"Now you get under that blanket and have a rest, won’t you? Remember, you have a special pair of visitors coming, and you wouldn’t want them to worry if they saw you looking tired and pale, now would you?”
“No, you’re right. Will you please blow out the candle, and give me a kiss, daughter?” Morgan requested.
Morgana couldn’t recall ever having kissed her father before, but she did so dutifully.
Morgan put his arms around her, and hugged her tightly.
“Good night, my dear. Thank you. Sleep well,” he murmured.
Morgana returned to her study slowly, stunned at the change in her father. He had actually been kind to her, embraced her. It was only a little thing, but it made such a difference. She was now more eager than ever to make him proud of her.
Once she was back in her study, she made another list for her proposed shopping trip to Clogher with Ruairc, and then laid her throbbing head on the desk, telling herself it would only be for a moment's rest.
“Morgana? Morgana? Are you in there?” Ruairc called from outside, but she was too weary to answer.
He looked in and saw her slumbering soundly. Blowing out the candles on the desk, Ruairc came over to the chair and lifted Morgana like a small child. He carried her down the corridor to her room.
Morgana revelled in the warmth and comfort which emanated from his huge solid frame.
“Oh, Ruairc,” Morgana murmured throatily as she nuzzled against him.
Ruairc struggled hard against the temptation to caress her. He had promised, and taking advantage of her unconscious revelation of her more tender feelings for him was not part of their bargain. He took off her overgown and loosened the laces of her doublet, before moving to peel off her trunk hose, and unbuckling her sword hilt from around her slender waist.
Then he tucked her under the blanket, and stooped to give her a tender kiss.
“Sweet dreams, a stor,” Ruairc whispered as he stroked Morgana’s cheek.
Morgana was conscious of Ruairc leaving the room, and smiled softly. He hadn’t pressed his lovemaking, but nevertheless she had got a clear indication of his true feelings for her in the brief interlude, without giving any of her own away.
Her lips still tingling from his passionate kiss, Morgana drifted off into a dreamless sleep, content to be once more in her beloved home with the people she cared about most in the world.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The following morning dawned cold and grey, and Morgana had to force herself out of the bed. She stumbled over to the dresser, where a bowl of freezing cold water was all she allowed herself for ablutions.
“I need to clear my head,” she muttered aloud as she pulled fresh clothes out of the carved oaken chest at the foot of her four-poster bed. She dressed in a warm woollen tunic, and fetched her oldest but most serviceable cloak.
Morgana’s first stop was the kitchen, where she began to make the bread for the household. She noted angrily that while the village had done without, Fergus and Aofa had seen to it that there was plenty of good quality flour in the barrels.
Morgana made enough dough for forty loaves before leaving it to rise and proof. She loaded the baking ovens with fuel, and pumping the bellows vigorously, she finally got the blaze going well.
Then Morgana went out to the barn, and began to milk the cows. She discovered that the yield was fairly poor, but again, once there was good grass for them to eat, they would thrive.
Morgana brought the milk to the kitchen, where she poured out some for the household’s use, and then another bucketful for making butter. A third bucket she reserved for making her own cheese, and the rest she put to one side to distribute to the village when the bread was ready.
Morgana hunted in each bushel, and saw that there were plenty of oats, and some rye and barley. They would serve to stretch out the wheat flour, and Morgana also decided that porridge was the best thing for breakfast in the mornings for the whole household. She also took out some smoked kippers from the barrel in the store, and soon was happily cooking breakfast for a dozen people.
Ruairc was the first one down to the great hall. He was closely followed by Tomas and then Declan, who eagerly awaited their father’s arrival so they could discuss the plans they had formulated with Morgana.
Surprised that the chatelaine of the castle and head of the clan had made breakfast, the three men thanked Morgana for the porridge. Ruairc inwardly had reservations about her cooking skills, but said nothing. He took a tentative spoonful, and then dug into his bowl heartily.
“This is lovely,” he said, astonished at her ability to cook. She had indeed changed in the past two years.
“Are there any more kippers?” Tomas asked, holding out his plate hopefully.
Morgana served up the last of them, and went to the kitchen to cut some slices of bacon off of one of the salted slabs. She returned to the hall with a trencher and a pitcher of fresh milk and some wooden cups.
Then she moved about sweeping out the hall, and laying fresh rushes before the guests arrived.
She also climbed up on several stacked benches, and began to clean the black grimy film left by numerous smoky fires from off the glass windows.
“Really, Morgana, you have servants for that sort of thing,” Declan protested anxiously, as he watched her balance precariously.
“Hard work never killed anyone, Declan, and besides, I’ve told you already, I can’t lead the clan except by example. I will do whatever job needs to be done around here, and without complaint. I will expect the same from the clansmen, when they finally do return.”
“If they return,” Tomas pointed out.
“When,” Morgana maintained, and turned back to her scrubbing.
“What would you like us to do to help?” Ruairc offered, though he saw the two O’Donnell men exchange depressed looks.
“For one thing, the horses need mucking out and exercise, so why don’t you do a bit of hunting before Ronan and Niamh arrive?”
All three men looked relieved, but Ruairc felt guilty as he watched her finish the windows and go back down into the kitchen. He brought the dirty bowls down with him, and put them in the basin which he filled with warm water from a kettle hanging on an iron in the massive fireplace. He watched Morgana as she kneaded her dough again, and then saw her laying out the huge slab of animal fat stored to make candles.
“Morgana, really, that is a very hard job, all the stirring and heating and cooling and so on. I would have you rest a little, go a bit more slowly. You must have been up since five to do all those chores.”
“Four, actually, but then I’m used to it at the convent. In any case, the other women will be coming in soon to help me, and so the least I can do is get the fat heated up.
"Then I have to muck out the pigs, and with any luck Ronan is bringing us a new millstone from his quarry, and some grain which I will no doubt have to pay dearly for. But I want the bakery up and running again, and also the smithy and the other shops in the castle precinct. After all, we can trade our made goods here in Ireland at the markets, not just over the seas,” Morgana reasoned.
“A good point, my dear, but it won’t all be done overnight.”
“I know that, but why waste time?”
She continued to stir the fatty ooze until Mary came in to take her place. Morgana then put two huge cauldrons of water over the fire to boil. She tried to do it herself, but he rushed to help her get them set up.
"What's all this for now?
“If you have any things which need to be washed, I think it’s about time we did the laundry today.”
"You seem determined to overdo things—"
"I'm determined to make a fresh start. If you don't want to help me, fine, but don't keep trying to stop me from doing what I think is best."
He ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "Damn it all, whatever I try to do, I can't win, Morgana!" he rasped in a low tone. "If I help you, you resent me. If I try to be caring and concerned, you
tell me I'm not helping. What am I supposed to do?"
"I didn't say—"
He took the third heavy cauldron out of her hand to fill it at the pump. "You did say. I can't read your mind like an open book. Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it. And yes, you are the leader here, you have made that quite clear, my love, but you can't do everything yourself. You need to delegate. It's what a good leader does. There's no point in being head of the clan if you try to do everything for them, and they sit idly by and watch you work yourself into an early grave."
She looked as though she would argue with him, but he stopped pumping and carried the filled cauldron over to where she had placed the others.
"All set."
"Thank you, but I could have—"
"Yes, I know you could, Morgana, but I really do want to help. And love isn't a weakness, pet, it can also be a strength. Think of Plato's Symposium. We achieve much in order to make our beloved proud of us. I want you to be proud of me, just as I am of you."
She nodded, and bit her lip. "But mayhap after living so long as the despised daughter, I need to be proud of myself?"
"Aye," he agreed. "What your father did was never fair. You're as alike as two peas in a pod."
"He did what he thought was best. Now you have to let me do the same for my family." She picked up the large wooden pounder with a flourish. "And that means first getting this castle cleaned from top to bottom, and ready for the spring campaigning season."
Ruairc decided if he lingered any longer in the kitchen he was going to lose his temper and probably get covered in boiling fat, or his mouth washed out with soap. Though for yelling at her or kissing her, he wasn't quite sure. A vision of her in her warm, steaming bathtub rose up unbidden. He could recall like it was yesterday her swanlike neck and the ripe curves of her breasts as the tops bobbed above the water.
He shook his head to dispel the vivid image before it unmanned him, and muttered, “I’m leaving this mad house. I’ll be back soon with some dinner.”
He pecked her on the cheek unthinkingly, and departed.
Morgana stood pensively rubbing the spot where his lips had made electrifying contact. Damn him, he’s the only man who can set me on fire without even trying, she sighed.
But then Morgana watched at his retreating back with some amusement. Poor Ruairc. He’s doing his best to keep his word, but I can see the disapproval written all over his face. She smiled to herself.
Morgana went to the two guest rooms she had in mind should Niamh and Ronan decide they wished to stay the night, and found some sheets for the feather mattresses, and cases for the bolster.
Once she had finished dusting and sweeping out the rooms, and putting basins and full ewers of water in each, she went down the corridor to visit her father.
She looked around the door quietly to see if he was awake and found him looking almost back to normal apart from the weight he had lost and the lingering yellow tinge to his skin.
“Father, you look so well! Did you have a good sleep?”
“I did indeed, Daughter. I slept as soundly as a new born baby now that my cares have been lifted from my shoulders by you.”
Morgana was astonished to see that he actually smiled.
“I came to see if you were up to having some clean clothes put on you, and some clean sheets and a tidying for this room.But if you’re not up to it, just tell me, and I’ll leave you in peace,” Morgana offered.
“No, it’s sounds marvellous. I’d like to look my best for one of my oldest friends. Can you fetch me my dark green tunic and trousers, and the matching cloak? And bring me some hot water for a shave?”
“Your hair looks very shaggy as well, Father. Would you like me to cut the front a bit shorter?”
“Might as well, as long as I am getting myself all prettified,” Morgan laughed.
“I’ll get some hot water and the scissors, and then leave you to wash yourself, while I get the clothes and shoes.”
Morgana hummed a happy little tune to herself as she bustled along the corridor and back down to the kitchen.
She poured some hot water from one of the kettles into a copper cauldron, and took several cloths out of the drawer for her father to wash and dry himself with.
After she dropped the water off in his room, she unlocked the door to his room, and fetched his razor and clothes.Leaving him to his ablutions, Morgana began to tidy away the mess in Morgan’s room which looked as though it had been accumulating for far longer than two years.
It’s my fault, she reflected ruefully. I was never much of a housekeeper, always out hunting and fishing and fighting. But then he had had Aofa to look after the finer aspects of castle life, except that she couldn’t have cared less about anyone other than herself and her own cmforts.
Morgana resolved that she would do better, and try to be both a daughter as well as a substitute son from now on. She examined the clothes she found with a critical eye and then decided that almost all of them look liked they needed a good wash. She also stripped the bed and bolster, and remade them with clean sheets.
What didn’t go into the wash pile had to be neatly folded and put away, but the wardrobe and presses were in such a muddle that Morgana ended up pulling out everything and starting all over again.One drawer she noticed was locked, and not a single key on the housekeepping ring would open it. Morgana gave up and decided it was no concern of hers. It was her father’s private apartment, and he could do as he liked there.
Once Morgana had uncovered all the furniture and cleared the floor of the mess she had found, she dusted the fine oak furniture and began to sweep out the old rushes. Then she got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed the floor with a thick, stiff bristled brush, and brought the mountain of laundry downstairs to the kitchen to get started with the soaking and scrubbing.
Mary shook her head and said, “You’ve taken leave of your senses.”
But Morgana argued, “A good clean once every two years is no bad thing. I’m sure it will protect us from disease. Here, keep an eye on these shirts for me.I’m going to put them on for a good boil.”
Morgana grew heated with her exertions, and stripped down to her shirt and hose as she went about her chores. She went upstairs and looked through her own room, tidying, remaking the bed, and sweeping out the floor and giving it a good scrub.
When she had done the same with all the other rooms on the first floor of the castle, she laid fresh rushes on every floor, and then went to see her father again. He was sitting up in a chair, and with his whiskers neatly trimmed and his cheeks freshly shaved, he no longer looked like a ferocious grey bear.
“Here I am, Father. I hadn’t forgotten you, I’ve just cleaned out the whole storey,” she said as she pushed a stray auburn curl away from her forehead with the back of her hand and took up the scissors.
“That’s all right, it's worth the wait to see you standing there looking so happy and fulfilled again. You never were one for sitting still and doing your hair, were you,” Morgan said, with a slight edge of bitterness to his voice.
“Perhaps if I had been we would have got along better,” Morgana teased, “but instead I had to turn out like a wild young thing.”
“Wild perhaps, but faithful beyond measure to those you love.”
“That’s what Ruairc always used to call me, you know, ‘The Faithful Heart.’ We even named the last ship from Corunna that, since we could think of no other name.”
“I hate myself when I think of all I've cheated you out of, but that is the worst. I've robbed you of two years in which you might have been happy, two years which might have had you produce two fine strong grandsons to bless my old age,” Morgan said with a sigh..
Morgana could actually see tears in his eyes. She hugged his head to her, and soothed, “There, there, Father. No real harm has been done.”
“But I might have died without your knowing the truth, and without telling you how much you mean to me!” Morgan protested.
&n
bsp; She took his hand and smiled down at him. “Then let us make each other a promise, that we will make the most of what ever days we have left. Life is too short for bitter recriminations and regrets. I'm glad I've patched up my differences with you and Ruairc and the O’Donnell family. Now that we are all friends again, I would have us remain that way, and not take that friendship for granted. We should do more joint trade ventures together, not compete with one another, and protect each other’s interests on this coast. I think Tiarnach O’Connor in Sligo would agree with me as well. I will send him a message inviting him to visit some time when it is convenient, and to tell him I am finally home.”
“It sounds as though you mean to stay here after all, Morgana,” he observed, giving her a sharp look.
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