Laoghaire made no comment. She already knew that Castle Airlie was a viper’s nest. Early on, she had sensed that Dame Winifred, though always deferential, did not care for her in the least. Now she knew the reason why: Had it not been for the king’s decree, her daughter would have become the new countess.
“But as far as Dame Winifred and her daughter are concerned, ye need not fret.” Putting aside the samite, Coira next picked up a bolt of green wool. As she held it up to the light, she said, “Ye are now theban-tighearna,the lady of the house.”
Dominawas the word that Galen had used. Regardless of the language or phrase employed, the truth of the matter was that Laoghaire was ill-equipped to be the mistress of so large a castle, her domestic education sorely lacking. Because Dame Winifred oversaw the running of the household, that left little, if anything, for her to do. Not that she wanted to assume the duties of châtelaine; she’d briefly acted in that capacity for her brother and with disastrous results.
God’s teeth! Am I to spend my days peering out the window?
In the wake of Galen’s departure four days ago, she’d spent most of her waking hours in a quandary, uncertain what her duties as countess entailed. Since her mother died when Laoghaire was only three years of age, she’d had an unconventional upbringing. While other young girls were taught how to weave and embroider, she’d been taught how to ride and hunt. She could not fault her father or brothers; they had no way of knowing that one day the king of Scotland would order her to marry an earl.
Putting her pride to the wayside, Laoghaire glanced over to where Coira was now busy choosing between two different lengths of sendal, one yellow, one white. After nervously clearing her throat to garner the other woman’s attention, she said, “I have need of yer counsel. This is a large castle and . . . and I am uncertain how I should be spending my time. Given that Dame Winifred handles the duties of châtelaine, I have nothing to do.”
Coira’s brow furrowed. “I dinna comprehend yer meaning.”
“I don’t know what my duties entail. Moreover, I don’t know how to be a countess,” Laoghaire elaborated.
Several moments passed as Coira stared at her, clearly agog at hearing her confession. Then, with a good-natured chuckle, she said, “Ach! Were ye not taught by yer mother how to maintain a household?”
Laoghaire shook her head dolefully. “My mother died when I was young.”
“Poor pet.” The other woman gave her a commiserating smile. “As for yer duties, the old earl had three wives, all of whom were renowned for their fine embroidery. In addition to spending their days engaged in needlework, each of them was a gracious hostess to all who visited the castle.”
The other woman’s reply caused a knot to tighten in Laoghaire’s stomach. “Should I ply my fingers to needle and thread, I will surely die from boredom.”
“Milady, ye do not have to sew or oversee the daily menu to be a great asset to yer husband.” Several moments passed in silence as Coira contemplatively tapped her forefinger against her chin. Then, her eyes suddenly glimmering with an infectious excitement, she said, “I have just thought of a way in which ye can be a worthy helpmate to the earl.”
Although Laoghaire had no desire to be a helpmate to Galen, she was intrigued nonetheless. “I would be most interested to hear yer idea.”
“Can ye read and cipher?”
Surprised by the question, Laoghaire nodded in the affirmative.
“Ye’re probably unaware of this, but yer husband has need of a household steward,” Coira informed her. “Soon after his uncle died, Lord Angus dismissed Airlie’s steward, the man having proved himself less than honest with the old earl’s coin. It was then that the decision was made to divide the post between two individuals, one to manage the estate, the other to maintain the household accounts.”
Upon hearing that, Laoghaire’s interest deepened. At Castle Maoil, there was only the one steward, her cousin Diarmid. He handled all of the accounts and revenues for both the estate and castle.
“Prior to his departure, Lord Angus appointed Sir Auric de Quincey as the new estate steward,” Coira continued, proving to be well-versed in the inner workings of the castle. “However, the post of household steward has yet to be filled. For the time being, my Robbie has been handling the household accounts. And he’s about to tear his hair out because of it,” she added with a chuckle.
Laoghaire knew that Coira’s husband Robbie was also the castle reeve, which meant that he must be greatly burdened, indeed.
“I often helped my cousin Diarmid to maintain the account ledgers at Castle Maoil,” she mentioned somewhat hesitantly, not wanting to get her hopes unduly raised lest they be crushed. Most men—and no doubt Galen was one of them—believed women incapable of such responsibility. Wondering if it was different in Glenclova, she said, “Is it not unusual for a woman to keep the household accounts?”
“Aye, ’tis out of the ordinary,” Coira agreed with a nod of the head. “Although who can Lord Angus trust better with his coin, if not his own wife?”
Laoghaire made no reply. Given that Galen didn’t trust her enough to give her a horse, let alone permit her to leave the castle, it was doubtful he would entrust her with the household accounts.
“Go speak to my Robbie,” Coira urged in a coaxing voice. “After which, ye can decide if it would appeal to ye.”
Certainly, no harm can come from talking to the man,Laoghaire thought to herself, won over by the other woman’s enthusiasm.
Her mind made up, she said, “I will speak to yer husband.” That settled, she gestured to the purple samite. “And I have decided that I don’t want the kirtle trimmed in fur, after all.”
As Laoghaire hurriedly made her way across the great hall, the two wolfhounds, Tristan and Iseult, followed closely on her heels. Because they were hunting dogs, each of them wore an identical thick leather collar to protect them from being mauled by a wild boar. For whatever reason, the two beasts had taken to shadowing her about the castle, which didn’t bother her in the least. An outsider at Castle Airlie, she enjoyed the dogs’ quiet companionship.
On the other side of the hall, Laoghaire espied Dame Winifred. Appearing like some great gannet in her elaborate white wimple and veil, the châtelaine was loudly chastising a villein who was in the process of putting down fresh rushes. Due to the veil’s many overlapping layers, Dame Winifred was forced to hold her head at an awkward angle, giving her a slightly sinister aspect.
Laoghaire withheld a greeting, certain a salutation would not be welcomed. Despite the king having commanded the marriage, the older woman’s cold deference made it readily apparent that she held Laoghaire directly responsible for her daughter’s broken betrothal.
Keeping her head bent, so as not to draw attention to herself, Laoghaire scurried through the elaborate wooden screen that separated the great hall from the pantry and buttery. Unlike her brother’s castle—where food and drink were brought directly from the kitchen to the great hall—at Castle Airlie all of the dishes were first arranged for serving in the pantry before being brought to the tables; just as all beverages were poured from casks into pitchers and flagons in the adjacent buttery prior to being served. Such an arrangement required a small army of servants, in addition to making a great bustle at mealtimes.
