Page 14 of The Guardian's Witch

The seated men were loud and awash with ale. Perhaps field and castle soldiers behaved differently. No, her father traveled on many campaigns, and she didn’t remember such strain. More likely the Stelton men lacked breeding or perhaps instruction.

She looked around at the familiar surroundings. Her heart ached at the sight of the lifeless gray stone. The once vibrant and lively castle looked as tired and worn as the family crest that hung forgotten above the hearth. The room held none of her mother’s colorful tapestries. The tables were heavily scored and lacked linen. The sideboard lay stripped of her mother’s magnificent plate. It was bare, as she had left it.

Duke, her father’s retired hunting dog, picked up his head from a nearby table when she entered. His tail wagged, the only indication he recognized her. He was too busy acquiring a meal. His blatant thievery surprised her. She was appalled to see him remove food from a man’s trencher. The soldier was too busy arguing to notice.

“Lady Lisbeth.”

She turned at the sound of her name. “Gareth, how wonderful to see you.” Her shoulders relaxed. She welcomed him with a warm smile. Gareth, her father’s contemporary and trusted captain, was a seasoned soldier, politician and good friend.

“It’s good to see you at Glen Kirk. I understand you are back in residence. I’m much relieved. I was concerned with your being outside the castle grounds.” He stood close to her, his enthusiasm at seeing her apparent.

“You needn’t worry.” She gently placed her hand on his arm.

“Ah Gareth, Lisbeth.”

She spun to see Alex striding toward them. A soldier entered the hall and approached them.

“Excuse me, m’lord, Gareth.”

“Yes?”

While the soldier addressed the two men, she noticed how at ease Gareth appeared with the new lord. The old soldier was a good judge of character. It was a good sign that he had accepted Alex.

“What do you mean they won’t come to the castle? I ordered them here.” Alex raked his hand through his hair.

“Some farmers are not finished with their harvest. Our men help but there is still much to do,” the soldier reported.

“They’ll be lucky if they finish their harvest and still have their lives.” His tone was riddled with impatience. “Get more men to the farms. Reassign the troops when they return. I know we’re spread thin.”

“Yes, m’lord.” The soldier saluted and turned to leave.

“Wait. Take some of the farmers who arrived today and have them help. Their skill may prove the difference in getting the harvest in quickly. With all the people here, every grain will be precious.”

“We’ll see to it, m’lord. If there’s nothing else?”

Gareth leveled a warm smile at Lisbeth. “It’s good to have you home Lady Lisbeth.” He nodded to Alex and withdrew with the other soldier in tow.

Alex led her to the dais and sat her next to him. Her chest swelled with pride when the Glen Kirk men quietly took their seats.

Alex picked up his tankard. “Boy,” he called. “I’m forever calling for someone to fill my tankard. Bring me ale,” he said to a nearby page.

The lad ran out and bumped into a stout man who was entering the Hall.

“Here now, take heed where you’re going or there’ll be no dinner for anyone.” The stew sloshed in the large pot, sending a large dollop onto the musty rushes on the floor. The cook, pot and ladle in hand, approached the dais and spooned salt pork and beans into the coarse barley bread trenchers.

Lisbeth looked at the food that swam in a pool of greasy soup. The aroma of onions promised a hearty meal but the dish lacked any of the fine herbs from the kitchen garden. The sound of the men eating, not grumbling about the meal, told her they had accepted this fare. She tentatively tasted a piece of meat. Her mouth puckered from the overabundance of salt. The beans, when she built up the courage to taste them, were gritty.

Ale flowed generously. Something had to quench the thirst created by the salty food. The loud voices and commotion made her think she dined in a barracks rather than the Great Hall of a fine lord. She felt adrift in the familiar surroundings. She forced herself to remember—Glen Kirk was his now.

“Bryce, Ramon, welcome.” Alex shouted across the room. “Come. Join us.” Alex indicated seats to his left.

“I didn’t know you entertained a guest, Alex, or is it a celebration?” Bryce’s father, Ramon Mitchell, nodded to Lisbeth.

“Lady Lisbeth’s come back to Glen Kirk.” Alex’s jaw tensed visibly. Bryce shrugged his shoulders in reply.

The page, Peter, returned and filled Alex’s empty tankard.

Lisbeth stopped, her spoon in midair. “Yes, I’ve returned. It is good to see you, Lord Mitchell.” She slipped the morsel into her mouth. This second mouthful didn’t taste any better than the first.

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