Highland Steel (Guardians of the Stone Book 2) (30 page)

Cameron’s swollen eyes appeared to widen although Aidan couldn’t be sure. “I would ne’er do that!”

Aidan rose then, intending to leave Cameron to rest. His sister had come to fetch him the instant Cameron awoke, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. “See that ye dinna,” he reiterated, and left the lad to sleep, closing the door to discourage Cailin from returning.

“My lady, I
beg you
wait,” Luc pleaded as Lael began to rifle through meal sacks that had been left in the storehouse to rot—this after tossing perishables that had already gone bad. She understood well enough how quickly spoilt food could turn to poison, but she didn’t intend to throw out good meal when there was scarce enough food in the pantry to sustain them for the long winter. The worst that might happen if they ate bad meal was that they’d pucker their lips over the flavor, but there were clever ways to mask the taste. She would bring the older sacks to the kitchen to be used at once.

But Luc didn’t seem to realize she was attempting to help and Lael didn’t feel obliged to tell him aught. Throughout the morning she continued to work alongside Mairi and Ailis, trying to restore some order to their meals. After a time, when she stubbornly refused to listen to Luc, he soon enough ran away to tattle to his laird.

To her utter surprise he returned without a word, leaving Lael to wonder what the devil Jaime had said—clearly naught the boy wished to hear, for he spent the remainder of the morning pouting as he watched them work.

From the kitchens the foursome moved into the gardens, and there Kenna joined them, helping to pick whatever vegetables remained that hadn’t yet been ruined by the frost. These she would find a way to store, and whatever could not be saved she would work into the coming weeks’ meals.

Some were good to leave—cabbage, turnips, leeks and kale. In truth, kale was far sweeter after it had been touched by a good frost, and, in fact, she might not bother to cover them with mulch for as yet they had been spared the bitter weather she was accustomed to at home. If by chance the winter turned frigid, then she would welcome the kale flowers in spring and plant a whole new crop. It didn’t occur to her to wonder why she should care to plan so far ahead, for aside from her knives, this was her greatest passion—finding clever ways to use the bounty mother earth delivered. And Lael was good at it—so much so that her brother’s wife had yet to wrest the duties of chatelaine from her. Aidan often praised her, though not merely for the hard work and love she put into her efforts, but for the clever ways in which she turned the most mundane victuals into palatable meals.

She had a way with people as well—discovering the means to make them feel a part of the solution, rather than part of the problem. Lael believed it was the secret to peace amidst their clansmen through the long, hard winters. Everyone must do their part and feel essential to their survival, because they truly were—every last man, woman and child.

Over the course of a single day she could already see a change in her little band of misfits, but in Mairi in particular. In the beginning, the old woman had been kindly but wary of Lael, fearful of losing whatever seniority she had attained. Ailis too, in her own way, lived in fear. The girl was afraid of being put out the gates so they’d have one less mouth to feed, thus she was far too free with her favors. Kenna, on the other hand, was quiet and dutiful, watching everything, and speaking little. Of the three, Kenna seemed most vulnerable and Lael took pains to draw her out.

About midmorn, she watched as Ailis turn away some oaf seeking to jab his pork sword up her tattered skirts and Lael smiled and gave the girl a sisterly nod when the dolt went sulking away.

Inasmuch as Lael believed that women had a right to love where they wished, she didn’t ken to trading favors. It wasn’t a woman’s duty to satisfy a man. Women had a right to say no. She was no prude—at least she didn’t think she was—but “
no”
had always come far more easily to her than “
yes
.”

In fact she was still waiting to say, “
yes”—
especially since last night her husband never bothered to ask.

He didn’t care for her, that much was clear.

Three times Luc ran away to tattle and three times he returned with nary a word from her husband. And now for the first time in her life she began to wonder if the choice to remain celibate had been entirely her own. Mayhap men didn’t like her? Mayhap, as her brother had often teased, she was far too fearsome?

She pondered that question the remainder of the morning and once the vegetables were put to order, she went after the animals, corralling them all into shelters as best she could. She was pleasantly surprised to find that a goodly portion of the outbuildings were already reserved for livestock. She’d thought them barracks for the men, and while at one time they might have been, it appeared that nearly everyone within the castle gates now found a bed within the keep itself. Aside from the blacksmith, the baker and a few tradesmen, no one else had proper dwellings within Keppenach’s walls. The families who had taken residence here had done so outside the gates, and apparently few of those remained.

But one look at the darkening sky told her they were soon for winter gales, and by the time the icy winds arrived, she was determined to be prepared.

It was a wonder these folk had survived so long as they had with so little knowledge of what it took to thrive. For all that life was harsh in the Mounth, they always seemed to have plenty.

Alas, the more she saw, the more she marveled that anyone had bothered fighting for this decrepit pile of stones. In fact Keppenach was so much in shambles that she wondered why King David bothered to send his butcher north to salvage what remained. Her
husband
must have little of value to his name.

It served him right for destroying his own birthright—not that Lael much cared one way or another. She was here for one year, unless she begot a child, and then she would be gone forevermore. And the way it appeared now, she wouldn’t be getting any child by the Butcher.

You aren’t meant to be a mother anyway.

But she thought of her nephew and niece and felt a keen sense of loss. Ridiculous, she thought, because she could easily go on to wed somebody else.

Who?

Lael didn’t
like
anyone else.

She didn’t
like
Jaime either—at least she didn’t think she did—but she was beginning to soften a bit at the thought of sharing his bed.

What did it matter if he didn’t like her?

And so went the conversation in her head, bedeviling her until she thought she might go mad. To combat her wayward thoughts, she worked harder yet and was pleased to discover that not everything at Keppenach was quite so inadequate.

She was surprised to find they had an ingenious way of harvesting rainwater and later she discovered why: The well itself was putrid. The water was scarcely drinkable, and so they used it primarily for bathing and as a base for their atrocious mead, which was, not surprisingly, unpalatable. If the well drew from the same water that seeped into the tunnels below the donjon, she well understood why. Thankfully, she knew something of this matter, and so she employed a young lad to retrieve the bucket from the well so she could inspect the water.

He caught her attention outside the stables and she eyed him covetously—not him precisely, but the object in his hand. She craved the feel of the cold steel he held in his fist. The blade of his axe shone beneath the bright afternoon sun, oiled until it gleamed. He was practicing at throwing blades with his companions, and while Lael waited, she offered to hold his blade.

Of course, he hesitated.

“Am I not your new lady?” she asked him only once.

The youth nodded, reluctantly handing her the axe, and Lael could scarce contain her answering grin.

Every ounce of blood in her veins sang as she touched the wooden handle and she inhaled sharply at the weight of it resting in her palm. She grinned wider at the youth’s companions and eyed their target—a misused armless quintain wearing an English-styled tunic. “What say ye? Three tries. Aim for the heart, closest wins?”

“My lady,” Luc complained, appearing yet again at her back after tattling to his laird yet another time.

Lael stamped a foot at him. “Ach, now! Go on wi’ ye, ye wee clipe, tell your sorry laird,” she commanded, and then whirled and gave him her back.

As yet her
husband
had not come once to see what she was after, so what did she care if Luc went and tattled? In fact, right about now, she was most certainly testing Jaime. As Luc hied away for the sixth time, she laughed happily at the sight of the shining axe blade and raised it high in challenge. “Who here believes he’s mon enough to beat your lady at blades?”

Nearly finished with his list for the armorer, Jaime sat waiting to meet with the blacksmith, who seemed to be tarrying imprudently after his summons.

It was all he could do to keep from running to spy on his wife at every turn. Any excuse would have suited, and for that alone he’d stubbornly refused. As far as he could tell, she had been busy all day long with tasks that inordinately pleased him. No matter that her efforts pre-empted some of his own work, he could find little fault in every last tattle Luc brought him.

As lady of this broken down heap, she should be allowed to do as she pleased, so long as she stayed out of the gaol and away from the gates. In fact, that she had already resigned herself to her position as Keppenach’s mistress boded well for their union, despite that his balls were a bit blue this morning from having slept unappeased next to his reluctant bride.

He’d lain there until the wee hours, unable to rest, acutely aware of her presence beside him. The scent of her skin was etched now in his brain and he thought it more addicting than
dwale
.

The instant he spied the brightening sky he’d leapt from his bed to remove himself from temptation. But
she
wasn’t making it easy and now spying his squire in the doorway once again, he smacked a hand impatiently upon the laird’s table. “What now, Luc?”

The look upon the lad’s face was full of trepidation. “I know ye said to leave her be, laird, but now she’s got herself an axe.”

Jaime blinked at Luc’s revelation. “An axe?”

“Aye, laird. She’s got an axe.”

Jaime had an immediate vision of Lael terrorizing his men, and since he’d given them all an express command not to harm a single hair on her lovely head, he knew they would feel hard-pressed. “Has she threatened anyone with it?”

“Nay.”

“Well,
what
is she doing with an axe?”

His squire shrugged. “Practicing at blades, it appears.”

“Practicing at blades?”

Luc gave him a jerky nod.

Jaime’s legs defied him though he bade them not to move. He stood with a sigh, telling himself that this was something he
must
witness for himself. If for naught else, he was curious to know how adept his wife was with her damnable knives.

Luc led the way and Jaime followed, wincing over the brightness of the afternoon sun as he emerged into the bailey. He followed the squire around the corner and behind the stable where a curious crowd was gathering.

There
she
stood with an axe in her hand.

She didn’t hesitate when the mob surrounding her gasped in dismay at his arrival. She didn’t even look his way in fact. She tossed the heavy weapon without taking any time to assess the distance or to measure the angle. She simply tossed it. The axe hissed through the air, spinning with surprising speed and accuracy and found purchase with a resounding crack in the heart of the wooden quintain.

Everyone but Lael took steps backward as Jaime approached.

Even his own men, who knew him well enough to know he was fair and just, retreated in trepidation.

“Two!” she cried with utmost glee, throwing up her hands victoriously.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked her as she raced across the bailey to retrieve the axe. She halted mid stride, turning like a wooden soldier to face him, head held high and lacking any fright.