchens. Meriel scanned the small room and could find nothing wrong. The bakery had been complete mayhem, but here the barrels lined up against the back wall appeared to be intact, no leaks were visible, and nothing seemed to be amiss. “Everything looks fine, Fallon.”

The burly steward’s face turned bright red so that it nearly matched the scarlet streaks in his gray beard. “Count the barrels, my lady.”

Meriel did as asked. “I see five.”

“On average, my lady, do you know how many people drink the castle’s ale on a given day?”

A heaviness centered in Meriel’s chest as another lecture was about to begin.

“There are typically between seventy and eighty people who depend on this buttery for their drink. Half of those are soldiers either coming in from the training fields eager for their turn at a warm meal and a mug of ale or are standing guard, protecting this place through day and night. The other half are people who serve this place with little acknowledgment of their efforts. But the one thing they are assured of is four to five large mugs of ale each day,” Fallon finished, swinging a large mug that was more the size of a small pitcher than a drinking cup.

Meriel swallowed and remained mum for she knew Fallon was not yet done. “A single barrel holds thirty-two gallons, enough for just over two dozen men. And with four unopened barrels and one already being drained, the buttery does
not
look fine, my lady. It looks empty. The ale will be gone before tomorrow’s end and all will be looking to you to decide who will go without.”

Meriel stared at him in astonishment.
“Me?”
she asked incredulously. “Why me?”

“You are the Lady of the Castle.”

A frisson of anger went up Meriel’s spine. “I’ll tell you right now that I will not be making that decision. I had nothing to do with the stores getting so low and I will not be involved in angering those to be affected by someone’s poor performance,” she huffed.