Heat of the Knight

by Jackie Ivie

  “You heard my lady,” the fat one said.

  The women didn’t look pleased, but they each put down their weapons of interruption, making a clang against the silverplate, and then they, too, went out the door.

  “I dinna’ say you could stay,” Lisle said as the fat one shut the door, locking everyone else out and returning to her.

  “I’ve got the personal responsibility for your comfort, my lady. His Lordship entrusted it to me two days past, when you first visited, and he told me to prepare myself to be of service to you. I doona’ take my responsibilities lightly. Not at all. Why, there’s no Highland woman around that’s as efficient, or trustworthy. You’ll see.”

  “But I’ve nae need of a personal servant.”

  “His Lordship has more than twenty for his own use.”

  “He—he…what?” Lisle couldn’t stop the surprise and disgust from coloring the word.

  “His Lordship likes his home kept to a perfect degree, my lady. It’s a matter of pride with him. He’s been redoing the place, and he’s right proud of the old castle, and his other estates. We are, too.”

  “You are?”

  “My, yes. We’d keep it polished and perfect, even if he was na’ paying excellent wages for the chore. Excellent.”

  “Triple what you can get anywhere else?” Lisle asked sourly.

  “I wouldna’ say that, my lady.”

  “Nae?” she asked snidely.

  “Oh, nae. ’Tis nigh impossible to find wages for anything anymore. You doona’ ken what it’s like, or you’d understand.”

  “Understand what?” Lisle asked, although she already knew she wouldn’t like the answer. She knew it.

  “If His Lordship dinna’ employ me, I’d be forced to resort to begging again, and that much sooner, I would. We all would have. You doona’ understand.”

  Lisle looked at her solemnly, seeing lines of suffering etched on that pleasant-looking face, and she immediately knew what Langston was about—damn him anyway! Those that wouldn’t take his gold, he hired to work his already overworked properties, or maybe it was those that had nothing left to sell.

  “Are you wed?” Lisle asked, standing to inspect the bounty all these Highland lasses must have been paid very good wages to bake and cook and serve to her.

  “Nae more, my lady. My poor dear man met his end at Culloden. I’ve a son, though, a strong lad, about your age.”

  “And where is he?”

  “He’s one of His Lordship’s groundskeepers, keeping game and such away from the lawns, and out in the wilds where they belong. That way, there’s not a blade of grass out of place, anytime, anywhere.”

  “I see…” Her voice dribbled off. She did see, and was surprised she’d been so blind, and she was angry. He had no right to put so many to work, and make more Highlanders take his gold, cheapening them to the point they’d wish they’d perished at the battle! If she had anything to wear besides her wedding gown, she’d march right out and tell him of it, too.

  “So. Now that’s settled, what is it you’d like to partake of this fine morn? Toast? Cakes? They’re special, they are. Crumb cakes. Dame Margaret-Lily Burton makes them. Every day. Makes the kitchens smell just lovely, they do.”

  “I think I’d like a bit of cooked oats. Perhaps a scone, too.”

  The woman had it served onto a platter and set on the table in front of Lisle almost before she finished.

  “And now I want all that food marched right back to the kitchen and put to use. I won’t have wastefulness in my house.”

  “Oh my, nae, my lady. It’s not wasted. His Lordship has an army of menfolk to feed. It will all be gone within the hour. I’m certain they’re famished about now, too.”

  “Why? Does he work them through the night, too?”

  “I—I’ll be seeing to removing this, promptlike. Doona’ move from this chamber while I give the order. Are you certain you wouldn’t like a nice spot of tea with that scone?”

  Lisle smiled, but it felt as false as the cheer on the woman’s face had to be. Langston was going to rue the day he’d put this into effect, she decided, watching the woman who was pretending to have her pride and dignity intact.

  “That would be nice,” she replied. “And I can na’ possibly leave this room. I doona’ have anything else to wear but my wedding gown.”

  “And a very lovely gown it is, too, my lady. Very.”

  “Will you call me Lisle?”

  “Lisle? That’s your given name?”

  “You say it strangely. Try again. Like weasel, only with an L.”

  “Lisle,” the woman repeated, bobbing her head.

  Lisle was hating everything about being Langston Monteith’s lady, especially knowing these women received gold to agree with her and serve her. She hoped it didn’t show on her face.

  “Oh my! I forgot. There’s a dozen castle seamstresses, and they’ve been given free rein to purchase bolts and patterns and fancy laces and such, to get you outfitted as befits the lady of Clan Monteith. I’ll just step out and see if—”

  “What’s your name?” Lisle asked.

  “Mary. Mary MacGreggor. Pleased I am to meet you, my lady. I heard tell you were a MacHugh a-fore you wed. Theirs is a fine clan, my lady. Fine.”

  Lisle bowed her head right back. “Aye. That they are. Go now, Mary MacGreggor. Send me your patterns and fabrics and such. I’m a very good hand with a needle. I won’t need a seamstress to assist.”

  The woman went nearly white. Lisle wondered what could cause such a reaction. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “But—but they were just hired! His Lordship put out the word to find women handy with a needle, and he hired seven of the best. The very best, my lady.”

  “I thought you said there were a dozen seamstresses,” Lisle replied, without one bit of inflection to her voice.

  “We always have five on staff. There’s no tear or rip allowed on any fabric in any room. Everything has to be perfect, just like the master orders.”

  “So…he hired seven women, and paid them excellent wages, all just to make me a wardrobe?”

  Mary nodded her head.

  “I suppose he wants me to fill the dressing rooms on both sides of this one with clothing befitting my new station?”

  She smiled widely. “Oh, aye, and you’ve the use of yet more, if you go through this door….”

  Lisle cocked her head and watched her open the door at the end of the left dressing room. She could see, in the sunlightened interior, what was her privy, followed by yet another door. She didn’t need to follow the woman who was cheerfully showing her what was probably more dressing room space to know what it was.

  The woman returned, closing the door behind her, like she was guarding a secret.

  “What would everyone do if I said I dinna’ need such a grand thing?” Lisle asked.

  “Those lasses just got the employment of their prayers, my lady. They’re very good with a needle. You won’t have a complaint, nary a one. I promise.”

  “I doona’ need so many clothes,” Lisle replied. “Nae woman does.”

  “That’s not what His Lordship says. He says he plans on traveling. He has interests and such, in other countries, and with other kings and personages and in other courts. His wife has to look exactly as he wishes. He’s such a perfectionist. You’ve nae idea how hard it is to please him. He has an aversion to dust. Canna’ abide any of it in his home, and told Mabel Beamans in nae uncertain terms about it. We had to hire more staff.”

  “I’m beginning to get a clue,” Lisle replied stiffly. The one thing she hated was having her choice taken from her, and Langston Monteith was doing it without a bit of effort. If she didn’t accept and order a very large wardrobe, it would be her own mouth sending those women back to poverty.

  “Are these new seamstresses wed, Mary?”

  “Wed? I doona’ recollect as much. I think they’re widows, my lady.”

  “Widows?”

  “With children
.”

  “With children?”

  “Aye. Culloden Battle dinna’ discriminate on such a thing.”

  “Where are their children, then? Do we also employ them?”

  Mary laughed. It was a merry sound that didn’t have a bit of distress to it at having her own choices taken away. Lisle wondered why Langston Monteith hadn’t just hired Lisle’s services. Or…maybe he had.

  Her own face whitened. She watched it happen in the chamber mirror atop one of her new white bureaus. The MacHughs wouldn’t take his money; he knew she’d never work for him…so he married her to make them take it?

  “Children? Nae. His Lordship does na’ employ children. He makes certain they’re not left on their own, though.”

  “How does he do that?” Send a nursemaid he hired, too? she wondered.

  “He matches any funds the towns can raise, for schooling and such. I swear he more than matches it, but that’s his own personal business.”

  “He’s building schools, too?” It was too much, and it was getting cloyingly sweet in the room. No man was such a saint.

  “Dear me, nae. The man’s not stupid. He doesn’t toss his gold away. He makes the townspeople earn it, and they have to build it. If you have a chance to visit Dearglen, you’ll see. There’s ever so many folk busy, building, making a future for themselves and their bairns.”

  The room was spinning, everything Lisle thought she knew was being churned about with it, and she didn’t think she’d be able to look him in the eye when next they met.

  “These matching funds…where do they come from?”

  “I already made mention. His Lordship. He matches them.”

  “Not that. The ones he matches. Where do they come from?”

  “The Good Lord’s labor, that’s where. And doona’ think it any other than just that.”

  “Doing what, please?”

  “Working for His Lordship, of course.”

  Lisle was going to be sick. She only hoped it didn’t look like it on her face. The man was creating new futures for his countrymen, and they couldn’t even see it? “Why do they do it?” she asked in a little voice.

  “Do what, my lady?”

  “Work for him.”

  “Because they can. They have skills no one thought of much use, until His Lordship came along and hired their services. You see these knobs, painted so delicately?”

  Lisle nodded.

  “Made by my own family. We’re mighty proud of the carvings my mother does. Right proud.”

  “Your mother made those?”

  “And painted them. Always loved her paints, she did. I’m certain she put the funds Lord Monteith gave her to good use, too.”

  “But where does he get it? Monteith were no richer than any other clan, yet he throws gold like it runs in every burn.”

  “That’s the rub. His Lordship was tossed out when he was but a lad, and he dinna’ return until he had his fortune. His return was the death of the auld laird. It had to be.”

  “His return killed his own father?”

  “If you had sent your only heir into the world when he was little more than a lad, and he returns with not one, but seven ships, all laden with riches beyond your dreams, wouldn’t it have killed you off, too?”

  “He…has ships…too?” The room wasn’t just spinning, it was rocking and waving and distorting, and all those beams above her were gyrating along with it. Lisle sat down in a chair before she fell there.

  “Aye. Seven of them. All fancy caravels. All plying the waves, trading. Taking those silks and spices and tea that he gets in that foreign place, and selling it. Makes a tidy profit with each voyage, from what I gather, but I canna’ stand jawing away all morn, my lady. We’ve a breakfast to get into you, and then a wardrobe, or two, or three, to get started on.”

  “Two…or three?” Lisle choked between the words.

  “You wish to send those lasses back to starving?”

  Lisle hated him. Very much. She didn’t say a word about it as her new personal servant stood, a smile on her round face, and waited for approval of The Plan. She had no choice but to approve of it, and no choice but to portray a rich, spoiled woman, who needed more clothing than she could possibly wear. To do anything else would be worse. She smiled falsely, and it felt like the emotion stuck in place on her cheeks with the way she had to force it.

  “We’ll start as soon as we’ve had all this bounty taken away. You’d better be very certain that it’s all partaken of.”

  “It will be. I promise it. It always is. His Lordship employs very good cooks. Nae one leaves any of his tables hungry.”

  “Now leave me. Go. I’ll ring for you when I’m ready.”

  The other servant women must have been hovering at the door, awaiting the order, for how quickly they were back in the chamber, putting covers back on platters and bearing them back downstairs. Lisle waited until the door shut behind all of them before picking up the cooked oats and shoving them into her mouth fast enough that she choked, and then she was forcing each bite down with a scone that melted in her mouth, and washing the lot of it down with tea.

  She had no other choice. If she took any time over it, she was going to be unable to eat a thing with the way her throat was closing off.

  She had the bowl in the air and was scraping the last of it into her mouth when what had to be another horn note floated through the windows, although it wasn’t long and piercing anymore. It was in three short, quick, staccato bursts.

  She used her fingers to slide the last of her meal into her mouth where it had fallen onto her chin, and then she put the bowl back down. That horn demanded investigation, and the only other option she had was awaiting an army of seamstresses that she’d have to simper and posture for in order to make certain they left for their homes each night with gold, and their pride intact.

  She hated him for doing this to her, and there wasn’t much reason for why he’d done it. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. There wasn’t any explanation to why he’d picked her to marry. It was obvious he could have had any lass, Highland or no, and without much effort.

  He was handsome. He was rich. He might not be from a clan that had been blessed to be at the horror that had been Culloden, but he wasn’t remotely evil. He was a very good actor, though.

  Chapter Eight

  There was something severely strange about Monteith Castle. Lisle noted the strangeness the moment she tiptoed over to her chamber door and opened it to peer into the hall. She didn’t decipher what it was until she’d walked down the steps, her hand running along a banister of rounded wood, so highly polished there wasn’t a sliver that would dare mar the surface of it, let alone be there to get into her palm.

  It was as if the three short blasts had meant something…to everyone but her…something like desertion.

  She knew she had the description down perfectly as her stocking-clad feet touched the polished stone of the lower hall, and the movement didn’t disturb so much as a whiff of dust. There wouldn’t have been any allowed in the keep anyway, but it was unnerving. Lisle hadn’t known desertion and silence felt like that. She’d never felt so alone.

  The kitchens weren’t hard to find. She just followed her nose, and just as Mary MacGreggor had said, there was the smell of crumb cake filling the four-room enclave at the back of the keep. At least, she thought it was the back of the keep. There weren’t any windows in the kitchens, unless one counted those high on the walls, where interlaced beams were fitted.

  That had her squinting, and she knew she was right as she walked from room to room through his kitchens, her chin back and her neck craned while she looked at the beams that all seemed within easy reach of one of those little windows. That didn’t make much sense. They weren’t large enough to gain access through, and since the walls looked an arm’s length thick, it would be nigh impossible to do more than lie up there and look out of them.

  The keep wasn’t a freestanding building. She knew that from her first lo
ok at it. It was connected to the back wall, with more yellow-hued stone, and the access to that wall was through the back of the kitchens. It had to be.

  Lisle drew her head down when she reached the last room of his interconnecting kitchens, and looked back the way she’d come, through a span of building no other laird could think to own. She wondered why such a span of room was necessary. Why, the MacHugh Castle would fit in the space of the Monteith kitchens, she decided, with room to spare. The Dugall stronghold was farther north, in the glens near Halkirk, and didn’t boast a kitchen one-fourth the size of this one. She didn’t know much about wealth and position and power, but there had to be only one reason for such a thing. The Monteith laird had kitchens this size because of the volume of food that must be needed.

  Lisle started chewing on her cheek as she walked, looking for the part of the castle that had to connect to the outer wall, and looking for anything else of interest at the same time.

  There were four mud-brick ovens at the center of each room, their funnels venting toward the windows. There were also fireplaces on the inner walls; one even held a full carcass of what looked to be a boar, and upon further investigation was exactly that. Whomever had the chore of turning the spit was being very lax in their duties, as the fat kept dripping onto the flames from one side, and that side was getting a nice blackened shell to it, while the top wasn’t getting cooked at all. Lisle mindlessly turned the crank a half-turn, waiting until the meat was fully rotated before securing it with the chain cord there for the purpose.

  There wasn’t a soul in the kitchens, there wasn’t a speck of all the food she’d just sent down, and that was almost as odd as the fact that there wasn’t anyone, anywhere, in any of the lower rooms. Lisle gave up trying to find the connecting passage and put her mind to finding one servant, even if it was a minor one, anywhere in the lower rooms.

  The mass of furniture that she’d seen cluttering the lower rooms wasn’t as much in the way anymore. Mainly because he now had it suspended from more of the ceiling beams. The beams looked to all be of the same dimension, although of different grades and types of wood, almost like the architect of such a design had thought about which shading would be most aesthetic to each room. It probably would have been striking, if there wasn’t furniture dangling about, looking like a fest of some kind was going to take place, with fairies as guests.