Page 79 of Luthias

“The man beside the wench, ’tis their armorer, Camdyn,” the war master said. “Ever he’s been a black-tempered bawbag, but he spoke gently to the lass.”

He met his brother’s gaze. “Did he put hands on her?”

Struan shook his head. “They but sat and talked for a time. The watcher who drew them said the armorer played the mannerly swain and wrapped his cloak about her, but did naught else.” He glanced down at the sketch. “How may a bairn like her save the MacRoss?”

He almost crumpled the drawing, but then thought better of it and tucked it inside his coat.

“I’m leaving the keepe in your charge for the next week. Drill the garrison and have the servants send their youngest to kin outside our lands.” He regarded his brother, who looked startled. “If you dinnae wish to take charge, you’ve but to say.”

“I’m happy to serve, my lord.” Struan bowed mockingly. “Where do you mean to go now?”

“’Tis time for the wood cutters to come up from the lowlands. I’ll join them and scout the MacRoss lands for Athdara. She’s hidden herself there, I ken.” Callum picked up a split from the wood pile and tossed it to him. “I trust you’ll look after Dun Deigh as if ’twere yours.”

His brother’s smirk faded. “I dinnae wish to be laird. I want only to see you prove our sire wrong in naming you his successor.”

“You craved him name you the better man, then.” It had always been like this between them, so that came as no surprise. “’Twas but scheming that made me laird, no’ skill nor reason. Father never saw either of us as men, only his tools.” He waited a moment before he added, “And sending that hoor maid to me wearing a facking charm, ’twas stupit.”

“I reckoned you needed some relief. My mistake.” His brother walked up to him, and deliberately shoved his shoulder. “Should you get yourself ended earning your humble coin, I’ll bid the sages bring you back to life so I may kill you again. Slowly. Painfully.”

In that moment Struan looked like the brother he had known when they’d been lads, annoying and petulant, and yet always loyal to him.

“Shall you wait until I’m dead?” Callum shoved him back. “Take care with the men––and keep watch over Fyn.” As his brother looked puzzled, he added, “He’s been acting the scunner too oft of late.”

“As you say, my lord.” Struan hesitated, and then glanced at the floor. “With this wench come back to aid the MacRoss, and tensions growing between the clans, mayhap ’tis time we open the vault.”

“No, brother.” He turned away to hide the cold jolt of fear his brother’s suggestion shot through him. “That time, ’twill never come.”

Some days after Emery arrived at Dun Lasair, Luthias found himself becoming mired in an unwelcome daily quandary. Even the patience of the servants had limits.

“’Tisnae that Mistress Parker means to cause trouble so much, my lord,” his head groundskeeper said. “’Tis only the questioning and replanting and wishing to eat what we feed the horses. Half the day she spends blethering on about what she calls organic and sustainable and such words as I’ve never heard uttered.”

“Her people do speak differently,” Luthias assured him.

“She’s a bampot,” his cook said flatly. “The wench demands raw veg at every meal. Do the men of her land but graze like sheep and cattle? Complaining about the grit from the grain quern, and how I must scour the counters and kettles and crockery but a moment after they’ve been used.” She blew out a breath and then glared at the scullery cringing beside her. “Tell the laird what she ordered you do. Go on.”

The girl ducked her head. “Mistress Parker bid us wash our hands before we handle meat and again after we finish, my lord, and soap our hands and face every day after we rise and before we sleep. She called it be-ing san-i-tar-y.” She looked up for a moment and gave him a hopeful smile. “I dinnae mind. I like her. She’s kind and pretty.”

“Aye, so pretty she must bid us wash and scrub the veg before serving and cook the meat through and more I cannae tell you for her demands, they’re endless.” The cook folded her plump arms over her massive bosom. “Why, she even asked to cook for herself this morn, as if I’d already been wound in my shroud.”

“’Twould seem to me the customs of her people that offend you,” Luthias said. “No’ the lady herself.”

“I like the wee lass,” the groundskeeper said, ignoring the cook’s glowering. “For all her love of washing she’s no’ afraid to dirty her hands. If ’twould please you, my lord, I’ll put her to weeding and such with one of my younger lads. Then she’ll no’ make us fall behind with our plantings.”

“A good notion.” Luthias regarded his cook. “’Tis be-ing san-i-tar-y too much for you to bear, then?” He glanced at the child’s clean face. “I favor seeing our sculleries’ face shine. They smell better, too.”

“Aye, well.” The cook’s expression softened and she put her arm around the girl. “I’ve run my kitchens as my màthair and grand màthair before me did, my lord. ’Tis breaking with the old ways I most despise. We’ve no’ changed so much in my life as we’ve done in the past week.”

He knew that only too well from the disruption of his own routine of late. Every time he thought the lass had settled down, she’d cross someone else in the stronghold, who would then come running to him. Yet he couldn’t find fault with Emery or his people; they simply belonged to different times.

“I wouldnae mind finding fewer grits in my bannocks,” he chided. “Change comes for us all, Mistress. Be gentle with Mistress Parker for my sake.”

After they left Luthias read through the day’s message scrolls, most of which had come from the outlying farms and pasturelands about the work of summer. Shearing, felling trees and preparing the animals and goods for market would keep his people busy for weeks, but they had years of practice and required little oversight. Thanks to the herds and the bounty of lambs, foals and calves they had produced over the spring they would do very well at the autumn stock markets. MacRoss horses had always been prized for their strength, training and excellent bloodlines, and their cattle and sheep had become renown for being vigorous and long-lived.

Instead of deciding which of the stockmen to first visit Luthias found himself wanting to go to Emery, and see how she fared, and if she had discovered how she might avert disaster for the clan. No, if he were to be honest, he simply wanted to see her and hear her voice and know she was happy. As for the rest of what he desired, he could ride out to one of the towns where he sometimes spent a night with a woman willing to share her body but not her heart or home. Yet of late he felt no desire for even that relief.

’Tis the lass I want in my bed.

Since finding her in the armory Luthias had spent almost no time with Emery, who always smiled at him when their paths crossed but then hurried off to the kitchens or gardens, or went to the forge, where she now spent most of her day. He wondered if he had made her afraid of him; she’d been obviously upset during his tussle with Camdyn by the river. He’d seen the very real fear in her eyes, and felt it in the coldness of her hands. Then after, when he’d taken her in his arms, she had been startled, perhaps even shocked. Men in her time were likely very different from him and his brothers.