by Wine, Mary
“My laird,” she greeted Buchanan as she passed.
The laird jerked, clearly taken by surprise. She hid her expression and lowered herself prettily.
Then she placed a bucket at the base of the steps.
“What are ye about, mistress?” the laird asked.
“I’m tasked with cleaning these steps,” she replied as she dunked a cloth into the water and carried it to the first step. It made a wet plop as it landed on the stone.
Buchanan stared at her for a long moment before he strode away.
She slowly washed the first step, lingering over it while she made sure the laird wasn’t planning to return. She peeked into the hall later and discovered Buchanan had gone to his chambers.
She smiled with victory. The chill in her fingers was worth being able to keep the laird from going up the stairs. He couldn’t form an attachment if he wasn’t alone with the Lindsey girl. Of course, that was only one part of succeeding. The Lindsey girl didn’t seem to hate the Mackenzie in spite of him taking her hostage.
So, Innis would have to make sure Rhedyn had a reason to hate Buchanan.
*
“Here now,” Innis said sweetly the next evening. “That is no’ a task for a man.”
Tyree angled his head so he could peer at her. The Butler was trying to decide just what she meant.
Innis fluttered her eyelashes and scooped up the bucket dangling from his fingers. “A maid should see to delivering this abovestairs. Ye have more important matters to attend to.”
“I hold the keys,” Tyree said.
Innis played her part well. She looked at the Butler and blinked as though she hadn’t considered that fact.
“Oh…yes,” she muttered. “Still, it is the duty of a maid to be carrying meals and chamber pots.” She suddenly flashed him a smile. “I’ll follow ye up and take the chamber pot away while ye see to the matter of holding the keys.”
Innis knew there were plenty listening to her. But the other maids never allowed Tyree to see them watching. Instead, they continued to work as though they were oblivious. They weren’t. Innis knew they were absorbing every word, because just like her, they all knew information was valuable.
“Well then…” She didn’t want the Butler to ponder the matter too long. Tyree wasn’t the sharpest man, but he didn’t lack all sense.
“Aye,” Tyree spoke. “I won’t be arguing over the task of emptying a chamber pot.”
He turned with a jingle of his keys. Innis caught one of the maids sending her a raised eyebrow, but Innis only scooped up the bucket from the table and followed Tyree. There would be a price to pay to the other girls, because silence wasn’t free, but Innis wouldn’t think about that at the moment. She needed to find a way to cultivate hate in Rhedyn. She couldn’t do anything if the Lindsey girl was locked away. Emptying a chamber pot was a small price to pay for the opportunity to ensure the next time Rhedyn had a choice on how to behave, she lashed out at her captors. A nice, neat wedge between the laird and her would serve Innis’s purpose well.
Tyree opened the lock and pulled the chain loose. Innis walked through the door once the Butler opened it wide for her and made certain Rhedyn was standing in one of the far corners. The storeroom wasn’t an unfamiliar place to Innis. She controlled the urge to smile because she knew the storeroom had often been used for trysts.
And by whom.
She looked across the expanse of the bare floor, expecting to see the bundles of pelts a couple of the Retainers had left there for pillows when they decided to attempt to lure one of the maids up for a liaison.
But the bundles were gone. Their location wasn’t a mystery, for she saw the blanket. The chore of seeing to the chamber pot was suddenly unimportant. She hummed on her way down the steps, anticipation filling her.
Was it unkind of her?
To be so focused on making sure the Lindsey girl suffered? It wasn’t as though Innis planned to bully the girl for the long term. No. She simply needed to make certain Buchanan received a cold shoulder from his hostage. The laird wouldn’t question such a response all that much, not when he’d taken the girl from her home.
As a maid, Innis was ignored for the most part. She might have taken to feeling pity for her plight, but instead, she’d chosen to use her less-than-important position in life to gain the things she craved. Information, well, there was something which held value. The trick was to discover who would pay the most for a bit of secret knowledge while doing her best to remain unnoticed.
And she wouldn’t be shamed for it either. Was her business any different than those who had more money and higher positions? No, she was increasing her holdings, one silver penny at a time.
Innis was only looking out for herself. After all, no one else would.
*
“Why does Mistress Lindsey no’ sit at supper with us?”
Buchanan flinched as his sister asked the question. Her voice was so innocent. Falsely so, for Cora wasn’t that tender in years. But she was illuminating something everyone sitting at the high table would likely rather never discuss with her. His captains might consider it fair what they were doing to Rhedyn, but they also knew it was foul business.
His sister was his father’s child all the way to her toenails, by Christ.
His captain, Graham, looked up with a scowl but froze once he realized who had voiced the name of their hostage. Buchanan had to suppress a grin as his captain swallowed and remained silent instead of answering.
Cora turned her blue eyes toward Buchanan. “Did I ask a rude question?”
Buchanan had reached up to rub the side of his face in order to avoid grinning. “Nae, ye did no’.”
Cora wasn’t finished though. She turned and looked down the length of the head table. His captains had all gone silent. They sat staring at him. As his sister returned her attention to them, they jumped and tried to school their expressions.
But too late.
Cora snapped her attention back to her brother. There was a frown on her lips and a spark of irritation in her young eyes. “Ye told me we do not make war on women. Mackenzie honor.”
Buchanan stared straight back at his sister. His neck tightened because he felt the attention of his men being aimed at him. Even the maids were slowing down so they might catch his words. Every word that crossed his lips might become a weapon in someone’s hands.
“I do not make war on women, Cora,” Buchanan answered firmly.
She lifted her fork to her mouth but paused before taking the food. “Then…is Mistress Lindsey to be yer bride, brother? To form an alliance with the Lindsey?” His sister beamed brightly. “I think she would be a very nice sister-in-law. I hope she will accept the arrangement soon and be able to join us at high table. May I visit her?”
One of his captains made a strangling sound. Buchanan resisted the urge to shoot a glare past his sister. Cora was currently watching him. But what she was really doing was using her gender as a shield, and there wasn’t a captain sitting behind her who dared to disagree with her.
“Cora….” Buchanan began.
But his sister turned and caught his men glowering. Several of them jumped or fumbled their cutlery when faced with her direct attention. Cora turned back toward him.
“So, it isn’t as ye told me,” Cora declared in a low tone to try and keep her outburst from those listening. “An alliance bride isn’t treasured. She is hated for her blood and never accepted. Yet, ye all can nae stop telling me how grand my own marriage will be. Naught but empty words.”
Cora pressed her hands against the edge of the table and shoved with all her might. Her chair skidded back with a grinding sound before she jumped up. Her feet made hard sounds as she left the hall.
Buchanan pounded the top of the table with his fist. Plates bounced and clattered in response. “The lot of ye could no’ keep control of yerselves for but a single meal?”
“When it comes to the matter of that Lindsey whore…” Arlo began as he pointed hi
s knife at Buchanan.
“Whore?” Buchanan hit the table again. His temper was flaring.
Graham sent his elbow into Arlo. “Whore is a harsh word, man.”
Arlo rolled his eyes.
“One not fit for the supper table,” Buchanan warned.
“Does Iain’s death deserve kind words?” Cedric asked from where he sat at the end of the head table.
Buchanan drew in a deep breath. “Iain’s death will be a matter between men. As I have warned ye already.”
“Yet the Lindsey girl is here,” Arlo reminded him.
Buchanan let out a grunt. “Aye, and the lot of ye know I took her to avoid running an old man through. But she’ll no’ be called whore.” He held up a finger to silence his captains. “For Christ’s sake, the lot of ye seem to no’ understand the difference between eating on the road and sitting at a high table where wives and daughters hear yer words.”
There was a rumble of agreement from the lower tables.
“As for our Lindsey guest,” Buchanan continued, “Cora does no’ need to be worried about being received by the Grants poorly. The contract was made by me father. It would no’ reflect well on us if I break the betrothal or send a weeping bride because me sister sees the way the lot of ye are treating Rhedyn Lindsey and thinks it will be her lot as well when she goes to the Grants. She shamed ye rightly so.”
Buchanan watched as his captains nodded with understanding. Conversation began to flow once more as the meal continued. Buchanan found his appetite gone.
His father had once told him a laird shouldered the guilt for the good of his people. Tonight, he felt it pressing down on him.
The wrong thing, for the right reason…
*
Cora stood for a moment in the passageway outside the great hall. She smiled as she heard her brother’s words, but her enjoyment was short lived.
She was betrothed to a Grant.
And she didn’t really bother with his first name. After all, he’d never even sent her a single letter in spite of the ones she was required to write to him.
Her duty.
Oh yes. As far back as she might recall her position in the clan had been impressed upon her. She was to wed the man who would bring an alliance to the Makenzie, and she must never, ever venture away from her father’s Retainers lest she be kidnapped and used against her kin.
Men were two-faced.
The very captains sitting with her brother would have her behave perfectly, ignoring her impulses, while they, themselves, gave into temper. It turned her stomach. But mostly, it irritated her nearly beyond her endurance. Which left her realizing just how much she and Rhedyn Lindsey had in common.
*
“What game are ye playing, Innis?”
Fenella was quick to prove how sharp her eyes were when it came to watching the kitchens. She was waiting for Innis when she made it to the bottom of the steps with the chamber pot.
“I did no’ set ye the task of seeing to the tower room.”
Tyree was hovering in the stairwell, his huge frame bent slightly over.
Innis knew that Fenella expected to have complete authority over those working in the kitchens. It was a fine position to have in the castle. One which came with plenty of food and a warm place to sleep in the winter. For a girl like Innis, one without parents or brothers to arrange a match for her, pledging obedience to the Head-of-House was her only way to secure a brighter future.
Innis lowered herself quickly. “I thought to bring down the bundles of pelts stored abovestairs. Seeing as how they were given as rent.”
“Pelts?” Fenella questioned.
Innis looked at the Head-of-House. She contemplated her for a long moment before she offered Innis a flick of her fingers.
Innis straightened up. “Aye, Mistress. Rabbit pelts. There were a pair of bundles in the tower chamber.”
Fenella’s eyes narrowed. Her mind was quick to offer up just why the bundles would have been moved without her direction. Every maid in the kitchen was suddenly absorbed in her duties, making not a sound as they toiled.
“The Lindsey girl has sewn them into a blanket,” Innis said quickly.
Fenella’s lips thinned. There was a flash of temper in her eyes, but Innis wasn’t worried about it. No, the hatred was for the Lindsey girl. Fenella looked at Tyree.
“Bring those pelts down, and that bitch!”
“The laird said no one was to go into the tower chamber without him telling me so,” Tyree said.
Fenella propped her hands onto her ample hips. “Well now, I do nae see any difficulty. For I told ye to bring her down, no’ allow me into the chamber.”
She snapped her fingers at the Butler. “When it comes to the matter of running this kitchen, I hold the keys!”
Fenella grasped the ring of keys secured to the front of her belt. Food meant the difference between living and dying. Next to the defense of the outer walls, there was nothing in the castle more valuable. As Head-of-House, Fenella was responsible for controlling all the resources to ensure the harvest lasted through the winter months. It was also her duty to safeguard against the laird being poisoned. She chose every maid herself, and would answer if even the lowest of them sold out the laird.
Tyree was still for a long moment. Fenella maintained her stance as well, glaring at the him as intently as she might the lowest servant.
“Aye,” Tyree bent. There was a scuff as he turned around, his shoulders brushing the side of the stairwell.
“Finish that chore.” Fenella proved she’d not forgotten Innis. “And scrub yer hands before ye return to the kitchen. If ye’d rather be a chambermaid, so be it.”
“I like the kitchens full well,” Innis was quick to assure Fenella.
“Then do nae stray from yer assigned duties again.”
Innis nodded on her way out of the back doors. The night was still bitter. If her duty hadn’t been one best finished quickly, she’d have hurried to finish just because of the chill. She stopped diligently outside where a bucket of fresh well water sat beside a stone washing basin. She dipped up a ladle full of it and dumped it over her hands before reaching into a chipped pottery jar to scoop up some soft soap. It stung slightly as she scrubbed it across her palms and over the back of her hands. She didn’t rush though, for Fenella was known to dismiss those who didn’t keep their hands clean.
Innis dashed back into the kitchen the moment she rinsed the soap from her hands. She was drying them on her apron as the Butler came down the stairway.
*
Rhedyn stopped chewing as she heard the chain being pulled free.
Her heart accelerated in response. She would have liked to quell the nervousness rising inside her, but the truth was, she really didn’t see the point in squandering the moment. Whatever was happening, it was better than waiting for the night and day to pass before supper arrived once more.
Tyree looked in, his attention on the blanket she’d unfolded as the night became darker and colder.
“The Head-of-House wants to see ye.”
Would the woman put her to work? Rhedyn hoped so.
She stood quickly and folded the blanket. No Head-of-House worth her pay would abide idleness. Running a castle the size of the Mackenzie stronghold would take as many pairs of hands as possible. Perhaps something would be sent back up with Rhedyn to be done during the long hours of the day.
She didn’t much care how lowly the task might be. No, all that mattered was that she walked toward the door of the chamber and passed through it.
Something to do.
Anything to do…
Rhedyn felt light as a feather. Her shoes made little tapping sounds on the stone steps as she all but danced down them. She stopped at the last few, gathering her composure before descending to the kitchen floor.
“Ye wish to see me?” She offered a courtesy out of respect.
The Head-of-House was waiting on her. She had her hair concealed beneath a cap, but several wisps had w
orked free with her labors. The dark brown was streaked with gray. The apron she had tucked into her belt was splattered and stained, proving she kept her eyes on everything under her authority.
“Aye, I do, indeed.” The woman looked toward Tyree.
The Butler had followed close on Rhedyn’s heels.
“It’s here, as Innis said.” Tyree moved past Rhedyn, the pelt blanket draped over his arm.
The Head-of-House took it and held it up. Every maid in the kitchen strained to gain a glimpse of it. A moment later, more than one of them was sending a smirk toward Rhedyn. A tingle of foreboding touched her nape, for there was something far too gleeful in the looks of the maids. They were clearly anticipating some bit of sport, and Rhedyn got the feeling she would be the one at the center of it.
“I am Fenella, the Head-of-House.”
Rhedyn clasped her hands in front of her and lowered her chin respectfully.
Fenella placed the blanket on the table which ran the length of the kitchens. She tapped it with her finger. “Who gave ye permission to use these pelts?”
Rhedyn felt her stomach clench, but it was nothing compared to the way her temper flared. So, Fenella wanted to deny her even protection from the chill of night? The growing excitement in the expressions of the maids truly sickened her. Yet, it flooded her with courage, for she’d not tremble in front of them.
“No one did.”
Fenella let out a grunt. She propped her hands on her hips, and her hard gaze raked Rhedyn from head to toe.
“I do not find it hard to believe the bitch daughter of the Lindsey would have no shame over stealing from others,” Fenella declared. She raised her voice so everyone could hear her.
“I am no’ a thief,” Rhedyn said.
Fenella lifted one hand into the air. “Ye have already admitted to using these pelts for yerself.”
“Is it not customary to take comfort in a chamber?” Rhedyn asked. “In my father’s castle, no one is left to shiver through the night.”
“Ye are no’ in yer father’s castle anymore,” Fenella cut back. “Here, I am the Head-of-House. I did no’ give ye leave to use the pelts. They were given as rent. Ye have pilfered.”