by Lynsay Sands
Iliana supposed the money had been placed there long ago, when she and her mother had first started the chests. Finding the gift and letter had brought tears to her eyes. The thought that her father and mother had done such a thing while her father still lived had made her unbearably sad. Now her thoughts when she pictured the sack in her mind were far more practical. If her husband refused to pay for the spices, she would do so herself. She would have her spices.
She also intended to use some of those coins to pay for a couple of women from the village to come up to the keep and help her start work on the garden. The extra help was needed. There was much to get done and Iliana was loath to pull any of the other women away from cleaning the keep itself. Hiring some extra help seemed the best option. Once she had those two necessities taken care of, she would turn her attention to clothing for her people. They would not look like paupers for any longer than necessary, but just now, due to the time of year, spices and a garden were the more important issues.
Half an hour later Iliana returned, well pleased with herself and the four women she had in tow. All of them were strong, able, and more than willing to work for a few coins. Entering the keep, she cast a glance and an approving nod at the women reworking the whitewashing. It seemed this time they were willing to listen to Ebba's instructions. Though, judging from her maid's expression of grim satisfaction, it had taken some work to impress upon them the need to redo the wall properly.
Leading the four new women, Iliana continued on into the kitchens. "Elgin?"
"Aye? Oh! Good morn, me lady." Wiping the sweat from his brow, the cook smiled at her anxiously and gave a nod and a bow. "Did ye wish to break fast, me lady?"
The difference in his attitude from when she had first approached him was both noticeable and appreciated and Iliana showed it by beaming at him. "Nay. Thank you. Actually, I hoped you might show me where Lady Muireall had her garden?"
"Her garden?" He blinked.
"Aye. Yester morn ye said she had had a garden that had gone to rot and ruin--"
"Oh, aye. Well..." He glanced toward the pot he'd been working over, then nodded. "Aye, me lady. I'll show ye." Setting down the cloth he'd been holding, he started to lead the way, then paused to glance back at her. "Ebba said the spice man was acomin' today."
"Aye."
"I was a wonderin' what ye planned to purchase?"
Iliana smiled reassuringly at him. "Actually, I thought to discuss it with you after you showed me where the gardens were, so that I could get these ladies working on it. In fact, I thought you might have a thought or two on what to plant as well."
"Oh." The worry disappeared from his face at once, a smile replacing it. "Oh, that'd be fine, me lady. Just fine." Hurrying now, he turned and ushered them out of the kitchen.
Iliana had thought that if they placed the garden where Lady Muireall had hers, there would be less work involved in renewing it. One look at the spot where the garden used to be told her how wrong she had been. Twenty years was more than enough time for the garden to be reclaimed by nature.
"'Tis a muckle mess."
"Aye." Iliana sighed, her gaze moving over the women looking dubiously at the "garden." "I fear we shall be needing a man or two to help with the heavy work."
"Aye." Elgin nodded his balding head.
"I have a brother, me lady. He's fair braugh." It was the youngest of the women who spoke, a girl of perhaps fourteen.
Iliana peered at her uncertainly. "Braugh?"
"Strong," the cook explained from behind her, saying the word under his breath so that none of the women heard.
Touched by his attempt to help her save face, Iliana smiled at him slightly, then nodded. "Is there anyone else who knows of a strong man in need of a few extra coins?"
The oldest of the women stepped forward. "My boy's sixteen and strong, me lady."
Nodding again, Iliana glanced at the younger girl. "Go fetch both boys, please." She waited until the girl hurried off, then turned to the older woman again. "I shall leave you in charge while I see to the spices we need. I wish the garden to be from that tree"--she gestured toward a gnarled old tree on the far side of the garden, then turned to point to another on the other side--"to that one. We shall have to clear the space first and turn the dirt." She paused to frown as she peered at the would-be garden. "You shall need tools. Some spades."
"I can fetch those, me lady. The laird will have what we need."
Iliana glanced at the dark-haired woman now and inclined her head. "Ask Laird Angus then. My husband would be annoyed to be bothered with such a trifling issue."
The woman nodded and hurried off.
"All right, then. You know what to do. Should you have a question, I shall be inside with the cook." Iliana waited for their nods, then turned and led the cook back inside to discuss what spices he would need.
As it turned out there was very little discussion necessary. Elgin had been thinking hard on the subject. He knew exactly what he wanted. Iliana considered the amount and variety he requested, then gave her approval. He asked for nothing that was too generous or unusual. If anything, she wondered whether he would have enough spices until the merchant returned again and decided to purchase a little more than he asked for. Leaving him to his work, she returned to the garden once more.
The spades and the two boys had been fetched and everyone was hard at work when she reached the garden. Picking up one of the spades herself, Iliana bent to the task of digging out weeds and old herbs and turning the earth, ignoring the surprised glances of the other women as she did. Her mother had taught her to respect clothing, but she had also taught her the importance of hard work. How could you expect servants to perform a chore were you not willing to join them in it? Digging a garden had never hurt anyone.
"Son!"
Duncan turned at his father's shout, the irritation on his face sending the older man's eyebrows up in surprise.
"Well, donna ye look a mite unhappy. What be the matter, lad?"
Duncan grimaced at the term lad, his irritation deepening. His father did not usually refer to him in such a manner in front of the men. But then, it had been one of those days so far. Duncan had awoken that morning to find his wife wrapped around him like English ivy clinging to a castle wall. He'd had trouble sleeping the night before and had still been awake when Iliana had started snoring from her spot in the corner. Slipping from the bed, he'd lifted her carefully into his arms and shifted her to the bed. Not that she didn't deserve to sleep on the floor, but the stone floors in the old keep were fair cold, and she would most like have caught a chill sleeping there.
'Twas the only reason he'd done it, he'd assured himself then and did so again now. At any rate, it had been a sublime experience, awakening this morning to find her cuddled against him. Until she had shifted and that damn contraption she wore had rammed him in the side. It was then, when so close and yet so impossibly far from all her body had to offer, that he had determined to find a lock just like hers and take it to Gilley to learn how to pick it.
But there was not a damn lock anywhere within the keep walls or the village with a similar design. All he could think was that the Italians--for he was sure 'twas an Italian name she had mentioned as the maker of the thing--used some odd Italian sort of lock. At this point, he was beginning to think he would have to take her to Italy to get it off her...or take a bath, some part of his brain whispered, and he grimaced at the thought. Damned if he was going to do that! A man had to start out as he intended to go on. He would not bow to her whims.
"Nothing be the matter," he muttered. "'Tis just that I slept little last night."
Angus grinned. "All this houghmagandie is catchin' up to ye. Ye need more stamina."
Duncan's only answer was a grunt. He was damned if he was going to correct his father's beliefs regarding his lack of sleep. But taking in his father's teasing expression, he wished wistfully that he deserved it. "What do ye be needin', Da?"
"Oh, aye." Face sobering,
Angus sighed. "'Tis yer sister I actually be lookin' fer. I would have her learn the duties o' a wife ere she marries the Englishman. Sweet wee Iliana has agreed to do the trainin', but I canna find the chit. Have ye seen her?"
Duncan grimaced over the virago that was tormenting his sleep being called "sweet wee Iliana" but shrugged. "I have not seen her." He turned to walk away then, but paused and turned back as his upset the day before came to mind. "When did ye decide she should marry the Englishman?" he asked accusingly. Had it been his wife who had changed his father's mind? It certainly seemed so.
All sorts of things had been changing since Iliana's arrival. For instance, his father had seemed to smile more in the past few days than he had in all the time Duncan had known him. He was not sure that was a good thing. It made him nervous. If his father had been sullen and quiet up to now, at least everyone had known what to expect. Now he could not tell from one moment to the next whether the old man would be silent or smiling. He had even caught him humming under his breath earlier that morning.
"Well, lad," Angus murmured now, "I would see your sister married and bearing ere I die. 'Sides, the contract was made."
"Aye, but not fulfilled yet. Mayhap he will break it and Seonaid can marry another."
Angus Dunbar shook his head mournfully. "Nay. If Sherwell is anything like his father, he'll not be breaking the contract. He'll have too much honor fer that."
His father turned and strode away, leaving Duncan staring after him in amazement. All his life he had heard about the cheating, lying, sneaky Sherwells. Now his father seemed to be saying the exact opposite. Damn! Everything in his life seemed to have turned topsy-turvy just now. Since Iliana's arrival.
"There ye be."
"Aye. Here I be," Duncan said dryly as Gilley approached. "And what problem would ye be havin' fer me?"
Gilley raised his eyebrows slightly at Duncan's irritation but merely waved toward the stables. "'Tis not my problem exactly," he murmured as Duncan followed his gesture to Gavin, one of his youngest guards, chatting up the stablemaster's daughter. The young man had the pretty young lass trapped between his arms and the stable wall as he murmured to her.
"Ye'd best be havin' a talk with the lad ere her father catches them."
"Aye." Duncan sighed as the girl giggled and turned her head away when Gavin tried to kiss her. "He's been workin' pretty hard at talkin' his way under her skirts."
"He's been doing a lot more than talkin'," Gilley said dryly. "And if her father catches him at his tricks, he'll be havin' his head."
"Hmm," Duncan murmured as Gavin ducked in for another try and this time, softened by his wooing, the girl allowed the kiss. Given the chance, Duncan had no doubt that young Gavin would woo his way under her skirt. While that meant he should have a chat with the lad and remind him of responsibilities, bairns, and not seducing nice young girls, it also started him to thinking about his wife, and the fact that there was more than one way to filet a fish.
Mayhap he could seduce her out of her belt, he thought. Recalling her heated response to him the morning after their wedding gave him hope, and Duncan was just beginning to grin over the prospect when Gilley suddenly shifted beside him.
"And there be her da now."
Putting his thoughts briefly aside, Duncan glanced up as Rabbie came charging around the side of the stable, toward the young couple. Sighing, Duncan pushed his plans aside and moved toward the stables. He had things to attend to now. He would consider how to seduce his wife later.
Iliana stared blearily down at the food before her and tried to open her eyes fully. They were not following instructions. All they seemed to want to do was close and stay that way. But she knew she really should eat. She had missed breaking fast that day as well as lunch, then had worked the day through. She really should have taken the time to eat lunch, she thought now. Mayhap she would not be so weary now if she had.
She had intended on eating, had even sat down with the others to eat. But then Cook had approached to murmur that the spice merchant had arrived. Nodding, Iliana had ignored her husband's curious expression and quickly left the table, headed for the kitchens, where the man was waiting. He was a wiry little man with a wide, cheerful smile and a pleasant demeanor. Iliana had quite enjoyed dealing with him, despite the speed with which she had felt forced to do so.
In the twenty short minutes that they had haggled, he had managed to spit out more gossip than Iliana would have believed possible. From what he had said, nearly everyone in Scotland was feuding with everyone else. She was interested to learn that the Dunbars were currently feuding with the Lindsays, Campbells, MacGregors, and Colquhouns. She now knew her enemies. But that was all she had been able to keep straight. There were so many clans feuding with each other, and often for such silly reasons, she hardly believed it. It seemed that refusing a second serving while dining at another keep could cause a feud. Hearing that, Iliana had immediately rerun the evening before in her mind, wondering if she had said or done anything while dining at the McInnes keep that might have been taken as an insult. She did not think she had, but supposed she would find out if the clan came charging across the land. Other than that, there was nothing she could do about it now.
Iliana had also learned the cloth merchant's schedule from the man, and elicited a promise that he would mention to the other fellow that there was commerce to be done at Dunbar.
Cook had been happy as a pig in mud by the time they were done with the man. It was obvious that he was now excited at the idea of preparing more interesting fare. He had chatted away excitedly as he set out some food for the merchant to eat as she had returned to the great hall. Unfortunately, she had been gone long enough that everyone was rising to make their way back to work when she returned. Iliana had hesitated, considered finishing her meal, then shrugged and went back through the kitchen to the gardens. She had not been all that hungry anyway.
She had worked in the gardens throughout the afternoon, dividing her attention between what she had been doing and watching the other women as they labored. She had known by the end of the morning's work that she had hired good workers, and was considering keeping two or three of them on to work in the castle once the garden was finished. Pondering which ones she should keep had distracted her throughout the afternoon as she bent to the backbreaking work of clearing the way for a garden. Distracted as she had been by such thoughts, and her own anticipation of the first really good meal she had yet been served in her new home, time had passed swiftly.
Iliana had looked forward to supper all afternoon. With the spices now purchased and available, she expected it to be quite good. Lunch, as little of it as she had managed, had already shown a noticeable improvement. Elgin had once again offered a simple fare of bread and cheese, but this time there had been no sign of mold on the cheese and the bread had been so fresh it had still retained some heat from the baking. He had also offered some fresh fruit to add variety.
Her eyelids began to droop again and Iliana concentrated on forcing them open, sighing wearily at the effort. As much as she had looked forward to it, she had nearly worked her temporary gang right through the meal. It had taken the cook arriving at her side to announce that sup was ready for her to realize that the afternoon had flown past. Calling a halt, she had straightened slowly and frowned over the light-headedness that had assailed her, then grimaced to herself as various aches and pains followed. Then the weariness had set in with a vengeance and she had recognized that she might have overdone it.
Now she sat slumped at the table, a lovely meal of mutton before her, and she too weary to even raise the food to her mouth. 'Twas an upsetting turn of events, for she knew Cook was watching her with distress, eager for a word of praise and fearful of complaint.
Sighing, she tried to push her eyes open again and lifted her dirk to stab at a piece of meat, grimacing over the aching of her arm. Every muscle in her body seemed sore, tired, and eager to let her know it, she thought with dismay, tightening her lips
and raising the food to her mouth. She already knew the food was lovely. It smelled so wonderful that it made her dizzy. Besides, every single person at the three trestle tables were commenting on its quality.
Angus had taken one bite, closed his eyes, sighed, then turned to Elgin and shouted, "Damn me, man! Ye've been aholdin' back all this time! Ye cook like an angel! I'd swear ye had wings beneath yer plaid had I no witnessed ye swimmin' naked in the loch last month and seen fer mesel' that ye don't!"
Everyone had backed up the compliment. Even Duncan had grunted and managed a reluctant "'S good," for the man. Now Elgin stood waiting only for her remark.
Iliana managed to lift her dirk all the way to her mouth, closed her lips around the food, then dropped her hand with relief and sank back on the bench, releasing an "Mmmm" of pleasure, aware that Elgin was sagging with relief as she did.
Turning, she forced a smile to her tired lips and murmured, "'Tis finer fare than even my mother's cook has ever supplied, Monsieur Cummin, and that is no small compliment. My mother is very particular about what is served and went all the way to France to bring back a cook she thought good enough to serve my father."
The man beamed at that. Grinning and nodding, he finally took his seat at the table and began to eat. Iliana turned back to her plate with a sigh. Truly, it was wonderful. She only wished she could manage to eat, but she very much feared...
A shout of warning from one of the men made Duncan turn to glance at his wife. He was just in time to see her drop backward off the bench to land upon the now clean rushes on the floor.
Chapter Eight
"Ye've killed her!" Angus Dunbar roared.