‘Yes. For now.’ Before she had a chance to protest at this caveat, he motioned for her to follow him. ‘Shall we make a start on sorting out the provisions I brought? Some of it should probably be stowed where it’s cooler and the doves will need to go to their new home.’
‘Doves?’ Marsaili goggled at the many crates, barrels and sacks as if she hadn’t seen that much food stuff in a long time, if ever.
‘Yes, I saw the empty dovecote out back last time I was here and I thought it a shame there were no inhabitants. They make a tasty pie every once in a while, don’t you think? But I’m guessing it will need to be cleaned as well.’
‘Indeed. I’m surprised you noticed. You’ve been very thorough with your purchases.’
Her eyes opened even wider as she took in the rest of what he’d brought. Now he’d calmed down, Brice noticed again how green her irises were. The colour of new moss in the forest, he thought. He remembered that they’d seemed magnificent when she was in a temper, but even without the extra sparkle, they were beautiful. And unlike most redheads, she had dark lashes which further emphasised their perfection. He shook his head and pushed these thoughts aside, telling himself he wasn’t interested in her undoubted charms.
He had been thorough when planning what to buy, that was true. Apart from sacks of oats, barley, rye and dried peas, he’d bought several sugar cones, a dozen smoked hams, salt, spices, root vegetables, brandy, wine and even some chocolate. A crate with a grille at the front contained the doves and there were four more with two dozen hens, clucking distractedly. Last, but not least, there was an exotic looking wooden chest.
When Marsaili spied it, she exclaimed, ‘Is that … it’s not tea, is it?’
‘Yes, but only one chest. I can always buy more if it’s not enough,’ Brice replied.
She stared at him as if he’d grown horns. ‘Are you mad? I mean … begging your pardon, but that’ll last us for ever.’
‘Really? My mother drinks it by the gallon, I swear. I thought all you ladies were the same.’ Brice didn’t mind the odd cup with honey added, but he much preferred ale.
‘But it’s so expensive,’ Marsaili protested.
Brice couldn’t help but smile at her awe. ‘Not if you bring it from China yourself,’ he said. ‘Which I did.’ He picked up the chest and hefted it onto his shoulder. ‘But if you think it’s so valuable, you’d better keep it locked up somewhere. Shall I take it to your room?’
‘My room?’ She turned an interesting shade of pink. ‘No, no that won’t be necessary. The cook keeps the larder locked, it should be safe enough in there. Or I can have it taken up to Mrs Kinross later. It will be for her to dispense it.’
‘Very well, lead the way.’
‘You want to go to the kitchen?’
‘Why not? It will be done faster this way. Or is the kitchen in an even sorrier state than this room?’
She sent him a withering look. ‘No, it’s spotless. Follow me.’
She picked up a heavy sack without much effort and Brice was impressed with her strength. It would seem she actually did her fair share of the housework and didn’t just oversee things, the way Elisabet had always done in her father’s house. He almost laughed out loud at the thought of his former beloved ever doing anything so strenuous. She would never have been able to lift a sack such as the one Marsaili was carrying, but then again, she wouldn’t have wanted to. He frowned as he realised he’d never thought about this before. It wasn’t a side to Elisabet he would have tolerated when they were married, but why had he assumed he’d be able to change her? He was no longer sure it would have been possible.
Oh, what does it matter anyway? He should forget all about Elisabet.
Marsaili headed for the kitchen and Brice followed. He could have found his way there by himself, but he decided the view was better from behind her and he must learn to appreciate such sights if he was to have any chance of burying the past. He gave himself a pat on the back for noticing the graceful swing of her hips as she walked and the perfect proportions of her body. For so long he had been blind to the charms of other women, but he was a free man now. There was no harm in looking at the housekeeper, even if she was already spoken for. As long as he didn’t act on the lascivious thoughts she evoked.
Besides, anything was better than dwelling on what might have been.
Chapter Nine
Marsaili couldn’t understand this man at all. One minute he was giving orders and telling her off for interfering in his business and the next he was helping her carry goods to the kitchen. From what she’d been told, the old laird had never so much as set foot in any domestic part of the house, let alone helped with anything. It would have been far beneath his dignity. But this one didn’t seem to care.
She was further confounded when Liath came bounding over to Brice and greeted him like a long-lost friend with a series of happy barks. The dog had been occupying his usual spot in an alcove near the cooking range, but jumped up the moment he spotted Brice and danced around with excitement.
‘Liath, behave!’ Marsaili said sternly, but just like the last time, the dog ignored her. He focused all his attention on Brice, who put down the chest and knelt to make a fuss of Liath, scratching behind his ears.
‘Hello there, my friend,’ he said to the dog, ignoring the cook and two kitchen maids who all goggled at him. ‘How nice to see you again. You missed me, eh?’
Liath seemed almost beside himself with joy, his tail wagging so hard it made his entire back end wiggle. Marsaili muttered ‘Traitor’ under her breath. She couldn’t understand why her faithful hound was behaving in this fashion, he’d never done so before.
When Brice stood up again, she performed the introductions. ‘This is Mrs Murray, the cook, and her helpers Isobel and Fionna.’ They all curtseyed and he bowed back.
‘Forgive me if I don’t remember everyone’s names at first,’ he said with a disarming smile. ‘I’ll do my best.’ He picked up the tea chest again. ‘Now where would you like this Mrs Murray?’
Greine looked as flabbergasted as Marsaili had felt at the sight of so much tea, but managed to unlock the larder. ‘In here, if you please, my lord.’
‘You’d better send for a stable lad to help you carry the rest in here,’ he told her. ‘And we’ll need someone to take care of the doves and chickens. Please leave half the sacks of oatmeal behind for the moment though, I have other plans for those.’
‘Very well, we’ll see to it,’ Marsaili said.
‘Thank you. Then I’ll go and find out what’s happened to the livestock.’
Marsaili had seen the cattle, goats and sheep on her way to the courtyard earlier, after Seton had given her the news of the new laird’s arrival. She’d wondered why he had brought them and without thinking, she voiced her thought out loud. ‘What are they for? Slaughter? I’m not sure we’ll have space for so much extra meat all at once.’
He looked surprised. ‘Not yet, no. Just a few at a time. I thought the herd here looked a bit small so I decided to add some more females to it.’
‘But winter is coming. Most of the creatures will be slaughtered or sold soon. And the ones you’ve brought won’t have time to fatten up much.’
‘They shouldn’t need to, they’ve been well cared for. I selected them myself. Besides, as I said, they’re not for killing. We’re going to keep most of them over the winter to increase the herd for next year. For now, they’ll need to go into the nearest fields I expect. Do you mind if I take Liath outside with me? He looks as though he would like a walk.’
Marsaili was so stunned by his words that she lost the power of speech, but she managed to nod her assent to his request. By the time she’d recovered, he and the hound had gone. She turned to Greine. ‘Did he just say what I think he said?’
‘Aye, he did that.’
‘But where will he get the hay to feed cattle over the winter? There’s hardly any been mown.’
Greine shrugged. ‘Perhaps he’ll have some cut
? There’s still grass in the meadows that’s not been touched.’ She smiled. ‘Hah! Wish I had time to go and listen when he tells the men that bit of news, if it’s what he’s got in mind.’
‘Indeed, they won’t like the extra work. Well, it’s none of our business I suppose. We’ve got our own tasks to do and we’d best make a start. His lordship wants a feast, and he’s given orders we’re all to eat in the great hall. I don’t know how he thinks things can be arranged so quickly.’
Greine smiled. ‘We’ll do fine. It’ll be grand to cook a proper meal again without having to stint. And I’ll enjoy it even more if it puts Mr High-and-Mighty Seton’s neb out of joint as it surely will.’
Marsaili laughed. ‘Yes, good point.’
Seton felt as if his well-ordered world had suddenly turned upside down. Only that morning, he had been counting the money he’d saved up. He came to the conclusion it wouldn’t be long now before he had enough to buy back the Seton lands. A few more months and he’d be able to leave Rosyth, a place he’d come to hate.
But his plans had all been scuppered by the arrival of a man he’d thought never to set eyes on. Damn his impudence!
Seton hadn’t stayed to see young Kinross lording it over his clansmen. It was bad enough he had to greet him civilly and pretend he was going to work with him. Hah! Over my dead body! But he realised he’d have to tread warily, or everything he’d worked towards would disappear in the blink of an eye.
He can’t prove anything, he thought. The estate’s accounts all tallied, he’d made sure of that. Kinross would never know Seton hadn’t recorded even half of the true amounts. Nor that he had the extra money stashed away in a secret hiding place. But how was he to obtain the rest of the sum he needed? Seton had no idea at the moment, but he would think of something. He always did.
One way or another, he’d deal with the new laird.
Before Brice left Gothenburg, Killian had explained the system of clanship to him, adding, ‘Although I gather it’s mostly been abolished by the English after Culloden, old habits die hard.’
As far as Brice understood it, a clan chief owned the land and it was rented out to tacksmen, the local term for the main tenants. Most of them were related to the chief, so there was an additional bond between them that made the relationship stronger. They, in turn, allowed others to farm parts of the land they rented. These common labourers performed most of the work and the tacksmen were responsible for paying everyone’s dues to the laird. Then there were skilled craftsmen, like blacksmiths, joiners and weavers. Apart from the people who lived and worked at Rosyth House itself, the rest were congregated in the small township or in smaller settlements in neighbouring valleys.
‘The laird is more like a patriarchal figure than anything else,’ Killian had said. ‘In my grandfather’s time, he’d have expected unswerving obedience and loyalty, but these days I think you’ll have to tread more softly. And don’t forget, until you prove yourself a worthy chief, you’ll be on trial as it were. They don’t have to accept you.’
Brice had no intention of forgetting this.
‘So the tacksmen will pay me rent?’
‘Yes, but not necessarily in ready money,’ Killian replied. ‘You’re more likely to receive payment in kind – butter, cheese, oatmeal and perhaps the odd calf, sheep or some lengths of home-made linen. If there’s a surplus, you sell it and that’s where the money comes from, just like at Askeberga.’
Both Brice and Jamie had been taught how to manage the Swedish estate, so he wasn’t unduly worried about taking on Rosyth. The produce might vary slightly, since here cattle rearing seemed the main objective, but the principles were surely the same.
The most important thing Killian had impressed upon him, however, was that a chief had to be seen to be hospitable. He was therefore determined to show everyone he wasn’t stingy, which was why he’d ordered the feast to be prepared for the evening meal. It would also be a subtle reminder of the lack of hospitality shown him on his previous visit. He was sure he didn’t need to spell it out to those responsible.
He’d arrived mid-morning, which admittedly didn’t give the housekeeper and cook much time. His request hadn’t seemed to ruffle them, however, so he was sure they’d do their best. What he needed to do now was invite the guests – every member of the clan he could find – and after he’d given orders for the new cattle to be taken to a nearby field, he decided to tackle this task. He wasn’t at all sure they’d come, but he had to try.
To that end, he made his way down to the stables to retrieve Starke. He could have gone on foot, but he reckoned he could cover a lot more ground by riding. It would also give him the advantage of height, which would come in useful when trying to assert his authority. The Lord knew he needed all the help he could get.
‘Guid mornin’, Mr … I mean, my laird.’ The bright little face of Archie popped up from behind a wattle partition. The stables had seemed deserted so the boy’s appearance startled Brice, but he smiled at him. There was something very appealing about the freckled nose, sparkling eyes and tousled hair.
‘Oh, hello there. Are you playing a game of hide and seek?’
‘No, I was lookin’ after yer horse, like ye told me tae. I’ve fed and watered him. I … I hope that was a’right?’
Brice nodded. ‘Absolutely, you did well, thank you. But I didn’t mean you had to be in sole charge of him. Where’s your friend?’
‘He had tae help his father.’ Archie nodded in Starke’s direction. ‘And hisself was hungry. I could tell.’ The horse snorted loudly as if agreeing with the boy.
Brice laughed. ‘Yes, he’s a stomach on legs, that one. Don’t let him fool you into giving him extra rations. He’ll get fat and lazy.’
‘Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but there’s nae more food tae give ’im. Did ye bring aught?’
‘Yes, a bit, but we’ll need to gather hay for the winter, and not just for the horses. I’ll ask the men to cut as much as they can.’ Brice knew natural hay was rare in the Highlands and had to be gathered wherever possible, a tiresome task at the best of times. It wasn’t usually planted, since all the available land was needed for crops. A distant memory surfaced. ‘Actually, when I was here as a boy, we children used to help by collecting grass from the waysides and from under bushes and such. Could you spread the word among your friends that I’ll pay them a groat for every armful? Might fire up their enthusiasm.’
‘I’d say! Should I dae it the noo?’
Brice laughed. ‘Later is soon enough. Remind me to have a look at the barns though. From what I saw during my previous visit, they may not be in a fit state to keep anything dry.’
‘Shuir an’ I will.’
Archie nodded and came closer, and Brice took in the tattered state of the boy’s clothing. He saw that Archie was in dire need of a new outfit. His breeches were way too short, showing off thin legs and bare feet. His shirt was darned in quite a few places and looked as though it had been fashioned out of a much larger one and cut down to size. It hung off the boy’s spare frame and stuck out at the back from under a threadbare waistcoat, also too large. Brice made up his mind there and then to do something about this sorry state of affairs.
‘Are ye goin’ fer a ride?’ Archie dared to ask.
‘Yes, I’m going to invite everyone to a feast tonight. At the same time, I thought to go and have a look at the cattle. Do you want to come with me?’
Archie’s expression turned from astonishment to pure joy in the blink of an eye. A huge smile spread over his features and he nodded enthusiastically. ‘Aye, I do, please!’ Then his smile dimmed a little. ‘But there’s only Mr Seton’s garrons and I daren’t borrow those. The ones ye brought this mornin’ will be tired oot.’
Brice grabbed Starke’s saddle from where it had been slung over a beam. ‘It’s not a problem. Starke’s name means “strong” in Swedish and he is that. He’ll easily carry us both I should think. You can sit in front of me and be my guide.’
; ‘Braw!’ Archie’s eyes shone and Brice reflected that the poor boy obviously never received any attention if it took so little for him to be happy. Perhaps he could rectify this from now on.
It was a lovely, sunny morning, and Starke seemed happy to be out in the open again. So was Liath, who bounded along behind them. The big horse covered the ground with easy strides, the extra weight of the small boy no problem for him. Brice held the reins in one hand and laid the other one loosely round Archie. The boy didn’t seem afraid, even though the horse was so high off the ground. He held on casually to Starke’s mane.
‘Would you mind if we speak only in Gaelic?’ Brice asked. ‘I need to practise, you see, it’s been a while.’
Archie nodded. ‘Fine with me.’
‘You’ve ridden before, I can tell. You’re keeping your back straight and your knees tight, very good.’
‘Aye, I’ve always loved horses and my auntie’s man was head groom here before he died last year. He taught me to ride.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Congestion of the lungs. Weren’t nothing they could do for him.’
‘What about your own father? What does he do? And your mother?’
‘They’re dead too. I live here with Auntie Greine, the cook.’
‘Ah, I see. A shame about Mr Murray then. Do you miss him?’ Brice thought the man must have been a father figure to the boy, but Archie shook his head.
‘Not really. I only miss helping with the horses. He had a fearsome temper and didn’t always want me around.’
Brice decided a change of topic was called for. ‘So have you lived on the Rosyth estate all your life?’ he asked instead. ‘I’m guessing you were born after my last visit, which would make you about nine or ten, am I right?’
‘I’m eleven,’ Archie said, then added glumly, ‘but no one ever thinks so on account of me being small and puny.’
Highland Storms Page 8