The Highlander's Bride (14 page)

Clyde giggled and fell back on the bed hard. “Wait till they see you throw a knife!”

Laurel ignored the silly laughter erupting from the young boy. “Conan, why would cleaning up the keep be defying Conor?” The idea did not make sense. Conan must have misunderstood his brother’s intentions.

“Conor said that we were…we were…unappreciated,” Clyde said, bunching his forehead trying to remember exactly what Conor had said. The remark had been made several years prior when Clyde was just past six years old.

“Unappreciative,” Conan scoffed, flaunting his intellect and vocabulary.

Laurel furrowed her eyebrows. “Hmmm, and was he referring to the clan or to his brothers?”

“Us, I believe. Although not Clyde and me in particular. It was the twins and Cole who were the worst of us. He just got really mad one night and sent everyone home and said that until we could learn to appreciate help, we shouldn’t have any.” Conan shrugged his shoulders. “I guess we haven’t learned it yet.”

Laurel smiled in understanding. Poor Conor. He tried so hard to do the right thing, and it just backfired on him. She walked over to sit down on the bed between Clyde and Conor and took hold of their hands.

“Well, the help has returned, along with manners and gratitude. This I can assure you, for your brother is right. If you cannot appreciate the assistance of your clan, you should not have it. However, unlike Conor, I do not intend on depriving everyone from a well-established and clean keep just because of some unruly,
unappreciative
boys.”

“Laurel? What do you mean by
unappreciative
?” asked Clyde, still puzzled by its meaning.

A deep voice came from the doorway. “She means that if you are not thankful or do not recognize the work someone is doing for you, you don’t deserve their help.” Finn startled everyone as he entered the room. “I’m overseeing getting your bath water.”

“Finn! That shouldn’t be your responsibility!” exclaimed Laurel.

“Seeing to your welfare is part of my duty while the laird is away.” He didn’t add Conor’s emphatic order it was Finn’s responsibility to manage all tasks associated with her. His laird did not want anyone assisting or working with Laurel on personal matters—such as drawing a bath.

“That is ridiculous. I shall go down to the kitchen to bathe. No one is going to be hauling water up and down stairs on my account.”

She got up and started towards the door. Finn stepped in front of her. The man was huge. She expected he was near Conor’s height, although he lacked his muscular structure. Conor was the perfect balance between height and strength. She wished he was there right now, if only so she could argue with him.

Just then Brighid rounded the corner laden with fabric, ribbon and lace. Her eyes widened at the number of people in her lady’s chamber. Conor and Clyde were still on the bed, grinning and watching the commander of the guard and her lady arguing about something.

Brighid’s stance turned to one of timidity. “Uh, I’m sorry. Should I come back, milady? Glynis told me that I should bring these up, but if you are in the middle of something…” she trailed off, clearly perplexed.

Glad for the interruption, Laurel exclaimed, “Wonderful! Brighid, I assume that is the fabric Glynis told me about?” The young maid nodded. Laurel walked over to the bolts and started shaking her head.

“Oh, no. These will not do at all. I wanted sturdier fabrics for chairs and curtains. Only the plaid looks appropriate, but there is not nearly enough.”

Brighid found her tongue. “I was to tell you, milady, that the other fabrics would not be found until at least five new gowns had been made for you.” She looked wide-eyed at her lady now. Brighid had been nervous on her way up here to deliver the message. But Glynis had been clear that no matter how much Laurel argued, cajoled or demanded, Brighid was not to give in. The laird’s desires outweighed everyone else’s, and the new housekeeper was adamant that this was his wish.

Laurel considered arguing, but did not wish to put Brighid in an awkward position of choosing between her and Glynis in front of Finn.

“All right. I am not agreeing, mind you. I just know that I will have to take my arguments up with Glynis on the morrow.” Brighid looked relieved.

“Aye, milady. Should I put these bolts over here?” she asked, indicating with her chin towards the settee. Laurel didn’t want to give up her favorite sitting spot in the room. She looked around and found an unused ottoman pushed towards the corner. She went to go drag it out between the chairs in front of the hearth when Conan jumped up and did the deed for her.

“Thank you, Conan. You have been a great help,” she remarked, remembering her promise to Neal.

“Brighid, please lay those down here. Finn, before you leave, may I make another request?”

He arched his eyebrows in response, curious to know what other changes she had in store. “Aye.”

“I would like Neal to have one or two revolving apprentices to help him. He is getting older and the care of all the mares is difficult for one his age.” She put her hand up to stop his comment before it was uttered. “No, he did not complain. Of course he wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean he could not use the help. But mostly, he is a fountain of wisdom from which no one is drinking.”

“Whatever are you talking about, lass? Conor is right. You do talk in circles.” Finn stood looming with his hands on his hips.

Laurel was exasperated. “I do not talk in circles.”

“Aye, lass, you do. You could rival my wife in stirring a man’s head into a blur. Aileen speaks just the way you do. It’s either a riddle or some hidden example to get her point across. And with the baby coming it has only gotten worse. Never does she just say what’s on her mind.” He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “So, what do you mean, lass, about Neal being a fountain without water?”

Laurel shook her head, wondering how something so simple could be so easily misunderstood. “I meant that Neal knows a great deal about horses. He knows good stock from bad. He knows what horses need in all types of weather, can cure them when ill, and can train them for riding. This knowledge will be lost if there is no one to teach.”

This time Finn consented and promised to procure two lads to begin their education in the stables. He also agreed that the job should rotate among the boys, improving the preparation they would have before they reached him for training. The only unexpected outcome of the decision was Clyde begging to be the first one trained.

Laurel couldn’t sleep. The day had been so satisfying. It was a feeling she had not experienced in a long time. Being appreciated, needed, and, oddly enough, liked were things she hadn’t realized she missed.

Her mind kept wandering to Conor. Where was he? What was he doing? Where was he sleeping? She had no idea how many times she told herself to start being sensible. Conor had probably stopped thinking about her the second he had left the castle walls. She wished it were as easy for her to forget about him.

She got up and went to go put on her bliaut and grimaced as she remembered it was wet from washing. She was going to have to add a robe to the list of clothing items she and Brighid had started earlier that evening. She paced the floor a few times and decided that the chemise she was wearing would have to do.

She opened the door and peeked out. She could see no one walking about the tower. Not surprising really. Glynis had told her earlier that the Star Tower only held the chambers of the laird and his lady. The rest of the family slept in the other wing of the castle in the North Tower. All the servants and soldiers slept in either the East or West Towers.

She tiptoed out after putting on a pair of slippers she had found in the room. She felt somewhat guilty about using them, but then everything she had heard about Conor’s mother told her that the late Lady McTiernay would have insisted that she use them. Especially for what she was about to do.

Once she was told about how the Star Tower received its name, Laurel knew it was inevitable that she would be making this climb. The tower was seven stories tall. And one of the rooms she was passing by was Conor’s sleeping quarters.

As she reached the top, she exited the door leading to the outside and the battlements. The long climb up the stairs was worth it. She had never seen the stars so clearly. Laurel thought she could see the angels in heaven from up here. She felt carefree, without worries or burdens. Happy. The only thing missing was Conor.

She no longer thought the tree-filled alcove near Stirling Castle was the ideal place to be kissed. No, this soaring tower had to be the most romantic place in the world. She hugged herself against the cool night air and began to twirl along the wall’s edge, singing.

Most of the soldiers were sleeping in the tower quarters assigned to the permanent garrison. But not all were. Usually the soldiers assigned as the castle’s night guard slept near their assigned posts, many of which were up on the parapets. Their job was to see if anyone approached by looking through the crenels cut out of the castle wall.

“Wake up, Gil,” Fergus kicked his friend and comrade. “I think I see the girl of me dreams. Aye, I have to be dreaming.”

“Huh?” Gil rolled over and proceeded to snore.

Fergus would not be denied affirmation so easily. He kicked Gil again. “Look, I tell you. An angel is right here in our midst.”

Gilroy, tall and thin, but a strong and quick soldier, sat up, about to give his much shorter friend a well-deserved knock in the head. It was then he saw to whom Fergus was referring. The most beautiful of angels was dancing on their Star Tower.

She was dressed in white and her gold hair curled down below her waist beyond what he could see. She was tall and perfect, shimmering in the glow of the moonlight. Just as he was about to suggest they go and see if the vision was real, she disappeared, vanishing into thin air just as she’d arrived. Gilroy vowed to never complain about guard duty at night again.

Conor was having another restless night. He had been preoccupied since he left Laurel all alone. He convinced himself that it was simply his oath that kept dragging his thoughts back to her. He was torn between duties, to his clan, to his brothers, and to her. He had sworn to protect her, and then left the task to Finn.

God help Finn if anything happened to her while he was away. Conor had spent almost an hour with his commander detailing what the other men could and could not do regarding Laurel, focusing primarily on the latter.

He trusted his commander to keep her safe from both harm and over-attentive men. Otherwise, Conor would have made Laurel travel with him to Schellden’s. Only Finn, with his happy marriage and a baby on the way, seemed to be able to resist Laurel’s natural charms. He trusted all his men in terms of battle and loyalty, but he had not claimed Laurel and nor did he have intentions of doing so. And he was not unaware that this decision made her very vulnerable.

He wished he could be like Finn. Admiring, but unaffected. He had never desired a woman like he did Laurel. He wanted her more than he had ever thought it possible to want any woman. Earlier that evening, he was reminded of the way she challenged him, refusing to be intimidated. The women of Schellden’s clan responded to him like all females did—shrinking away at the merest glance. Not only were they weak willed, but they could not compare with his gold-haired mystery with the blue-green eyes. He closed his eyes remembering the feel of her soft lips against his. How untutored they were, but so responsive to his instruction.

He longed to hold her again, mold her flesh against his as if they were meant only for each other. He was going to go mad with wanting her. And knowing that he could make her desire him as well drove him to cold swims every night in the nearby loch.

He had just under two weeks to figure out a way to drive her from his mind. If he could not, Conor knew he would bed her despite all that would come with it when he did.

“Milady?” Glynis asked from outside the chamber door.

“Come in, Glynis,” Laurel answered, throwing on her new bliaut. Her ribs had improved greatly in the past several days. It no longer hurt to breathe when going up and down the stairs, and she could now dress herself.

“Oh, milady, you do look fine. I told you Brighid was an excellent seamstress. The laird will be mighty pleased when he returns to see you in his plaid.” Either that or mighty unhappy, Glynis thought. The laird had always been a possessive soul, even as a child. When he saw his lady looking this bonnie, he might want her to go back to the disheveled state she arrived in.

Laurel shrugged her shoulders. “Hmmm, maybe. I am still unsure about the plaid, though. Do you not think it fairly presumptuous?” She looked down and brushed imaginary dirt from the shoulder pleats. She loved the plaid and enjoyed wearing it. “But it is warm and the nights are already so much cooler than when I first arrived,” she said, searching for a rational reason to be wearing something of Conor’s. “Aye. We were having a brief highland summer. Sometimes it comes this time of year, but not always. Just as it starts to cool, all of a sudden a spot of warm weather will hover for one to several weeks and then will disappear. Many believe it foretells a hard winter.” Glynis helped with the pleats. Laurel was picking up the skill, but it was difficult to fold the plaid just right.

They left her chambers and proceeded to the lower hall. The improvements were taking longer than expected, but Laurel hoped to have the room reopened to the soldiers by the setting of the afternoon sun. She had spent so much of her time on the halls and the chapel that she really had not had a chance to finish her tour and visit the other parts of the castle, such as the smithy and the other towers. She was afraid that if she saw the state they were in, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from beginning work immediately on those areas as well. One at a time, she was reminding herself, when Glynis interrupted her thoughts.

“I wanted to speak to you about your request of a castle steward,” Glynis broached as they entered into the lower hall.

The hall was now an inviting place for the men to gather, eat, and talk about the day’s exploits. The fireplaces had been cleaned out and now would be efficient sources of heat to warm the room. Washed, the windows provided a much brighter, warmer source of light during the day. Dining tables were set on temporary trestles so that they could be easily dismantled between meals. The improvements to this room and the chapel were astounding. And all under Fallon’s wonderful leadership, commented Laurel as they discussed the day’s agenda.

“That is who I would be wanting to talk to you about,” Glynis announced.

“Fallon?”

“Aye. He should be your steward.” In many ways Laurel agreed, but she just couldn’t see herself asking the difficult man to take the job. She was afraid the farmer would be insulted. For some reason, impressing Fallon was important to her. Gaining his respect was difficult and she was still unsure if she had it.

He seemed willing to impart praise—sparingly—but he was more disposed to point out errors in judgment. He certainly had done so when she started multiple cleaning projects simultaneously resulting in a delayed reopening of the lower hall. Laurel felt especially guilty about that mistake. The days were getting colder, so by the time the men got their food it was not even warm.

“I don’t think Fallon wants to be steward, though, and I would hate to insult him after all the help he has given.”

“Milady, I do not think you understand. Fallon
is
the steward of McTiernay Castle.”

“Did you say
is
the steward?!” exclaimed Laurel, attracting attention from the servants working across the room. She immediately lowered her voice, but could not keep anger from lacing her words.

“Then he is a fairly bad one, is he not? All this work because he couldn’t do his job. And to think I thought of Fallon as the hardest and most capable of workers!”

“No, no. You still do not understand. I thought Conan told you about the Conor’s command about the castle.”

“You don’t mean…I mean…Oh, my. Poor Fallon. It must have crushed him to see his castle come to such a state of disrepair. No wonder he seemed to know just what and how long everything would take.” Laurel’s anger rose again as she recalled all the times she’d doubted herself, thinking a simple farmer knew more about maintaining a keep than she did. Wily old Fallon. He would be steward again, of course. He was indeed the best person for the job. But she would settle a little score with him first.

She found Fallon in the courtyard speaking with Hamish and Loman. She smiled at them both. This was the first time she had seen either of them since their return and had missed their company. Hopefully with the reopening of the lower hall, they would see each other more often.

Hamish and Loman watched Laurel approach. She seemed annoyed by something at first, but then her expression changed when she saw them. Loman could feel Hamish melt beside him and realized that Finn had been correct to tell Hamish, Seamus, and himself to keep the rest of the guard away from her. Additionally, they were to keep their distance themselves.

Finn had made it easier by increasing the time spent training so that they practically fell into their beds come nightfall. But now, seeing Laurel with her hair cascading in waves past her waist in a new gown that seemed to accentuate the color of her eyes, Finn realized that none of his men would be sleeping tonight no matter how tired they were. The laird better come home and marry her or someone—much sooner than Conor realized—would be asking for her hand.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Laurel nodded in acknowledgment and turned to Fallon. “Fallon, may I have a word with you, please?” And then proceeded to talk even though she knew the guardsmen were still in earshot.

“You have been a great help over the past few days in restoring areas of the keep. I have been thinking over the position of a castle steward. Do you know what a castle steward is?” she asked as innocently as possible.

“Aye, milady. I am aware of the position and its responsibilities.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping you could help me train Scully as the castle steward.”

Loman and Hamish looked at each other. Lady Laurel obviously did not know who Fallon was or of his temper. Fallon had sent many kitchen maids fleeing to their homes crying after being reprimanded.

“Scully? You want
me
to train
Scully
?” he asked incredulously, raising his voice.

“Yes. I think he would be an excellent steward.” In honesty, he would be awful. He meant well, but he was forgetful and somewhat clumsy, unable to control his large mass in smaller confines. They had to restrict him to just the lower hall, lest he damage some of the items in the chapel and great hall while cleaning.

“He has the biggest heart, and he so wants to please. Do you not think these the two most important characteristics when looking for a castle steward?”

“You are out of your mind, lass, if you think Scully could make even a bad steward let alone a good one!” Fallon shouted, completely shaken. “Intent has nothing to do with being a steward. One has to be organized, capable of giving orders, making decisions, seeing what needs to be done and then doing it. A steward has to anticipate a laird’s needs and then see to them before the laird knew he had them. He needs to know the whole castle, how each section is run and by whom so he can coordinate requests or prepare for unexpected guests. Scully has no idea about half the functions of this keep, let alone the ability to coordinate them!”

She sighed, completely unaffected by his short tirade. Loman and Hamish were about to jump to her defense when she raised a hand, warning them not to interfere.

“I suppose you are right. And I also suppose that next time you won’t be keeping who you are, and what you are capable of, a secret from me, either,
steward
. While you did not deny you were this castle’s steward, you did not disclose it either. You intentionally kept me in the dark. It gave you quite the upper hand when working with me. Of all the skills and traits you mentioned, you forgot honesty. Is it not just as important?”

Fallon was struck dumb. Hamish and Loman could not remember a time that Fallon was caught so securely in his own trap. It was a story that would be recounted many times in the winter and years to come.

Watching him just stand there mute, Laurel took pity on Fallon and decided to give him back some of his pride. “Well, Fallon? You know I need help and only you can provide it competently. I intend to address the bake house issues and the smithy today and would prefer to have your guiding hand by me when I do so.”

Her announcement was enough to snap Fallon back to his normal self. “Aye, milady. You would do good to listen to me in these matters.”

The guardsmen watched as she and the castle’s steward sauntered back to the lower hall discussing next steps, staffing issues, and what not. She had not needed their help after all. She had never needed their help. The mystery about her grew in their minds as they stared at the lady who had stood up to the laird, convinced Fiona to be cook, and then intimidated Fallon.

Later that morning, Laurel, Glynis and Fallon went to investigate the problems with the bake house. Fiona had been very upset the past two evenings with the quality of the bread. The baker insisted that it was the fireplaces. By the time he got the stoneware hot enough to bake the bread, it was too hot, burning the outside of the loaf, making the piece so hard it was inedible.

To Laurel’s surprise, the bake house was built into the cliff situated underneath most of the buildings across the northern and western walls. The halls and the kitchen only
seemed
to be on the first floor, when they were actually built atop rooms carved out of the cliff. It was an ingenious way to increase space while maintaining security.

She should have wondered and questioned it when she saw the floor of the great hall was made of timber instead of ground earth. The furthermost bottom floor extended from underneath the lower hall and kitchen, curved under the North Tower and ended at the Warden’s Tower.

Mostly, the ground floor seemed to be used to store supplies and materials for the castle. She saw storage rooms containing many of the weapons and others with food. Laurel wondered if the curtain material was down here as well. Glynis and Brighid still refused to find any material for the chapel, claiming that her wardrobe was still not complete. She had argued and pleaded with them then finally gave in, realizing that the only way she would get her curtains was to finish the gowns.

The bake house was much smaller than she’d anticipated, considering most of the rooms and buildings were oversized compared to other keeps. It did have an arched roof and across the room there was a well-built door, strongly secured.

“It leads off to the dungeon,” Glynis explained. “Not that we have any prisoners now, but those working down here were wanting to secure themselves against inmates with a solid door.”

Laurel continued to look around. There was a drain to the outside, a fireplace, and a communicating drain to the main building. Fallon pointed to the fireplace chute, and Laurel saw that the baker was correct. The fireplaces were in an awful state. “This may take more men,” she sighed.

“We will need to rebuild some of the stones around the hearth to help vent the smoke out of the room,” Fallon added.

Laurel agreed, stating he should get whatever help he needed and make this the number one priority after the halls were done. The chapel could wait since there was no priest. They needed to eat.

That night, the lower hall opened, and the soldiers tumbled in preparing to eat with the lack of restraint they had been accustomed to in the past. However, by the night’s end, the soldiers figured out that if they wanted to eat Fiona’s wonderful meal—and they did—they had best learn to stand when a lady entered or left a room, keep their food from dropping onto the new rushes, and refrain from belching in Laurel’s presence.