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“Thank ye, stranger,” she replied, beaming back at him. “Can I ask yer name? I am Queenie McBride, the landlady here, an’ ye are vera welcome.”
“I am Bernard Taggart,” he replied, looking around him as he sipped his ale.
“Are ye stayin’ at the castle?” one of his fellow patrons asked.
“I am,” Bernard replied. “I am one of Laird Ballantine’s men.”
“Ye dinnae sound like somebody that would drink in a place like this,” the man said doubtfully, looking around at the others, who nodded in agreement.
“I had a good education,” Bernard explained. “But I am only a guard—one of you. I wanted to ask about Mistress Stewart.”
“Why?” one of the men asked suspiciously. “I am warnin’ ye, pal, if ye mean any harm tae that lassie, ye will have tae get past us first.”
The expression on his elderly face was thunderous, and Bernard was astonished, especially when some of the other men got to their feet and began to voice their agreement. It seemed that Janice was held in very high regard by everyone inside and outside the castle, and he wondered why.
“I have no intention of doing her any harm,” he assured them. “I have met her, and she seems like a very pleasant lady, and it seems that she is held in high regard by everyone around here, and I wondered why. It seems strange that a laird’s daughter should be so well-regarded when most ordinary folks despise lairds’ families.”
“Let me tell ye,” Queenie said firmly, leaning on the counter, “it is because she is vera kind. After the feast taeday, there will be extra food; there always is on high days an’ holidays. We dinnae have tae ask for anything because we know that she will send down a’ that food tae us after the house staff gets their share, of course. She never forgets anybody.”
“An’ there are always warm clothes for the weans in the winter,” another man assured him. “Three years ago, when that almighty storm came, she opened a wing o’ the castle for us, fed us, an’ kept us warm until we could go back tae our homes. We know as long as Mistress Janice is about, we will no’ starve. An’ I think we can a’ agree that we would likely be much worse off without her. In fact, some o’ us wouldnae be here.”
“But she will never be the laird,” Bernard pointed out. “Her brothers are fighting it out for that honor.”
There was a collective noise of groans, growls, and derisive snorts.
“Them two!” Jim Elliott, the man who had been the main voice for the others, spoke up. “They are a waste o’ good air. Tell the man, Queenie.”
Queenie leaned on the bar and sighed. “Jim is right, Bernard. Those two lazy so-an’-so’s come in here every Saturday night an’ drink themselves under the table. They show off an’ dance on the tables an’ think they are doin’ us a favor by comin’ here. But they bring a couple o’ pals wi’ them, an’ they spend a lot o’ money, an’ that is why I dinnae turn them away. But I cannae stand them. When that father o’ theirs dies an’ the estate goes tae one o’ them, God help us. I dinnae know what will become o’ the place.”
Bernard was shocked. He had known that the guards at the castle despised the brothers but had no idea that the bad feeling had spread to the village too.
“Perhaps they will employ a steward,” he remarked, looking around at their angry faces.
“They have got one already,” Queenie stated. “Mistress Janice does most o’ the work organizin’ the estate, but she will nay doubt have tae marry soon, an’ lassies like her dinnae come along every day. This idea that only men can be lairds is just plain stupid.”
“I agree with you,” Bernard concurred, nodding, “but maybe she will stay. It seems as though she cares a lot about all of you.” There was a murmur of agreement.
“Aye, son,” Queenie said sadly, “but she has a life o’ her own. Maybe she will meet a nice young man an’ have bairns o’ her own. Who are we tae stop her?” She shrugged, then smiled at him. “Tell us about yerself. We dinnae see new faces around here vera often, an’ especially no’ fine big lads like ye.”
Bernard laughed. “I come from a tall family,” he admitted. “Both Mammy and Da. Mammy is still alive, but Da was killed in an accident. I was only two at the time so I don’t really remember him. The laird of Benlieth has a son, William, and we more or less grew up together. My mother is the cook there—she has been for thirty years—and Lady Ballantine and my mother were with child at more or less the same time. I am three months older than William.
“The laird thought I would be a good playmate for his son. William and I were educated together, so I learned to speak, well, like this.” He pointed to his mouth with a little embarrassed laugh.
“Are ye still friends?” Queenie asked curiously.
“Yes, but as you can imagine, there are still places I cannot go.” He laughed suddenly. “One of them is the feast tonight. Not that I mind. It is not the kind of party I would enjoy since all those ‘people of quality’ would be looking down on me.”
“No, son,” Queenie remarked drily, admiring Bernard’s height. “They will a’ be lookin’ up at ye!”
There was a chorus of laughter at that. Bernard was suddenly struck by the landlady’s unusual name. “I have never heard a name like yours before,” he remarked. “How did you come by it?”
Queenie cast her eyes heavenward and sighed. “My mother was very fond o’ the story o’ Mary Queen o’ Scots,” she answered. “So she called me after her.”
“Why not just ‘Mary’ then?” Bernard asked curiously.
“That is my middle name,” the unfortunate woman replied. “Ye can laugh now if ye like.”
So, having been given permission, he did, and the deep booming sound echoed around the room, setting everyone else off, so that in a moment they were all laughing, Queenie included. Bernard was enjoying himself thoroughly. He could not remember the last time he had had so much fun.
