The Highlander's Bride (13 page)

“Aye, milady. Anything else?”

“Hmmm, just one more thing. The training in the courtyard.”

“Now you cannot be asking me to end training. Neither Conor nor I would be having that, even if you did get Fiona to do all the cooking.”

“Oh, nonsense. You highlanders love to go off on tangents and assume things that are just preposterous.” She sighed, “What I wanted to ask you was about training times. How many hours do your men usually train each day?”

“Several hours, milady.”

“I was wondering if we could schedule training times in the courtyard. I noticed this morning that the people of the keep often interfered with your training as they tried to pass and get to other areas of the castle.”

It was true. Clan members working inside the castle walls often interrupted training when trying to go about their duties. Several months ago, one man got seriously injured during a sword exercise. It was amazing that he lived.

“What do you suggest, milady?”

“There are several options, Finn. Maybe once an hour they could break so people could pass. Or maybe training could stop for an hour once in the morning and again the afternoon.”

Finn didn’t seem to like those ideas. “Training is a difficult thing to start and stop, milady. One cannot just call a halt in the middle of practice. It would be counterproductive.”

Laurel could see his point. “Perhaps training in the morning could take place in the courtyard, but after lunch they could resume outside the walls.”

Finn saw the sense of this suggestion. In the warmer months, training outside the castle would not be a problem. It was only in colder months when unexpected winter storms came upon them that he liked to train closer to—if not inside—the curtain walls. But he was sure that he could find a suitable training area.

Laurel stopped and touched Finn’s sleeve to show her appreciation. “I understand that none of the options are ideal for warrior training, but it would help the castle workers to perform their duties while staying away from the soldiers.”

“We will all learn and help. I promise you.”

Laurel wrung her hands together, embarrassed at her onslaught of requests. “One more thing, Finn. I spoke with Buzz earlier—a very sweet man—about getting some help with some of the more physical tasks. He said that he would meet with you about this?”

Finn laughed quietly at her reference to Buzz the Battler as a “sweet man.” “Buzz and I have consulted. We will be sending you at least a half dozen men to help each day. Do they need to be the same men or can I rotate them?”

“Whatever is best for you, Finn. I just appreciate your assistance.” Laurel sighed. “Well, I suppose that is all for now. Thank you again. And please see Fiona about food for the men while the hall is closed and come up a permanent schedule for the daily meals.”

“Aye, milady,” Finn replied and returned to his duties somewhat stunned at their conversation. He had not thought that Laurel could fulfill her promise to the laird about making him “rue the day.” But here she was, well on her way to doing just that.

Laurel Cordell certainly did have a way about her, and not just with men, either. He saw the way Fiona had responded to her. Laurel may not have realized it, but Fiona, while the best cook in the clan, was also the crankiest, always was searching for a way to be contrary. Finn guessed that Fiona’s uncooperative nature was the real reason the laird had not appointed her cook in the first place. He didn’t want to hear backtalk from her. But somehow Laurel had found a way to manage the old, cantankerous clanswoman.

Finn wondered if Laurel realized that with every change she made, with every heart she won over, she was solidifying her future—she was here to stay.

Laurel was excited about the progress of the day. She and Glynis were assessing the keep and, while there was still much to do, it all seemed possible now. She had been saying aloud to one and all that she was doing this for her own benefit, that she would not live in such a disheveled place. But, in truth, she was thinking about Conor. Making his castle comfortable for him, his family and guests was one of the few gifts she could give him in return for his help.

“May I ask you a question?” Glynis asked as they walked across the courtyard. Laurel jumped, startled. She had been daydreaming again.

Glynis had been wondering if Laurel was aware she often switched to Gaelic when giving instructions or providing suggestions to clansmen. She had wanted to ask her about it all morning.

“Absolutely, Glynis. What is your question?”

“How did you come to be able to speak our tongue so well?”

Oh no, thought Laurel as she bit her bottom lip. How was she to get out of this one? She hated to lie and knew that she did not do it at all well. “I, uh, was taught by my grandfather. He was taught by his grandfather and so forth. All people on my mother’s side have known the language for as far back as anyone can remember.”

“Was your grandfather a Scot?” Glynis pushed.

Laurel’s mind was whirling. How was she going to dodge this inquiry? What if she just refused to answer it? “My home was in Cheviot Hills of Northumberland. It lies right on the border between England and the border clans of Scotland.”

Glynis wondered if Lady Laurel was going to sidestep all of her questions. “Do you miss your home, milady?”

“I miss walking along the shores and over the stony fells. There are sandy beaches and pretty fishing harbors to explore and enjoy.” Just then they walked by the guard gate and Laurel was able to see through the opening the rolling waves of grass and mountains topped with snow. She impulsively added, “But now that I have seen your highlands, I will always be able to remember nature’s true beauty.”

Twice, Lady Laurel avoided answering Glynis’s questions, but the new housekeeper was not fooled by her lady’s evasions. If anything, Laurel’s avoidance of certain subjects just confirmed the housekeeper’s conclusion that her ladyship was indeed part Scottish. Glynis pondered on some of Laurel’s other odd comments. She referred to her home in the past tense, as if she were never returning. Where was her lady going in the spring, then? Glynis guessed to a Scottish relative. As a lover of any and all gossip, Glynis couldn’t wait to pass the word after she finished the castle tour.

“We are now approaching the stables. Neal is the stable master and is responsible for the laird’s horses. He has been working in the castle stables since our laird was but a wee lad.”

Laurel stopped to see Borrail and say hello to Neal. Neal had not seen her since she had first come into the keep with her dress torn and dirt all over her face. He could tell then that Laurel was a bonnie lass but he was unprepared for what he saw now. Word had spread quickly that the laird’s lady was exceptionally bonnie, but he had thought the rumors overstatements in respect to the laird being smitten with her. But those rumors had not been exaggerations. The lady who smiled at him and inquired about Borrail was an ethereal creature sent down from heaven.

“Your horse is happy to see you, lass. He desires to ride and is getting restless in the stalls,” he said as he went to stand by her and stroke Borrail’s great back. Laurel was nuzzling the horse’s neck, caressing his head, and scratching his ears.

“Oh, Borrail, don’t worry. I won’t forget about you. But I have a lot to do. I promise as soon I can, we will ride. We will ride fast and hard. Will that make you happy?” she murmured quietly.

Neal went over to Glynis and quietly pointed out, “The lass is speaking Gaelic to her horse!”

“Aye, she often speaks her language and then ours. Sometimes even in the same sentence. I don’t think she is even aware of it.” Glynis then leaned over as if she had a great secret. “She’s part Scot, Neal. I put my life on it. She has a dandy of a temper, and no English lass can look that bonnie. That’s Scots blood.” She paused, pleased to see Neal was receptive to the idea. “And her speech. Her command of our language only further proves my point.”

“Aye, the laird has chosen well,” Neal confirmed.

“Aye, he has. But you wouldn’t believe it to listen to her. She thinks she is leaving in the spring.”

Neal shook his head. The lass may believe she was leaving. Even the laird may still believe he would let her go. But Neal knew better.

“You ready to go on, milady?” Glynis asked.

“Yes, but just one more moment. Neal, how many horses are you responsible for?”

“The laird’s and his main guards’.”

“That is a lot of work. Does someone help you when everyone is home?” Laurel could tell by his stance and the frown on his face that the answer was no. Stable work was hard labor. Neal should be given support so that his knowledge would be passed to the next generation.

“I have no need for help,” he replied sternly, not knowing whether or not he should be insulted. Did she think him incapable? Weak?

Seeing his pride had been pricked, Laurel quickly interceded. “There are several young men around the castle who need to learn how to manage horses. It would help Finn during his training if the boys had already mastered the skill of taking care of their mounts. Do you suppose you could do this? Just one or two boys at a time? They need to understand what it means to care of a horse. It is not a simple job that can be done when convenient.”

He just stared at her. Ever since the laird banished help from the keep, Neal had watched the knowledge of the elders vanish. Only fighting and battle strategy were passed on now. It seemed that McTiernay Castle was in for some changes, and Neal would do whatever he could to support them.

“Aye, milady. It would be a true pleasure,” he answered, his eyes twinkling.

“Onward, Glynis. We need to let this man continue with his work,” Laurel grinned and hooked her arm with the woman who was fast becoming a close friend.

The next place Laurel inspected was the chapel. It was a simple, rectangular room covering two stories situated next to the Star Tower. A nave divided the room horizontally separating the laird’s sitting area in the upper part from the rest of the clan in the lower half. The majesty of the building came from its large round, arched ceilings, heavily embellished by a traveling artist who had visited the castle several generations ago.

The ornate ceilings were balanced with simple decorations below. The aisles had rows of stone pillars supporting the timber roof and the room was lined with benches that looked sturdy, but dusty. The pews set aside for the laird and his family were padded, but in severe need of repair. The altar looked as though it had been unused for some time.

“Glynis, do you not have a priest?”

“Aye, we do. He just hasn’t been here in some time.”

“I wonder why,” Laurel murmured to herself sarcastically. “Once the men are done with the lower hall have them clean this chapel.”

“Aye, milady.”

“Do you have material here? The curtains, the padded seats, and the altar coverings all need to be redone.”

Glynis artfully guided Laurel out of the chapel and changed the tenor of their discussion. “There are several bolts of material in the North Tower. If I may suggest, you should take some for your gowns.”

Laurel’s first reaction was to refuse, but then she realized that would be foolish. “I suppose you are right. I cannot wear this same outfit every day, now can I?” She looked down at her gown. Despite her repairs, it was severely worn. “Are you sure that no one is using the cloth? It is serving no purpose?”

“Now would I be telling you about something that is forbidden to use?” After spending a morning with her lady, Glynis was becoming comfortable in speaking her mind. It seemed that her lady responded better to frank talk. Laurel was open to suggestions, but was at ease making decisions. McTiernay Castle was going to bloom again with her in charge of household affairs.

Glynis observed Laurel for a few moments and changed their direction as she declared, “Now, it is time for you to return to your room before dinner. I will have Brighid draw you a bath and bring some fabric to your rooms.” It was only then that Laurel grasped she was in the Star Tower at the bottom of the corkscrew staircase. Glynis was ending the day’s tour.

“Not yet, I would like to see…”

“No, I think you will go now. Laird McTiernay would have my neck if he found out how hard you was working, milady. Remember, I know of your ribs, and I see how hard you are breathing after climbing the stairs in the chapel.”

Laurel could not argue about her breathing. It was labored. She felt like such an invalid, but knew that if pushed too far, too fast, she would truly then be bedridden. “Just for tonight,” Laurel acquiesced and proceeded up the stairs to her room.

She was sitting in the settee near the far window relaxing looking at the view when someone knocked.

“Come in,” she said expecting Brighid to answer. Instead the youngest two McTiernays plunged into the room.

“Why, hello!” Laurel exclaimed. “I thought you had gone with Conor to Laird Schellden’s.”

“Nah, we weren’t allowed to go,” said Clyde, climbing up on his mother’s bed just like he used to when he was younger. Conan jumped up beside him and fanned out spread eagle staring at the ceiling.

“I love this room. Mother let us play in here all the time,” Conan remarked.

“Those must be good memories. When was the last time you were here?” Laurel asked.

“Oh, when Mama died, Conor locked the room and forbade anyone to use it. He only opened it up again when you came,” Conan explained.

“Conor must really like you. Are you going to marry him?” Clyde asked innocently. “I hope so. You sure are pretty and nice. Just like Mama.”

“Why, thank you, Clyde. I like you, too. But I don’t think I am going to marry your brother. He’s an important man and needs to marry someone worthy of your clan.”

“You’re important! What’s more, you’re smart!” defended Conan, thinking that being intelligent and quick-witted were the most important attributes anyone could have. “Most people think it is wonderful that you are cleaning up the castle. That it was time someone got our brother to agree to changes. Only a few people can’t believe you are defying Conor and are scared of what’ll happen.”