Page 17 of Highlander’s Sloth

9

A Lodge Full of Indolent Idiots

Kirsty fretted and fumed all the way back to Macanroy Lodge after stopping off at the dressmaker’s to pick up Lady Elspeth’s package. She realized now that Callum had not made the least push to change his ways or make the slightest concession to married life. All he had done was shift his idle pastimes from Paris to Pitlochry!

Knowing the best way to stop her wrath from boiling over, Kirsty stayed in the stables and groomed her pony, feeding the sweet little horse carrots and brushing its tail until it shone like silk. When she had finished, she visited the rest of the horses in their stalls, checking their hooves and brushing the dust off their bedraggled coats; like everything else in Macanroy Lodge, the horses that did not belong to Callum were underexercised, overfed, and unkempt.

If someone had told me not long ago that it was possible for a clan to be so rich and yet too lazy to spend the gold they have, I would have laughed in their face!

And then she grew somber when she realized that the only clan member who was making the best effort to stay active and spend the piles of Macanroy sovereigns was her husband—by gambling and placing bets on the turn of a card or throw of the dice.

Giving a tiny growl of rage, Kirsty stomped to the kitchens. As usual, the maids had made quick but slovenly work of clearing away the dinner, and the fires had been damped down for the afternoon. Finally, there was a place where Kirsty could give full rein to her temper. Lady Elspeth had sent messages to her staff from the comfort of her divan after the wedding, informing them they must obey each one of her son’s new wife’s commands as though they came from her ladyship directly.

Kirsty burst into the cook’s parlor and waited for the woman to bestir herself awake. The cook’s eyes were not the sharpest at the best of times and, after glancing over at Kirsty with an annoyed frown, said, “Mary? Be gone, ye rascally wench. Ye nearly scared me dreams away.”

“’Tis I, Mistress Kirsty,” was the stern reply.

The cook wasted no time jumping to her feet as fast as her large bulk would allow her to, saying, “Beg pardon, mistress. In this summer heat, the kitchen tends to lure a poor soul into slumber!”

Kirsty stared the woman down. “So, if I were to happen down here in winter, are ye telling me it would be any different?”

The cook had the grace and good sense to look shamefaced.

It was just as Kirsty thought. And even though Christine had struggled to get Kirsty to always act with proper decorum, she had not shirked her motherly duties in showing Kirsty how to run a household fit for a great laird.

“Just as I thought,” Kirsty said triumphantly. “And I’ll have ye ken, Cook, that I plan on changing a good many things around here over the next few days, and ye can tell yer maids if they have a problem with that, they should begin packing their trunks anon. I’ll even pay for their coach fares.”

It was the perfect way for Kirsty to vent her spleen without losing all dignity with a confrontation with her husband about his fecklessness. Every time she gave an order or stuck her head into an untidy or dirty room, she would summon the servants, give them a right tongue lashing, and then oversee to make sure they cleaned everything to her liking.

For the next few days, when Callum stuck his head through the dressing room door at dawn each day after riding back from the tavern, he would find his wife sleeping peacefully in her bed, completely disinterested in his doings. He found this a relief at first and enjoyed the freedom this new arrangement gave him. He would wake at noon, grab a bite to eat and then ride his horse over to Pitlochry—only to return after a conspicuous absence with his pockets empty or full. It might not hold the excitement of Paris and its opulent salons, but it was exceedingly gratifying not to have had to change his way of life at all.

Things continued in this vein for a week. The manor house became cleaner, the food drastically improved in flavor and texture, and the gardens lost their desiccated summer tones and turned lush and green. Besides thinking he must spend more time at home because the food was so delicious, Callum took all of these improvements for granted.

That was until Dunn dropped by the tavern on his way to the dressmaker on an errand for Lady Elspeth. He stood at Callum’s elbow, watching him play his hand until Callum lost and turned to his friend in irritation.

“Ye broke me concentration, Dunn! What brings ye here?”

Dunn shrugged. “Naught but an errand for yer mither, Cal. Was it ye who has taken on the hiring of all the new servants up at the lodge?”

Callum, whose life had become a predictable circle of sleeping, eating, riding into town, and gaming, pricked up his ears when he heard this.

“Now that ye mention it, nay, ‘tis no’ me doin’ it. I saw the new groom and the two new footmen but thought it to be one of me faither’s orders—his attempt to set things to rights afore he gets too sick to do it.”

Dunn looked thoughtful and sucked his teeth. Callum did not like the look of this, saying, “What is it, man? Spit it out!”

His friend leaned over, first checked no one else was listening, and said, “Then what the servants are saying is true. It’s yer wife who’s doing the hiring. I’m shocked to find ye so complacent about it, Cal. Have ye no’ heard of grand ladies who hire handsome footmen and grooms when they cannae be satisfied by their husbands?”

Callum felt the blood leave his face, and when he attempted to pick up the cards dealt him, he found that his fingers were shaking. Realizing there was no way he could muster the strength to play out his hand, he threw a half-sovereign into the middle of the table, gave his apologies, and left with a bow. He walked to a dark corner, dragging his friend with him.

“What are ye tryin’ to tell me? Are ye saying me wife is finding pleasure in another man’s arms?”

Dunn shook off his friend’s pincer-like grip and replied sternly, “And if she was, who are ye to stand in judgment? Ye have nae met with the poor girl for many a day, and she has turned to doing housework in yer stead. What were ye thinking, Cal? The lass is too spirited to take willingly to the sedentary way of life yer clan favors.”

Callum hardly heard a word. All he could think about was Kirsty—his Kirsty—lying in bed with another man, doing to this faceless stranger what she had done with her husband...the summer heat making her skin flush and sweat as it rubbed against—

No! It could not be!

He ran outside, looking around wildly for a groom to bring him his horse, patting his pockets for his riding hat. Dunn, ever the Job’s comforter, called out after him as Callum mounted the stallion and dug his spurs into the animal’s sides, “I hope ye’re in time! The new groom and one of the footmen are fine-looking fellows...”