The Key (5 page)

“Aye, 'tis true that we have let things go a bit”

“Let things go!”Duncanstared at him in disbelief, feeling suddenly betrayed at the mere
suggestion that his wife might actually have something to complain about.

“Aye.” Angus sighed. 'The truth is, son, yer mother wid never have put up with the keep
being in the state it has been in since 'er death. I fear I let it get so. I fair fell
apart when she died. Sank deep into sadness and never pulled meself back out. I neglected
the state of the keep and even me people"

“Now, me laird,” Gilley interrupted, but Angus waved him to silence.

"Say what ye will, Gilley, but 'tis true and well I ken it. I am no sayin' I did not keep
ye all safe. 'S truth, anger was about the only thing likely to get a rise from me. I
worked out much anger on many an enemy's

neck and chest with me sword. But when it came to the softer needs, I have not been here.
Even fer me own childien. Howbeit,“ he went on, when both men opened their mouths to
argue. ”Iliana is here now and wishes to set the place to rights... as yer mother did ere
her, and it fair warms me heart a bit. We are luck to have her."

Duncanwould have had a great deal of difficulty agreeing with that right then but kept his
opinion to himself as he turned away. “I'll send two men fer rushes, but no more.”

“Giorsal.”

“Aye, me lady?” Other than glancing over from where she stood, hands on hips, supervising
the women, who were on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor, the servant did not move
except to arch an eyebrow in question. Servant or no, there was little doubt that she
thought herself the queen bee at Dunbar.

Forcing herself to maintain her patience, Iliana set down the edge of the tapestry she had
been helping Ebba with and moved to the woman's side so that she would not have to yell
across the room. Her mother had taught her that there was little authority, let alone
dignity, in shrieking from a distance like a fishwife selling her wares. Pausing at the
woman's side, Iliana graced her with a somewhat cool smile, then announced, “Lord Angus is
seeing to fresh rushes for the floor, but I thought mayhap something pleasant smelling
would be nice to add to them. Mayhap you could take a couple of women and go collect some”

“Heather.”

Iliana blinked at the interruption. “Heather?”

Pursing her lips, the woman nodded her head with firm certainty. “Aye. 'Tis what 'er
ladyship put among the rushes.”

Trying not to grit her teeth, Iliana forced a smile that was even chillier than the first.
“That may be so, but I prefer lavender.”

Giorsal shook her head at once. “Lady Muireall always put heather”

“I am not Lady Muireall,” Iliana snapped coldly, “and I prefer lavender.”

“There is no lavender this far north,” the servant announced.

Iliana sighed in defeat, not needing to see the satisfaction on the other woman's face to
know when she had lost. “I see.”

“There be a muckle o' heather, though.” “I am sure there is,” she commented dryly.

“I'll take the women and go find some.” Barking a word in Gaelic that immediately drew the
other women to her side, she led them away without even pretending to await permission.

Watching them go, Iliana moved dispiritedly to the trestle table and dropped onto its
bench with a sigh. She was definitely not having a good day.

The great hall had been empty when she had made her way down that morning. Determined to
begin

work on setting the castle to rights, Iliana had not bothered with breaking her fast, but
had sent Ebba in search of servants. The maid had returned with Giorsal and three other
women older than her own grandmother would have been were she still alive. Despite their
elevated ages, they had gotten a great deal done that morning, but Iliana began to think
that settingDunbarkeep to rights might very well kill her. 'Twas not the work so much.
While she could not say she was used to the hard labor she had been performing that
morning, she had certainly worked before. The real problem was the women, or at least
their attitudes.

Iliana thought if she had to hear Lady Muireall's name and how she used to run this keep
one more time, she might very well kill herself. She had heard a great deal on Lady Agnes
as well. Lady Muireall was apparently Lord Angus's deceased wife. Lady Agnes was his
mother. It seemed both women had been paragons of perfection. All she had heard the
morning through was Lady Muireall this and Lady Agnes; or Black Agnes, as they tended to
call her, that.

Lady Muireall had insisted the rushes be changed regularly in the future. Lady Muireall
had whitewashed the walls every spring. Lady Muireall had thrown herself before her
husband, taking an arrow and saving Laird Dunbar's life by sacrificing her own. Black
Agnes had kept the keep arights, raised seven children, and held off the English for six
months while her husband was away.

It was pretty obvious to Iliana that her new people did not think she lived up to her
predecessors' standards. Not that anyone had refused any orders she had given. Not openly,
at least. They had simply listened to what she had to say, then told her how Lady Muireall
had done it and set about doing it that way. A couple of times she had nearly spat that if
they were so versed on how the manor should be kept, why had they let it go to such ruin?
But she had managed to restrain herself. So far.

“ 'Tis starting to shape up.”

Iliana glanced around at her maid's attempt to cheer her. The old rushes had been removed
and the floor swept; then the women had set to work scrubbing the stone slabs clean of the
years of filth they bore, while she and Ebba saw to the removal of the tapestries and wall
hangings so that the walls could be washed. She was almost sorry now that she had set her
sights on whitewashing. 'Twas not that the walls did not need it, but one glance at the
family shield and all the tapestries on the walls was enough to tell her that every single
item in the room needed a good scrubbing.

Including the trestle tables and benches, she thought with a grimace as she shifted on her
seat and her skirt showed some reluctance to move with her. No doubt she'd sat in a puddle
of something or other, she thought with disgust and was grateful she had worn a plain,
old, and frayed gown today. Still, she made a mental note to herself that, no matter
whether the floor was finished today or not, she must attend to scrubbing the benches at
least. She was unwilling to see another of her fine gowns ruined here.

Sighing and glancing around the room again, she considered all that must still be done. By
the looks of it, the floor beneath the rushes had not been cleaned since Lady Muireall's
death, some twenty years ago. Once the rushes had been cleared away it was to reveal a
multitude of clumps of various descriptions on the floor. Iliana did not even wish to
guess at the source of the majority of them, but they were hard almost petrified. They
were also difficult to remove. That much had been obvious as she had watched the women
work. There had been three of them scrubbing the floor for the better part of the morning.
There would have been four had Giorsal seen her way clear to lending her own effort, but
apparently her position here was merely to direct others. Not wishing to start a row on
her first day atDunbar, Iliana had said nothing about the woman's lack of labor. But she
intended to talk to Lord Angus and find out the woman's exact position. She would also ask
if it was possible to attain some more help. With only the three women working, even after
the better part of the morning, not even a quarter of the floor had

managed to get scrubbed. And the nooning meal was fast approaching.

“Come,” Ebba murmured, when her mistress sighed yet again. “ 'Tis not so bad. This room is
starting to smell better at least.”

That was true enough, but 'twas due only to the removal of the rushes. There was still a
great deal to do. She had to see to finishing the floor, whitewashing the walls, cleaning
the wall hangings. By her estimate, 'twould take them at least three days to finish this
room alone. Only then would she feel she could turn her attention to the bedchambers. That
thought did not please her much. She was not used to living in such squalor and the
bedchamber was full of just as much filth as the great hall.

Moving to the nearest of the buckets the women had left behind, Iliana knelt on the floor
and retrieved a cloth. She dunked it in the bucket, wrung it out, then began to scrub.

“Nay, my lady!” Ebba gasped, hurrying to herside. “I shall do that. Why do you not take a
walk and get a breath of fresh air?”

Iliana shook her head. “There is too much to do. Fetch a cloth and help me.”

“Gor!”

Quitting her prolonged perusal of the petrified cheese and stale bread that the cook had
produced for lunch, Iliana raised her head slowly at that exclamation.

Duncan's sister, Seonaid, was standing just inside the keep doors, her eyes, and those of
her constant companions, Allistair and Aelfread, wide as they gaped at the changes made in
the great hall. They were late, the last to enter for the nooning meal, yet oddly, the
first to even seem to notice what Iliana and her crew had accomplished over the last three
days. At least they were the first to bother to comment on it, aside from Angus.

Iliana had not seen her sister-in-law since she had left the bedchamber with the others on
the morning after the wedding. Three days ago. Seonaid and her two cohorts had disappeared
the morning after the wedding and not returned since. Off hunting had been Laird Angus's
guess when Iliana had commented on it.

“What goes on here?” Seonaid asked in a hushed murmur as she and her cousins made room for
themselves at the table.

“They be acleanin' the hall.”

Iliana stiffened at the derision her husband put into those words.

“Cleanin'?” Seonaid said the word as if she had never heard it afore. Iliana was not
impressed. Neither was Angus, she realized when he turned to scowl at her.

“Aye,acleanin' . Iliana and the women have been workin' themselves to the bone for nigh on
three days now. The same amount of time ye've been lollygaggin' about the woods.” He
paused to let that sink in,

then added, “ 'Twould not hurt fer ye to stick about to learn a thing or two on the
matter. Yer betrothed'll not be pleased to have a wife so ignorant o' such an' the like.”

“Wife!” Seonaid snorted as she reached for some ale. “Ye ken well enough I shall never be
that, Da.”

“I ken no such thing.”

There was a sudden silence down the length of the main table, everyone turning to peer at
the drama taking place.

“What mean ye by that?” she asked suspiciously.

Laird Angus chewed grimly at the stale cheese in his mouth, then swallowed before
answering. “It is arranged. Laird Rolfe has persuaded me. We hashed it out the morning
after the wedding. He left ere noonon that day to fetch the reluctant groom back.”

“What? But I thought” Her voice failed her. She had obviously expected a different outcome
to her father's talk with Lord Rolfe. Seonaid looked as if she had been punched.

Oddly enough, so didDuncan, Iliana noted curiously. Her husband was as aware as the rest
of them as to when Lord Rolfe and the bishop had departed. All she could think was that he
had not spoken with his father since his leaving to learn the outcome of their
discussions. But then, how could he have? she thought dryly. He was never here long enough
to talk to anyone. He was out of the keep first thing in the morning and returned only
long enough to eat his meals during the day. At night he crept in late enough that most
people were asleep when he entered.

“Ye heard me,” was the old man's calm response. “Yer wastin' away here and I've a mind to
see that that stops. Ye were born to have bairns. Tis time we saw some from ye.”

“Ye would have me marry that that...Englishman ?” She said the word as if it was the worst
of insults.

“I would see yemarried .”

Iliana held her breath in the hush that followed but was still unprepared for her sudden
lunge to her feet. Seonaid deliberately tipped the trestle table over as she rose, sending
pewter tankards and pitchers clanging loudly to the stone floor. “Well I'll not marry the
bastard!” she yelled furiously over the din, then whirled on her heel and raced from the
room.

Silence descended on the hall again, thenDuncangot slowly to his feet, giving Iliana an
accusing glare as he did. As if Seonaid's upset were somehow her fault, she thought with
dismay as he turned and took the path the woman had taken.

Heaving a long sigh as Aelfread and Allistair rose and followed their cousins, Angus stood
to straighten the table. After collecting the fallen mugs with the help of the other men,
he sank back onto his seat beside Iliana, waiting patiently for Giorsal to hurry to the
kitchen and back with a fresh pitcher of ale.

“I apologize fer me daughter,” he sighed as he refreshed first her tankard, then his own.
“She believed herself likely to remain a maid forever. No without reason, mind ye.”

Iliana nodded silently, unsure what to say.

“I allowed 'er much freedom as she grew up,” he continued. “In truth, 'twas not that I
gave 'er freedom so much as I neglected to bother to take 'er in hand. I fear I have
neglected much over the years. At any rate, she is poorly prepared for this marriage and
would benefit greatly from any wee help ye could give her in learning to be a real lady.”

Iliana stilled as she realized that he was asking her to tutor his daughter in womanly
pursuits. The idea was more than daunting. She had seen enough of the girl to know that
Seonaid was not simply lacking such skills but completely bereft of them.

“When is the wedding to be?” she asked worriedly.

“Soon as the man can be fetched back here. A month, mayhap.”

“A month?” The words came out on a squeak and Iliana raised her tankard absently to her
lips for a sip that turned into a gulp that downed half the liquid in her tankard. When
she lowered the mug it was to find Angus Dunbar eyeing her with one brow cocked.

“Ye've a fair thirst there, lass. Tis said our alewife makes the finest ale inScotland. I
daresay ye'd be agreein' with that?”

“Aye, 'tis fine ale,” she murmured, forcing a smile. Then her gaze fell to the floor and
she added under her breath, “ 'Tis a shame the same cannot be said for the cook's fare.”

Angus followed her gaze and nodded wryly. “ 'Tis true the cook has let things slip a might
over the years. His da was cook here when Lady Muireall, me late wife, was alive. She kept
him on his toes, she did. But after her passing...” He shrugged. “We all let things
slide.” He was silent for a moment, his thoughts far away, presumably with his dead wife,
then jerked himself out of it and glanced at her. “Mayhap ye could do something to
encourage him to improve his offerings?”

“Aye, mayhap I can,” Iliana said firmly, rising to her feet. “In fact, if you will excuse
me, I think I will have a word with him right now.” Turning, she marched Determinedly
toward the kitchens.

“I have never had complaints afore. The laird seems well pleased with me work.”

“He is the one who asked me to speak with you,” Iliana told the man solemnly.

The cook's only response was to glare at her from beneath his bushy brows and spit on the
floor at her feet, barely missing the hem of her gown.

Iliana forced herself to count to ten, an effort to control her temper as she considered
how to deal with the man. She had known as she had suffered through the stale bread and
watery stews that he had served for meals over the last three days that she would have to
do something about him eventually but had put him on her list of priorities between
cleaning the great hall and whitewashing it. Well, other than a few of the wall hangings,
which she could clean on nights in front of the fire, the great hall was done. The floors
had been scrubbed clean, and the trestle table and benches were pristine. She had even
seen to scrubbing away the smoke and soot on the wall around the fireplace. Now 'twas well
past time she dealt with the cook.

He was short, with hair as black as soot, and a body that resembled a barrel. The man was
round everywhere. Even his cheeks were chubby and florid. Iliana could only think that he
either ate better fare than he saved everyone else, or his palate was less discerning. He
certainly lacked in respect and courtesy when it came to his new English lady. He had been
uncooperative as the devil since she had entered the kitchen to speak with him. First, he
would not even do her the courtesy of stopping what he was doing to hear her out, and
second, he kept spitting on the floor by her skirts as she spoke. 'Twas a most disgusting
habit. Especially in the kitchen while preparing food, she decided, staring down at the
foamy gobs on the floor.

“Fine,” she said at last. “If 'tis too much trouble for you to discuss your duties, I
shall find someone else to perform them.” She had a bare glimpse of the dismay on his
face, then turned to leave the room.

“ 'Ere now! Ye canna be doin' that! I've done this job all me life, and me father afore
me. Ye canna be replacin' me!”

She had his attention at last, it seemed. Pausing at the door, Iliana turned back, feigned
surprise on her face. “Certainly I can, Mr. Dunbar.”

“Cummin,” he muttered resentfully. “ElginCummin. Me mother was aDunbar. Me da married her
after he came here to cook.”

“Well, Elgin Cummin, yer laird has given me a free hand in putting my new home to rights.”
Not exactly true, but this was no time to quibble, she thought, her gaze moving grimly
over the others in the room now as well, in warning. The kitchen help and a handful of
servants, including Giorsal, all stilled under her look. “That means I may release or
retain whomever I wish.” Her gaze slid back to the cook. “Including you. I had not
intended to do so when I entered, but if you will not even discuss the matter with me, I
see no alternative but to replace you.”

“I'll discuss it with ye. Discussin' is good.” There was a desperate look about the man
now. Iliana was not terribly surprised. Being head cook carried a certain amount of
prestige and a lot of benefits with it. Besides, the man would have been trained in it and
little else. Iliana's only concern now was how rigorous that training might or might not
have been.

“Can you cook?” The question was blunt and to the point, puffing up the cook's chest with
ruffled pride.

“Aye. Me da was the best cook in allScotland. Lady Muireall said so, and he trained me in
all he kenned.”

“Did he teach you to serve stale bread and dry, hard cheese to your laird?”

His chest deflated somewhat, shame upon his face now. “Nay.”

“Hmm.” Iliana eyed him solemnly. “Then I will not expect it again. What did you plan for
sup tonight?” She had already spied the contents of the cauldron simmering over the fire.
It looked to be a repeat of the stew that had been served every night since her arrival: a
rather thin and tasteless gruel.

The cook's gaze moved to the cauldron, worry puckering his brow, then he peered at her
helplessly. “We have no spices.”

Her brows rose at that. “None at all?”

“Nay. Laird Angus did not replace his wife as chatelaine on her death.”

Iliana was not surprised at this news; she had come to that conclusion herself by the
state of things. “Is there not even an herb garden?”

“Lady Muireall used to have one, but it went to rot and rain when she died.”

“I see.” Iliana shifted where she stood, her mind working over a solution to the problem.
She would have to have a look at the garden at once. 'Twas June. Spices would have to be
planted soon if she would gain anything from them. Spices were too expensive for her to
purchase those that they could grow themselves. Still, some would have to be purchased.
“When does the spiceman come around?”

“He doesn't. He stopped acomin' years ago. Laird Angus was never around to purchase from
him.”

She was frowning over that when Giorsal piped up, “He passed by here this morn. I heard
one of the men reportin' it to the laird. He crossed our land on the way to Innes.”

“Innes?”

“The Mclnnes holdins. They be our neighbors,” the cook explained, worry on his face. “He
will not be around fer months again after this trip. He has a wide circuit to make and
only passes this way four times a year. I canna make tasty fare if I have no spices.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly at his anxiety. It seemed he had taken her at her word and now
feared losing his position unless he could supply tasty fare at mealtime. Iliana could not
blame him for bland food when he had no spices, but she would not accept stale or leftover
meals. She was about to tell him that, then changed her mind. Let him think her a tough
taskmaster. Fear was a great inducement. After she had seen what he was capable of, she
would tell him he would never be taken to task for such things.

Unfortunately, Angus was not around when she went out to the bailey to search for him. Her
gaze moved reluctantly to her husband, who stood talking to the stablemaster. They had
been fighting a war of wills for the last three days. It consisted mostly of ignoring each
other. She did not look forward to approaching him now, but they desperately needed spices.

Sighing resolutely, she moved toward him. “Husband?” She saw him stiffen; then he turned
slowly to peer at her, his face expressionless. Iliana shifted uncomfortably but forced
herself to continue. “I... is your father about?”

Duncanhad seen his wife come out into the bailey and feared she might approach him. A
problem, that. He had no idea how to deal with the wench. She was refusing him his rights
as husband, had told him he stank, and was now running willy-nilly over his home, changing
and cleaning everything. What was a man to do with a wife like that?

If this was a normal problem, he would most likely have taken it to his father for a pearl
or two of wisdom, but in this case he could not. He would be damned if he would let
anyone, even his father, know the humiliating fact that he had yet to bed his wife.

As for explaining the contraption she wore, that was a nightmare he wished not even to
consider. Besides, his father seemed quite taken with the wench. He certainly seemed
pleased that she was setting her hand to running the keep. That outcome was bewildering to
Duncan, who had been a mere five years old when his mother had died. Too young to recall
whatDunbarhad been like in her day. All he knew was

that the way it had been the day his bride had arrived was the way it had been for as long
as he could recall. It had been good enough for everyone else but was not good enough for
his wife, and quite suddenly appeared not good enough for his father either. It was as if
his wife had bewitched the man. She had made him smile. And somehow, her very presence had
made him decide that Seonaid should many her Englishman, the same man he had spent both of
their lives villifying and calling “Sassenach scum!”