The Enchantress

by May McGoldrick

“Aye, that you did, Sir Wyntoun. And I will go back just as soon as you answer one more question.”

  The man’s stern expression softened as he stared down at the young girl. “Aye, lassie. And what is it this time?”

  “How many more days before we arrive?”

  “Two, perhaps three, if the weather cooperates. But we’ve already talked about this today, I bel--”

  “And how many camps will we be making before we see Blackfearn Castle?”

  Wyntoun MacLean scowled to hide his smile, though he knew that the child saw right through him anyway. “That makes two questions, if I am not mistaken.”

  The blue eyes turning upward in an attitude of pleading that had the Highlander shaking his head in defeat.

  “Considering your first question is the same one you’ve been asking about a hundred times a day since we left Hoddom Castle, I suppose I should allow you this second one. Though, to be honest, lass, I do not see the diff--”

  “How many camps, Sir Wyntoun?”

  “By the d--” He checked himself. “Once again, child, weather permitting, as few as two. But it could be more.”

  “Could we do without them and arrive there today?”

  “Would you want to kill that wee darling you’re riding, Miriam? Nay! Besides, ‘tis far too treacherous a ride in the dark.” He shook his head and looked at her closely. “Are you cold, lassie?”

  Miriam’s impish face shook from side to side. “‘Tis not cold, at all.”

  The blue tinge in her lips contradicted her words, though. She was a wee, stubborn elf, to be sure, he thought.

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Sir Wyntoun.”

  He nodded his head and, reaching into the leather bag tied to his saddle, pulled out another blanket. “Aye, I know that. But your horse looks a wee bit cold, so put this over your lap for me.”

  “Very well, though she doesn’t look cold to me.” With a look of a person humoring another, however, she took it and carefully tucked it around her legs.

  “That should keep her warm, lass. Now, why not wait right here and get into your place in line?”

  “Before I go, Sir Wyntoun,” she blurted out, “what do you think I should call my uncle?”

  “He is your uncle. Just call him that.”

  She shook her head. “That was before. Now he is my guardian. Nanna Jean said before we left, that means he will now be like my father. But I cannot call him ‘guardian,’ can I?” She twisted her face into a frown and gazed up into the Highlander’s face. “Perhaps I should call him ‘Sir William.’ Nay, that won’t do. Perhaps ‘laird’?”

  Wyntoun MacLean shook his head. “Well, lass, I--”

  “‘Father’? Do you think he would like me to call him ‘father’?”

  The Highlander watched silently as a look of uncertainty clouded the young girl’s face.

  “What if he hates me?”

  “I know your uncle, Miriam. He won’t hate you.”

  “But what if he doesn’t want me? The way--the way Grandsire didn’t.”

  “Lord Herries is an old man.” Wyntoun stopped, realizing there was no point in defending the bloodless old bastard. She had seen it herself.

  “Will he want me?”

  The knight gave her a reassuring nod. “You’ll do very well, Miriam. I know William Ross. The man will treasure you, lass.”

  CHAPTER 14

  The arguing was loud and incessant, and angry voices drifted up the steps with the familiar smell of burnt food. Laura tucked her skirts around her legs and listened from her place in the darkness of the stairway leading up from the kitchens.

  She was waiting for him. She knew he would come. He always did. Escaping the chaos at its height and seeking a position of refuge. She’d run into Chonny a number of times at this spot. He’d surely be here this morning.

  Laura had discovered soon enough that taking the time to be friendly with the surly man was wasted breath. On the other hand, though, any time she’d asked him what was happening in the kitchen, Chonny had been more than willing to talk. In fact, he could be quite articulate about what had caused a current disaster and how it could be resolved. Not that anyone in the kitchen was interested in listening, however. In his own words, who cared what a cripple had to say?

  Well, Laura cared, for one. And she had in fact set her mind to making a few changes.

  At the sound of renewed shrieking between two women below, Laura edged forward on her step. Just as she’d expected, Chonny soon appeared, pulling himself up the steps on his hands and stopping abruptly upon seeing Laura blocking his way.

  She moved a little more to one side and smiled pleasantly. “I believe there is room for both of us.”

  Even in the semi-darkness of the stairs, Laura saw the man’s face turn a deep shade of crimson. He grumbled a complaint under his breath and seated himself a few steps below her perch.

  “Another disaster?”

  He grumbled something again that she didn’t hear.

  “There seem to be plenty of helping hands in the kitchen now. I just cannot, for the life of me, understand why Blackfearn Castle is still plagued with such horrible food.”

  “Too many.”

  “Too many people to feed? I agree,” she said simply. “It must be quite difficult to feed so many people.”

  “Too many helpers,” he snapped. “That hell-hole is lousy with villagers who wouldn’t know a spoon from a sheep’s arse. And there is not a one of them down there who knows how to give a direction clearly, never mind cook.”

  “So Janet is not the woman to run the kitchen?”

  “She’s a brewer,” he muttered.

  “Nor Peter’s Wife, either?”

  Chonny merely snorted in response and glanced up the steps at her.

  Laura rested her chin in her hand as if contemplating what he’d said and stared over his head. “Hmm. Then I suppose the laird’s solution might have to be tried.”

  She waited, avoiding the young man’s piercing gaze. She waited, knowing that the question would come. It did.

  “What solution?”

  Laura turned to him and brightened, as if she’d just remembered he was there. “You, Chonny.”

  “You said the laird had a solution for the kitchen.”

  She ignored him. “I am told that you have become a terror in the kitchen. They say everybody jumps when you lose your temper. They say that what you do not have in height, you make up for in lungs. Is that true?”

  He turned away and again grumbled under his breath. Pushing himself up, he moved easily down a couple of steps.

  “Do you want to hear William Ross’s solution?”

  “You don’t have to tell me, I can guess it myself. He wants me out of the kitchen.”

  “Nay, just the opposite. I heard Peter’s Wife tell Maire that you think you’d make a better cook than anyone around. Is that true, Chonny?”

  The man turned and faced Laura, his look of surprise quickly turning to suspicion.

  “Is that true, Chonny?”

  “Why shouldn’t I think so? From the time I lost these,” he snapped, gesturing toward his legs, “I’ve spent my whole life in that kitchen. I’ve got a brain, mistress, and I’ve watched enough to know how to cook. Who is to say I shouldn’t raise my voice when the place is about to burn down?”

  “Not I.” Laura smiled. “And not the laird, either. William Ross believes ‘tis time you took over this kitchen.”

  *****

  When William strode into the smaller room adjoining the laird’s chambers, there was a fire blazing in the hearth. Symon, a lean, balding man with badly bowed legs, followed closely behind him. Edward ducked his head as he entered behind the other two.

  The laird frowned as he cast a cursory glance over the room. There were changes here, but William did not want to waste any time getting to the discussion. He motioned for Edward to close the door.

  William had no desire to prolong this. He needed a steward for Blackfearn Castle
, someone competent, a man who could read and write. He also wanted a Ross man who was good with figures. Most of all, he must be someone William could trust. Symon was the uncle of one of his men, and he had served well as a steward at one of the farms that supported St. Duthac’s. It was only because of Gilbert’s reorganizing of the farms that he was available. A good solid manager, Gilbert had told him. And Symon was here and willing.

  “You have the job, Symon. How soon can you move into the castle?”

  His abruptness raised Edward’s eyebrows, but the new steward didn’t seem at all surprised.

  “Thank you, m’lord. I’m looking forward to the challenges that Blackfearn Castle offers. In fact, I have already asked my nephew Tar to accompany me back to the farm for my things, if you do not mind losing him for a few hours.”

  “Not at all.” William turned to the table and stared for a moment at the orderly state of affairs there. He glanced at Edward--who quickly looked away.

  “I’ve already been told how to proceed through the work waiting for me here. I know Robert the steward was a good man, but it has been some time since he passed away.”

  “Aye.” William thumbed through the items on his table. Someone had sorted the work by task--the account ledger of the keep lay ready for entries, a letter of recommendation to the bishop at Inverness for a village lad to one side, an incomplete list of the stores in the outlying farms. There were a dozen other things as well. “There will be a great deal facing you.”

  “Nothing to fear, master. In fact, after sitting with Mistress Laura this morning, I’d say--”

  “Mistress Laura?”

  William’s eyes were murderous as he swung toward Edward again. The giant Highlander was intently studying an ancient, though newly dusted broadsword gracing the wall above the fireplace.

  “Aye. The lass appears very knowledgeable when it comes to organization, even for a place as large as this castle. More interestingly, though, is the way she knows the questions to ask a man about his work.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Without a doubt.” The man nodded. “She asked so many questions. Everything from what I did when I was here as a young man, helping Robert the steward’s father before the son took over, to what my last position required of me as steward at the Dunbrae farm.”

  William sat down in the laird’s chair and stared at Symon.

  “She even asked me how I treat people and asked for the names of a few that she could question herself. Why, before we were done with our wee talk, she knew me better than I knew myself. And I’m thinking she was happy enough with what she found to recommend me to you.”

  “And when you spoke with her...”

  “Aye, this morning.”

  “...you found this to be time well spent?”

  “Of course. I knew right off what you’d be needing from me, and we’d both know whether I was up to the task. You were training in the yard with the men when I arrived, and the lass approached me directly.” Symon nodded with admiration. “That shows real leadership on your part, m’lord, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. Not every man could leave a woman to do the questioning.”

  “That’s true enough.”

  “But then again, there aren’t too many lassies about like Mistress Laura, either.”

  “Nay. Indeed, there are not.” William glared at Edward, who was now looking on and smiling weakly. “You be on your way now, Symon. Sooner you start, the better. You’ll use this chamber to keep your books.”

  “Thank you, m’lord. As I told Mistress Laura, you won’t be disappointed with my work.”

  With a quick bow by the door, Symon stepped out, and Edward started after him.

  “Get back here, you oversized, dog-faced...”

  With his head hanging, the huge Highlander stepped back in and closed the door.

  “Explain.”

  “‘Tis true. I let her in here, m’lord. She organized your desk. She talked to the new steward. And...”

  “What else?” William asked sharply.

  “She’s organized the help in the kitchen and hired a new cook, though I had nothing to do with that, I swear.”

  “All this since yesterday?”

  “She has a way of getting things done, Will.” Edward looked up and met his master’s angry glare. “We--I...didna know that you were totally unaware of her actions. She said--perhaps was my misunderstanding her--but I thought that she said you had agreed to a list that she’d discussed?”

  “That damned list again,” William muttered, recalling their conversation.

  “I can assure you, m’lord, that no harm came out of anything she’s done, and if you need to punish anyone for what’s done...” The Highlander straightened to his full height. “You should hold me responsible, even for the cook.”

  Looking at his man, William realized he himself wasn’t the only one who seemed to become tongue-tied when it came to dealing with Laura. Rolling the gold coin over his knuckles, he stared again at the neat table before him and realized that he really was not at all angry about what she had done. A competent steward was needed. A new cook was a must.

  But cleaning his worktable?

  He looked about him and realized that this was the first time he’d sat in the laird’s chair in this chamber without a feeling of intense loathing afflicting him. He frowned up at Edward.

  “And who has she selected as the new cook?”

  “Please hear the whole thing out, William.”

  The laird’s eyes narrowed. “Is it a disaster?”

  Edward shook his head. “In truth, I believe it may work out.”

  “Very well. Who is it, then?”

  “Chonny.”

  “Chonny?”

  Edward nodded, smoothing his beard with a huge meaty hand. “When first Mistress Laura told me, I thought ‘twas madness, but she--she has a way of being quite convincing.”

  “I know.”

  “She says he’s suited to the job.” Edward shrugged his broad shoulders and looked at his laird. “Of course, the final decision is yours, William. But I walked through the kitchens this morning, and I agree with her.”

  William frowned at his warrior. He hoped that Edward was thinking clearly when it came to dealing with Laura. By the saint, one of them would have to. He looked narrowly at his man. For Edward’s sake, he’d better not be falling under her spell, because just as William himself planned never to touch her again, neither would any of his men be allowed near her.

  “Mistress Laura knows somehow that Chonny has spent most of his life in those kitchens. Through his years of watching, he has become an expert in knowing how to feed a whole castle.”

  “Aye,” William nodded. “He used to turn the spits when he was younger.”

  “And the lad has the cooperation of every helping hand that walks in there.”

  “Is that so?”

  Edward nodded thoughtfully. “Everyone knows him and most fear his temper. But more to the point, no one truly wants the job of running those kitchens on their own.”

  “Is he willing? Has anybody talked to him about this?”

  “I talked to him myself. As much as you can tell with Chonny, I’d say the man is thrilled to have the opportunity.” Edward grinned sheepishly. “And the man cannot wait to thank you in person for giving him the chance.”

  “Thank me?”

  “Aye, William. Mistress Laura told him that ‘twas you who thought of him for the job.”

  Guilt made William look away. He knew Chonny well. Though the man was a couple of years younger, he and Gilbert used to play together when they were all lads. Even after his accident, after he became a cripple, they used to steal the workmen’s carts and bring him out in the yard for their mock jousts. William would push him in one cart--Chonny holding a wooden lance in hand--while Tar or one of the other lads would push Gilbert.

  That seemed a lifetime ago. It all came to an end when he was sent away to St. Andrew’s and later to Lord Herries’s cast
le to become educated to the ways of the world.

  But then, fate had different plans for him. Bitter plans, and years in the service of the queen mother. And then he was back here, laird of the same people who had once bowed their heads to his brother...and his wife.

  William shook off these thoughts. He had been back for nearly two years, and still he was neglecting these people. These people who were now his responsibility. Folk like Chonny who still thought him worthy of offering their service to him. He was their laird.

  William rose from the chair and came around the table. “Where is she now?”

  Edward hesitated to answer, as if gauging the laird’s anger at their visitor.

  “I’m at peace with what she’s done in the kitchens. Where might I find her now?”

  “I’d only be guessing, m’lord, since she asked for no help from me on the next item on her list.”

  “Which was?”

  “Actually ‘twas the first item and--”

  “By the devil, Edward! Out with it, man,” William snapped. He needed to see her and get a few things straight.

  “The chambers in the east wing. Something about finding a suitable place for your niece?”

  On impulse, instead of using the door that led to the Great Hall, William went out through the small door leading to the laird’s quarters. He came to a sudden stop. He rarely came through here. When he did, he chose not to spend any time in the chamber. But he saw it now. There was change here as well.

  “She did not do a great deal in here, m’lord.” Edward quickly explained behind the Ross. “.I happened to mention that you were not keen on using the laird’s quarters, and she said something about not blaming you, considering how disused it smelled and looked. I believe she asked Maire to help her spread some fresh rushes and air the room.”

  William looked about him. These quarters were Thomas’s. And in his mind, they belonged to the true laird, so he had stayed away.

  And he would still stay away. And she had no right to be meddling with his life. His life was perfectly fine. Well, perhaps not perfect, but he liked his life just as it was.

  He headed out of the chambers and went to the kitchen first. The change was striking. No meat burning on the fire. No smoke billowing about the rafters. No stacks of pots and bowls or piles of decaying food cluttering the tables or floors. Boys were bustling in and out with baskets of fowl and large bowls of oats from the storage rooms or turning meat on the spits. Looking about, he saw a small group of lasses, chattering away as they industriously peeled potatoes and onions for what appeared to be the makings of the evening meal. At the far fireplace, two women from the village--one being Peter’s Wife--were cheerfully taking trays of golden brown bread from the ovens.