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“Georgia, milaird.” She gave a quick curtsey.
“Ye are right, Georgia. We will get workers to replace ye soon, but until then ye must try as hard as ye can.”
“Aye, milaird. But there is so much that we daenae ken.”
The women took turns speaking, each taking their time to express their displeasure. Their words were understandable, but Jonan knew there was no alternative.
“I give ye me word that I will do all I can to make yer jobs easier, but ye must put in all ye can. Yer jobs as milkmaids were nae a piece of pie either. Ye are hard workers.”
The womennodded slowly. Jonan knew his words had been heard but wasn't sure if it would make a difference. The maids could only do so much.
Satisfied with the women's understanding, helet them go back to work but went for a short walk with Georgia in the opposite direction.
“What’s yer progress?” he asked. “Our soldiers daenae ken how to grow food, but they can lift the heavy load.”
“Nae. We are nae lacking in muscle, milaird. Skill and experience hold us back. If any of the farmers could stay on the grounds to direct us, we would do more.”
Jonan tried hard not to show his displeasure. Callan had simply told him that the farmers' situation was deteriorating, but hesuspected that he had downplayed the situation, just as he had done with the farms.
“That is nae yet possible, but we will do all that we can.”
“Thank ye, milaird.”
Jonan returned to his friend just as Georgie returned to her post.
“We must do somethin’, Callan. Our people must have food.”
Soon after, the pair headed forthe sick farmers who were housed in a shed closer to the clan's keep and further away from the farm.
The shed was unassuming. On the outside, it appeared to be a typical shed, but the inside revealed how quickly the structure was constructed.Jonan and his soldiers had built it when the farmers desperately needed a place to house the sick. They couldn't risk themspreading the strange illness.
The aroma of healing herbs struck himas he pushed open the door. There were twenty-one straw beds on the floor. The majority of the farmers were sleeping. Those who were awake didn't even acknowledge their presence.
Barbara, the healer who nursed the men, appeared behind them, carrying a water pitcher and jumpingslightly when she saw Jonan.
“Milaird,” Barbara breathed. She pressed herpalm against her chest to stop her franticheart. She wore a simple dress, just like the farm maids. Her black hair was weaved into two braids, one on each side of her shoulders. Her eyes were puffy, indicating how little she had slept.
Jonan was not pleased with how hard these women were forced to work.
“We didnae startle ye, I hope,” Callan said with a wink.
Jonan had watched him watch her from the moment she walked in. Callan fancied several women and since he wasnot under pressure to produce an heir, he had ample time to enjoy himself.
“Och, nae, milairds. ‘Tis always a pleasure to see ye.” The words were addressed to both of them, but her gaze was drawn to Callan's body. Normally, Jonan would have found the scene amusing, but he was surrounded by his sick farmers, the severity of the situation weighed him down.
“The men do not seem to be improving, Barbara.”
“Aye, milaird,” Barbara said, her voice tinged with concern. “I cannae understand it meself, milaird. The men seem to worsen.”
Jonan leaned into her and dropped his voice. “None have passed?”
“Nae, milaird, but I fear that he doesn’t have much time.” She said sadly as she pointed to a farmer who looked dreadful.
“Are ye sure the right herbs were used?” Jonan asked worriedly. The men had been treated with their local healing methods at first, but when they didn't seem torecover, heused what little money they had left to seek better help from a nearby apothecary known for their herbs. But, from the looks of things, it didn't matter. The men were deteriorating with each passing day.
“Milaird, I am a well-learned healer. The farmers are given the right herbs. I give you me word.”
Jonan did not doubt Barbara. But still, there was something amiss.
From one of the beds, a sick farmer groaned.
“Let us head to the keep, Callan,” Jonan said.
“We are not due till supper,” he reminded him.
Callan was right, but he did not want to spend another moment with his sick farmers while doing nothing. There had to be a solution, and it was his responsibility as laird to find it.
He took one last look at the sickly man on the verge of death. Hopefully, it won't be too late for the man when he returned.
