by Lynsay Sands
"Ah," Niels said relaxing and even managing a smile. Then he glanced to Edith. "Is yer uncle Cawley the reason ye took in Ronson and his grandmother?"
"Nay," Edith said with surprise. "I took them in because they needed a home. Everyone should have a place to call home."
Niels stared at Edith and wondered if she realized just how much she'd said with those words. She had given Ronson and his grandmother a place where they could feel they belonged and that they could call home. She was giving them what she herself didn't have. Her place here was temporary. Edith would lose the only home she'd ever known and the rest of her family along with it, all the soldiers and servants she'd grown up with and considered her family, friends and charges. She would even lose her damned dog since he didn't think the Abbey would allow her to bring the huge beast with her.
It was heartbreaking to him, and so unfair. Edith was a good woman, a kind woman. She deserved better.
"M'lady."
Niels glanced around even as Edith did, his eyes narrowing as he saw the skinny little man standing behind Edith with a metal platter with pastries on it.
"I made yer favorite," the man said. "Pastry stuffed with sweetened cherries."
"Oh, how lovely," Edith said smiling at the man. "Thank ye, Jaimie."
"'Twas me pleasure," he assured her, beaming. "We are all verra happy to see ye up and about again, m'lady. And I promise ye, I did no' take me eyes off these pastries from start to finish. I even stood and watched 'em cook. No one got near them. So you enjoy 'em. They're safe."
"Thank ye, Jaimie," Edith said again, and when the man leaned past her to set them on the table in front of her, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek of gratitude that had the man flushed and flustered. Bobbing his head repeatedly, he backed away from the table and then turned and rushed back to the kitchens as red as the cherries in his pastries.
Niels eyed the pastries on the platter and caught her hand when she went to grab one. "Mayhap I should try one first in case they're poisoned."
Edith blinked at him with surprise. "Ye heard Jaimie, he watched them from start to finish. They are fine."
"But what if he is the one who poisoned the wine and stew?" he pointed out.
"What? He would no' . . ." Pausing, she narrowed her eyes. "Ye're just after me cherry pastries, m'lord."
"I am not, I--" he began to protest, but paused when she took a pastry off the platter and offered it to him.
"Try it then. They're very good."
Niels accepted the pastry, his mouth already watering. He was biting into it even before she turned to offer the platter to the other man.
"You too, Tormod," Edith said. "I can no' possibly eat all o' these by meself."
"Ah, ye're a fine woman, Lady Edith. A heart o' gold is what ye have," Tormod said, taking a pastry as well.
Niels saw Edith shake her head with amusement at the man's flattery, but he was busy trying not to moan at how good the pastry he'd just bitten into was. Dear God, if the cook at Buchanan made anything even near as good as this, he and his brothers would not be happily wandering far and wide making coin. They'd all be stuck at home, as big as Cawley and just as complacent.
"Pastries?" Ronson cried, rushing up to the table with Laddie on his heels.
"Aye. Cherry," Edith said and held the platter out to the boy. When he took one, she said, "Take two and sit next to Niels to eat. No sharing with Laddie though, ye ken they make him sick."
"I ken," Ronson said. "Thank ye, m'lady." Taking his booty, he climbed up onto the bench next to Niels and set to work at scarfing down the cherry delights.
"Well?"
Mouth full of pastry, Niels raised an eyebrow in question at Edith's question.
"Is it poisoned?" she asked dryly.
Chewing, he merely shook his head and Edith snorted and picked up three more pastries and set them in front of him, saying, "Enjoy."
It was in that moment that Niels Buchanan decided that Edith Drummond was one of the finest women he'd ever met.
"So, what are yer plans fer today?" Tormod asked.
Niels knew he was asking Edith but when she opened her mouth to answer, he quickly swallowed the pastry and said firmly, "Bed."
"What?" Edith turned on him with shock. "I am no' going back to bed. I just got up."
"Ye have to take this slowly. Ye've been ill fer weeks. Ye need--"
"I was poisoned, not ill," she reminded him grimly. "And I am fine now."
"Ye must no' overdo it. Ye're still weak," he argued.
"Aye, I am," she acknowledged. "But I'm no' going to get stronger lounging about in bed. Besides, there is much to do around here."
"Nonsense," Niels said at once.
"Oh really?" she asked with disbelief. "So ye did no' notice the horrid moldy stench to the rush mat ye slept on last night? Because I notice ye now carry that stink with ye, as do Ronson and Laddie."
Frowning, Niels sniffed himself and grimaced. He had indeed noticed the smell when he'd first laid down last night, but so many hours with it in his nose had apparently made him immune to the scent. Now that she mentioned it though, he did carry the smell with him and it was quite putting him off his cherry pastries.
Scowling, he asked, "What has to happen to make the rushes smell better?"
"I shall have the women remove and burn the old rush mats and then I shall have to take the children down to the river to collect fresh rushes." She paused and then added, "And then the women will have to weave fresh mats to replace the old and we'll put them down and sprinkle dried flowers to make them smell nice."
Niels was silent for a moment, considering what she'd said. In the short time that he'd known Edith, he'd come to understand her well enough to realize that having the women remove and burn the old rush mats meant she'd help them do it, and taking the children down to collect fresh rushes probably meant she'd be performing the backbreaking work alongside them. It was just the kind of woman she was, leading by example and not simply standing back and barking orders. Niels also knew she felt fine just now, but the woman had spent the better part of the past month ill in bed. She would tire much more quickly than she realized.
However, he suspected he wasn't going to be able to talk her out of this rush business. In truth, he really didn't want to. Now that he was aware of it again, he found the moldy stench that had permeated his shirt and tartan unbearable. He was thinking a quick trip to the loch to bathe away the scent was a good idea, but it would do him little good if he then had to lie on the smelly mats again tonight. Since he had no intention of leaving Edith unprotected, that was where he was definitely going to be tonight, so fresh rushes were a necessity.
"Verra well, I suggest ye have yer maid Moibeal oversee the collecting and burning o' the mats while ye take the children down to collect fresh rushes," Niels said, and when she started to protest as he expected, added, "'Twill help speed things along and I think that may be necessary. Me leg was tender when I woke up this morn."
Edith blinked at him with confusion. "Yer leg? What has that to do with anything?"
"'Tis an old injury that usually only acts up before a rainstorm," he explained, which was true, though he was quite sure this morning's tenderness could be blamed on sleeping on the cold, hard floor and not a coming rain. "Ye'll want the rushes collected and the children back at the keep ere that happens else ye'll have a castle full o' sick children on yer hands."
"Oh, aye," she agreed with a frown.
"I'll oversee the collecting and burning of the old mats," Tormod said now. "I'll have the men help too. That way ye can take Moibeal along and a couple other maids to help with gathering rushes and corralling the children. They can be a handful."
"Oh, that's no' necessary," Edith said at once. "I can handle the children."
"Aye, but if 'tis going to rain, ye'll want the lads and lassies to be quick about their business, and ye ken how they dawdle and play. Moibeal and the others can help ye speed things along. In fact," Tormod announced,
"I'm thinking mayhap ye should take all the maids and leave the collecting and burning completely to me men. It'll be done in no time then, ye'll beat the rain and ye ken it'll be like a day off fer them, a bit o' fun. After these weeks o' stress and tragedy, everyone could do with a little o' that."
"A fine idea, Tormod," Niels said with an approving nod, appreciating his aid.
"Laddie and I'll come with ye, m'lady," Ronson announced.
Niels grinned at the lad when he saw the cherry filling smeared all over his face. It looked like he'd got more around his mouth than in it.
"Thank ye, Ronson, that would be fine," Edith said with a smile.
Nodding, Ronson licked cherry filling from his hand and added, "Do no' ye worry none, Laddie and I'll keep ye safe from that boil-brained barnacle from Satan's arse what poisoned ye."
"Dear God, pray tell me Bessie did no' hear that," Edith breathed.
"Who's Bessie?" Niels asked with curiosity.
"Ronson's grandmother," Tormod explained.
Interested in seeing the woman who had helped raise the fine boy next to him, Niels glanced around. "Is she here?"
"Aye. That's her, mending by the fire. Do no' look," Edith gasped when he turned to peer over his shoulder, and then just as quickly asked, "Is she looking this way?"
"Nay. She appears to be asleep," Niels said, eyeing the old woman in the chair by the fire. Her hair was pulled up into a tight bun on the top of her head and her clothes were tattered, but clean. Her eyes though appeared to be closed and her hands lay unmoving in her lap on top of a shirt she'd apparently been mending.
"Thank God," Edith muttered. "Come on, Ronson. We'll go find Moibeal and the other maids, and then gather the children together and head out as soon as we can."
"Ye're no' letting her go out to collect the rushes by herself, are ye?" Tormod asked with a frown once Edith and Ronson had moved away to find servants to take with them.
Niels shook his head. "Nay. I'm going. And I'm taking some furs fer her to sit on, as well as some cherry pastries and me horse. She does no' realize it now, but she'll be exhausted within the hour."
"Aye, well, she's stubborn," Tormod warned him. "So do no' expect her to admit it when she tires. She'll work herself to the edge o' exhaustion and still force herself to press forward rather than admit defeat."
"Aye. I already suspected as much," Niels assured him. "She's a lot like me sister that way."
"Do ye have a plan?" Tormod asked with interest.
"Aye. I'll use the lad against her," Niels said simply.
The old man smiled and nodded. "That'll work. She frets about him enough ye'd think he was hers."
"Aye," Niels agreed and then asked, "Why is that?"
Tormod shook his head. "Lady Edith has always had a good heart . . . too good at times. Others take advantage." He sighed. "It breaks me heart to think what'll happen to her when Brodie returns. Most like she'll be on her way to the Abbey within an hour after he arrives. She deserves better."
"Aye," Niels murmured, wishing there was something he could do for her.
"Well, I guess I'd best go let the lads ken what they're doing today," Tormod said, getting to his feet.
"Will they mind?" he asked curiously.
Tormod snorted. "Not likely. Oh, they'll whine and complain about doing women's work while they drag the mats out, but once it comes time fer burning the rushes, they'll pull out the ale and drink and laugh around the fire."
Niels smiled faintly. It's what he and his brothers would have done too. Wishing the man a good day, he stood and headed above stairs to retrieve the items he wanted for this outing.
Chapter 4
"Mayhap ye should rest, m'lady."
Edith managed a smile for Moibeal at that suggestion, but merely shook her head. "I'm fine."
"Aye, but ye've been awful ill fer weeks," her maid said worriedly. "Ye do no' want to overdo it and fall ill again."
"I was poisoned, no' ill, Moibeal," Edith pointed out, bending to hack at the base of the next bunch of rushes with the sickle in her right hand.
Edith bit back a groan as she added the rushes to the bunch gathered in her left arm, and then glanced around in surprise when the whole stack was taken from her. Swallowing the "thank ye" that almost slipped out, she scowled at Niels instead and said, "I can manage, m'lord, ye--"
"Ronson's exhausted," Niels interrupted. "He did no' sleep well last night and is younger than most o' the other children here. He needs a break."
Pausing, Edith glanced around with a frown to see Ronson working wearily farther along the bank, the exhaustion clear on his pale face. "Aye," she murmured with concern and straightened. "I'll tell him to stop and rest now."
"I already did," Niels said with a shrug. "But he insists he'll work as long as ye do."
"Really?" She frowned.
"Aye. I was hoping to convince ye to take a wee break. Just long enough to get the boy to stop," he added quickly, and then tempted her with, "I brought some of those cherry pastries and furs to sit on. I already spread out the furs. I thought we could have a picnic. I suspect Ronson'll fall asleep soon as his belly is full and then ye can work some more or no' as ye wish."
Edith's mouth began to water at the thought of the cherry pastries, and her body was crying out for rest. Niels had been right. She had tired sooner than she'd expected, but she'd pushed on, determined not to give in.
Her gaze slid over the other children and maids working along the riverbank to collect the needed rushes and then lifted to the sky overhead. It was as blue as Niels's eyes. There wasn't even a hint of rain that she could see. They seemed to have plenty of time to accomplish their task. Her gaze moved next to the carts they'd brought down with them. One was full, the other just starting to be used and she nodded.
"Moibeal, have Sorcha lead the full cart back to the castle so that the older maids who stayed behind can start on weaving the mats. Have Bryce accompany her," she added, choosing the oldest boy. "Give them an apple each to take with them and then pass out the apples to the children and the rest o' the maids. Everyone can sit down and rest for a few minutes."
"Aye, m'lady," Moibeal grinned gratefully, not at her, Edith noticed, but at Niels. As if he'd accomplished a miracle in getting her to stop.
Shaking her head, Edith started to turn and nearly toppled over when she tried to move away from the shore. The mud was sucking at her feet, sapping her strength. If Niels hadn't caught her arm, she would have fallen over. Mumbling a "thank ye," she let him lead her toward the trees where he'd set out the furs.
"Ronson!" Niels called as he saw Edith seated. "Bring Laddie and come sit a spell."
"Aye, m'lord."
Edith grimaced at the relief in the boy's voice, and bit her lip when she saw him struggle out of the mud along the river and then drop his stack of rushes and head toward them. The boy was dragging his feet something awful until Laddie moved to his side. Throwing his arm over the dog, Ronson leaned on him and managed to pick up his pace a bit. The moment he reached the furs, though, he released the dog and collapsed to sit on them.
"This rush collecting is a buggering business," Ronson gasped, flopping onto his back on the furs.
Edith sighed and just shook her head, too exhausted to comment on his language. Honestly, Niels and his brothers had been at the castle for only ten days, most of that time spent in her room from what she could tell, and already had the lad sounding like a soldier. Only the soldiers tried not to swear so much in front of the women, or at least not in front of her.
"Muddy feet off the fur, lad. And make sure Laddie does no' get on them. He's soaked from trying to catch fish in the river," Niels said mildly as he sat down and opened the sack he'd brought to begin digging inside.
"Aye, m'lord." Ronson shifted to make sure his muddy feet were not on the fur, and then patted the grass next to his feet and said, "Come on, Laddie. Lay down."
The huge dog moved over to sniff Ronson's hand, obviously hoping for a treat. Wh
en he didn't find one, he huffed, and then gave himself a good shake, sending water flying everywhere.
Ronson squealed in surprise and covered his face, but Edith merely smiled and closed her eyes against the smattering of water drops spraying over her. She was too content to move, the sun felt fine on her face and lit up her eyelids so that all she saw was a bright red vista.
"Lass?"
Edith opened her eyes to see Niels holding out a cherry pastry and a skin of liquid.
"Thank ye," she murmured, accepting the offering. Taking them both, she sniffed at the liquid in the skin, relieved when it turned out to be cider.
"I did no' bring wine because ye mentioned ye did no' care fer it much," he murmured, handing Ronson a cherry pastry as well before taking one for himself.
"Thank ye," Edith said sincerely and sipped some of the sweet liquid before passing back the skin.
Raising her pastry, she bit into it and moaned softly with pleasure as the sweet center exploded in her mouth. No one made pastries like Jaimie did. Edith ate the first quickly, but took more time with her second, half-distracted as she watched Niels peel an apple in one long strand that dangled from the edge of his knife.
"How'd ye do that, m'lord?" Ronson asked, eyeing what Niels was doing with fascination.
"Just keep going round," Niels said and stopped to retrieve another apple. Handing it to the boy he said, "Get out yer sgian-dubh and I'll show ye."
"Ronson does no' have a sgian-dubh," Edith said gently.
Niels frowned and then handed him his own. "You can use mine then. I'll use me dirk."
Ronson accepted the black-handled, short knife, his eyes wide and reverent.
"Watch ye do no' cut yerself," Niels cautioned as he retrieved his dirk and slid it under the apple peel he'd started. "Now just start at the top by the stem and go around, but ye do no' want to cut too deep else ye waste the meat o' the apple. Do no' cut too thin though either, else it'll tear."
Edith watched silently as he instructed the boy, fascinated by how gentle and encouraging he was with him.
Lying down on her side to watch, she smiled as she noted how Ronson had his tongue out and curved to the side as he worked. His concentration was such that one would have thought he was learning the most important task in the world, she thought with amusement, and then glanced toward Laddie when he suddenly leapt to his feet and hurried off. The dog had rushed down to the water to join the others. They'd finished their apples and were returning to gathering rushes, she saw with a frown, and turned back to Ronson and Niels. Ronson was still near the top of his apple, working slowly and carefully to peel it in one long strand.