With a slight smile, she nodded at the two menservants who were busy rolling a keg of ale into the buttery, both of whom appeared surprised to see her.
Moments later, reaching the end of a narrow passage, she descended several steps into a large chamber known as the lesser hall. She’d been informed that this was where the Earl of Angus traditionally held judicial proceedings. Just beyond the chamber there was a row of doors, one of which led to her destination, the office of the household steward.
Seeing that the door was slightly ajar, Laoghaire pushed it open without knocking. For several moments she stood silent while she perused the small chamber. As her gaze moved around the perimeter of the room, she took note of the slanted scribe’s desk; the wooden case with its many cubbyholes filled with rolled parchments; and a massive iron strongbox that was set within a wall niche. Robbie Guthrie, his back turned to her, was in the process of placing a handful of bundled hazelwood tally sticks into the box for safekeeping. To her surprise, Robbie’s daughter Aveline was seated at the desk. From where she stood, Laoghaire could see that the young girl was copying letters onto a wax tablet with a stylus.
Laoghaire cleared her throat to alert the two of them to her presence.
“Milady!” Like his wife, Robbie Guthrie was always quick with a warm smile. “Please, come in,” he invited with a sweep of the arm.
Aveline also appeared happy to see her. Rising from her stool, the child rushed over to where she stood just inside the doorway.
Because of the room’s small size, Laoghaire turned to the two wolfhounds and, with a raised hand, silently bid them to remain on the other side of the threshold.
Clearly anxious to show Laoghaire what she’d been working on, Aveline offered her the wax tablet. “I have written out the whole of thePater Noster,” she said proudly, as she pointed to the words of the Latin prayer, which had been carefully incised into the beeswax.
“This is quite an achievement,” Laoghaire told the child before returning the tablet to her. She then looked over at Robbie. “Did ye teach the lass how to write?”
Chortling softly, Robbie shook his head, quickly disavowing her of the notion. “Aveline kens more than I do, and she has the earl to thank for it. Young Angus is the one who arranged for Father Giroldus to teach her how to read and write.”
Laoghaire knew that “young Angus” referred to Galen, the epithet used by many in the household to distinguish him from his uncle, the previous earl.
“There are few lords who would be so magnanimous to the daughter of the castle reeve,” Robbie continued. “None can dispute that Lord Angus has a brave heart, but ’tis a noble heart as well.”
Laoghaire made no comment. As much as she disliked her new husband, she would not gainsay his kind deed to young Aveline. Being able to read and write would certainly be of future benefit to the child.
After gesturing for Aveline to leave the chamber, Robbie turned to Laoghaire with a questioning look on his face, no doubt wondering as to the reason for her unexpected visit.
Suddenly nervous, Laoghaire wiped her clammy palms against her kirtle. “Er, yer wife suggested that I speak to ye regarding the maintenance of the household accounts.”
One of Robbie’s eyebrows instantly slanted upward. “She did?”
“Aye, she did. Since Angus has yet to fill the position of household steward, Coira thought that I might be able to handle the recordkeeping.” Even to Laoghaire’s own ears, what earlier seemed like a viable idea now sounded utterly harebrained. Hoping to add heft to the proposal, she said, “I used to assist my cousin Diarmid with the accounts for my brother’s demesne.”
At hearing that, Robbie cocked his head to one side while he gave her a considering glance. “I do not have the authority to appoint ye to the position, but I dinna see what harm could come of letting ye help me prepare the records. With Michaelmas only two weeks away, there is much work to do to ready the accounts for the yearly reckoning.”
Relieved that Robbie was amenable to the idea, Laoghaire smiled gratefully at him. “I will keep faith with ye, and do all in my power to maintain accurate and detailed records,” she hastened to assure him. “And if Angus is opposed to the idea, upon his return to the castle I shall immediately desist.”
“I cannot ask for more, milady.” Motioning for her to sit at the desk, Robbie said, “The duties of the household steward are simple enough. At the end of each day, you will receive the expenses incurred by the cook, the butler, the pantler, and the marshal for all of the foodstuffs and supplies that they have used. Also, if any guests stay overnight, all of the additional expenses incurred must be carefully recorded.”
Anxious to begin, Laoghaire selected a goose quill from a wooden holder; after which, she examined the parchment that Robbie spread before her, carefully noting the various household expenditures that had been recorded for the previous day. The numerous entries included everything from how much food, ale and wine had been consumed to the amount of hay and oats used in the stables. There were even entries made for the amount of alms given to the poor and how many scraps were fed to the hunting hounds.
As she dipped her quill into the inkhorn, Laoghaire felt the welcome return of something she feared she’d lost since her arrival at Castle Airlie—her self-confidence. These types of records and the maintenance of them were wholly familiar to her.
Finally, I have found something to my liking.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I cannot wait to see the wench,Galen thought with fulsome good cheer when his entourage rode through the gatehouse, their arrival met with welcoming shouts.
Standing atop a lookout tower, a sentry blew on an ivory oliphant, the deep, sonorous sound meant to alert all vassals within hearing range that the lord of the castle had returned. Moreover, he had returned four days earlier than expected, Galen having made the decision to cut his tour short and leave the military inspection of his other demesnes in the capable hands of his marshal. Unable to purge Laoghaire’s stormy-eyed image from his mind, his lust for the Highland beauty had become a sort of madness. A fever of the brain that putherface,herimage, at the forefront of every somnolent dream and far too many of his waking thoughts.
“That was the first time that a man’s lips have touched mine and . . . and I liked it not!”
Those had been Laoghaire’s parting words to him, and though Galen was certain that she’d previously been kissed—the lady was not a virgin, after all—the retort had become a taunting refrain over the course of the last ten days. Indeed, it pricked his manly pride that Laoghaire had taken no pleasure in his kiss. While it had been his intention to arouse her passions that morning in the bailey, he’d only succeeded in arousing Laoghaire’s enmity. And though he knew it mattered naught, the memory of the incident nevertheless rankled. Even more irksome, he’d spurned the temptation to ease the ache in his loins with another woman.
I desire only the one woman, my Highland bride.
On account of the forced abstinence, he’d been made to suffer greatly. So much so, his manhood now swelled at the thought of seeing his wife, Galen shifting in the saddle to relieve the uncomfortable ache. He fervently hoped that while he was gone, Laoghaire had undergone her courses. If so, then he would be able to take his ease with her that very night and finallyhave his bride beneath him, naked and writhing. Forsooth, he would ride her well, thrusting into her so deeply, so powerfully, that he would touch her very womb.
