Page 36 of The Winter Laird
“In the morning, the guards train with each other. The MacWilliam guard is made up of the strongest and most loyal clansmen,” Erin said, snipping a piece of thread with deadly-looking scissors. Erin smiled at her progress, then picked another piece of clothing out of the basket at her feet. “After the midday meal, the laird—and any visiting laird—trains with his guests and personal guard.” She looked up and a hint of a smile played around her lips. “It’s my most favorite time of day.” Brianagh looked at her blankly, and Erin laughed. “Oh, you’ll see, Brianagh. It makes this wait so much more enjoyable.”
Brianagh eyed the full basket of mended clothes at Erin’s feet, then her own with the one and only tunic she’d touched—and really, one could consider it a new fashion. She figured catching a cold was better than sewing for the next couple months of her life.
After the last few days of silence from Nioclas, she wasn’t sure she could uphold her end of their deal. Her time was dragging endlessly and she’d been stuck in the castle. At least she’d been able to really watch how the clan interacted. Seeing them, she had crafted a pretty solid plan to present to Nioclas.
If she could ever find him. His avoidance was the stuff of legends. And, if she were to believe the tales around the castle, so were his skills in the bedroom.
Her cheeks flamed at that memory. She’d been innocently wandering around one of the hallways, trying to find her way back to the main hall, when she overheard two women gossiping about the rumors surrounding her husband and his female conquests. Legendary, indeed. No man could possibly do what they described for the length of time they claimed he did it. Although, when he had kissed her the night of their wedding, he wasn’t exactly in any hurry…
“Are you feeling all right, Bri? You look feverish,” Erin asked, pulling Bri back into the present.
“Oh. Um, no, I’m fine. I was noticing that the castle seems a bit…um…disorganized.” Bri picked up a pair of hose and wrinkled her nose. Holy cow, they were almost completely ripped at the knee. She gritted her teeth and set to the task, sending a silent apology to whomever had to wear these when she was finished with them.
“Disorganized?” Erin asked, confused.
Bri was momentarily jealous of Erin’s blood-free fingertips and peaceful countenance. The woman could probably out-sew Vera Wang the day before a royal wedding and keep that tranquility wrapped around her like a cloak.
“I mean that there’s no order. No leader among the non-warriors of the clan. It’s kind of a free-for-all.”
“I can’t say I’ve heard that term before, but it’s the way clans work. As you didn’t grow up in Ireland, I could see how it looks rather muddled.” She looked up and smiled a little dreamily. “Donovan took me to England once. It was beautiful. We were welcomed into an enormous castle, with turrets and flags and more furniture and tapestries than I ever thought were made. There wasn’t a clan, of course, as we were in England, and they do things quite differently. But there was a definitive order to the household. The lady of that castle certainly wasn’t doing the watchman’s mending—just her husband’s. And it had been washed before she mended it.”
Bri made a face. She was mending a watchman’s dirty leggings? As inconspicuously as possible, she dropped the hose back into the basket and grabbed another tunic.
“I saw that,” Erin said without taking her eyes off her thread. “Here, the laird gives his sword in protection and the people work for the castle. Some have land they farm, others have small ships and fish. Still others have neither and they spend their days here at the castle, trying to do something to earn their keep. If they don’t work, they aren’t guaranteed the laird’s protection.”
Well, that was news.
“Do you think it would be well-received if I suggest a few changes?” Bri asked. “I just think we could run this so much better if people had duties they could really excel at. You know, like Sheila, the woman can sew really well and really fast. And, for whatever reason, she claims that it soothes her soul.” Bri couldn’t imagine that statement ever ringing true for her. “Darby is competent as a ladies’ maid, but she’s so young. I’d much prefer Iona. The way she styled my hair was incredible.” Bri touched the dark mass of tresses tied in a neat knot at the nape of her neck. “She kept it off my neck when she last did it.”
“It invites kissing,” Erin said matter-of-factly. “Darby may not know of that.”
Bri stared.
“What? Of course you want to invite kissing, especially from Nioclas. It leads to other activities…wedding nightactivities.” Erin placed another completed léine in her overflowing basket with a satisfied smile. At Bri’s open-mouthed stare, Erin laughed. “Oh, never with me! He’s like a brother! I’m talking about before you. He has quite the reputation as a skilled lov—”
The midday meal bell rang, saving Bri from having to go down that road.
“They’ll bring the meal in here,” Erin said, pushing the baskets away from her. Bri hastily followed suit. “I think your ideas are worth talking to Nioclas about. He very much appreciates efficiency in battle. Seeing the same applied to his household may appeal to him. You just have to be careful about who is assigned to what within the clan. You don’t want to upset any elders.”
“Elders?”
“Aye. Clan leaders. You see, we’re all family, though some more distant than others. MacWilliams are a strong lot, especially after Nioclas led the revolution against his father—oh, I can’t even remember how long ago. Two-score years, maybe? No, it was slightly longer than that. But he became laird at such a young age, and all the elders supported him. Nick became a master at avoiding the expected clashes of putting one elder in front of another. You should talk with him about who’s going to have his léine in a twist if he’s not leading whatever job he wants to lead.”
Bri hadn’t considered the politics behind a clan. Not that she knew what those were—she was thought to be from the continent, after all.Which technically, I am, she reminded herself. Just not the continent everyone thought.
Since Erin was in her usual chatty mood, Bri encouraged her. “Well, as you were part of this clan until you married Donovan, who do you think would be best for heading up the washing and hanging of clothes?”
Erin thought about it for a minute, then nodded. “You’ll want Maggie on that. She’s got three daughters, and they already do most of the washing. They live here, usually sleep in the great hall, sometimes the stables if there’s another clan staying—”
“We have women and children sleeping in the great hall?” Brianagh interrupted, shocked. She hadn’t been to the main floor after dinner. “But there are unused chambers everywhere!”
“Yes, but they’re used for other lairds when they come to see Nick.” Erin shrugged.
As they ate their meal—a very strange concoction of tough, chewy meat slathered in some sort of heavily herbed sauce—Brianagh’s wheels were spinning so fast, she almost couldn’t keep up. She knew next to nothing about medieval servitude—which, she acknowledged, was actually distant relations working for a safe place to sleep—but she wondered if it would strengthen the clan if they were treated better than sleeping on a stone floor or with the horses.
She had to tread carefully when she brought her plan to Nioclas.
“You may want to think about installing a new cook here,” Erin said as she swallowed with difficulty. “Being from the continent, I’m sure you’ve had better food than this. Nioclas is not one to notice such things, but as his wife, you must ensure his comfort.”
