That selfless question hit Lorna in the heart. She lifted her head and forced a quivering smile. “Ye are the perfect one to help me, Ebby. No one else would do.”
The girl blew out a relieved sigh. “Thank heaven for that. I feared I had done something wrong again.” She hopped up and took a few steps toward the table and chair she had carefully angled near the crackling fire. “Mrs. Thistlewick ordered the verra best herbs and spices be steeped in yer wine. ’Tis sure to warm ye from the cold.”
Lorna forced herself to her feet. Deep down she understood that grieving the situation did no good. She had never really been one to cry unless angered. A stark childhood had honed her ability to hold back tears to avoid being taunted as weak or a crybaby. And it was time to be strong. Not curl up in a corner and weep. She could do that later. When no one else was around.
“Everything is verra nice,” she said, her smile coming easier now as she noticed the coziness of the room. She hadn’t paid that much attention to it before now. Avoiding a mental meltdown had consumed all her focus. “Thank ye for everything.”
She ran her hand across the softness of the tidy bed in the corner closest to the hearth. A wooden trunk with leather straps sat at the foot of it. A tall wardrobe took up most of the wall on one side of the lone window. Ebby had moved the small table from beside the bed and placed it in front of the hearth, along with the only chair in the room. Centered beneath a tapestry of deer frolicking in a field of flowers was a long, narrow cabinet. A large pitcher and basin, a pile of neatly folded linens, and assorted covered crocks covered the top of it. A small but thick rug woven from scraps of wool covered the center of the small room. Lorna found that surprising, since Ebby had said this was a former servant’s quarters.
“’Tis a cozy wee corner, is it not?” Ebby pulled out the chair and nudged it toward Lorna. “Mine is the next one down. So I can be here fast as can be.” She smiled and made another coaxing motion with the chair.
“Quite cozy, indeed.” Lorna wanted to be seen as appreciative, because she was. Her arrival in the past could have been a great deal worse. She seated herself and stared down at the plate of bread. Maybe if she nibbled at the crust, Ebby would stop hovering. “Where are Frances and Hesther?”
“They are in Bella’s solar, having a wee treat that Cook sent up for all of them.” The tip of the maid’s tongue peeped out the corner of her mouth as she poured a dark, steamy liquid into a cup. Deep concentration furrowed her brow, and she chewed the corner of her lip while edging it closer to Lorna. “Here ye are, mistress. This will help ye feel more like yerself.”
Lorna tried not to smile at the lass’s herculean effort to keep from spilling. The heady scent of strong red wine and spices met her before the cup reached her lips. A sip confirmed it. She held it on her tongue for a long moment before swallowing, savoring the hint of cinnamon and clove. Expensive spices for this age. “It is verra nice.” After another sip, she set it back on the table. Better go easy on that, since she had nothing in her stomach.
“Ye dinna like it.” Ebby’s dark brows drew together over her worried eyes. “Did I let it get too cold? Like a fool, I forgot the wrap for the pot before leaving the kitchens with it.”
“Ebby, it’s fine. I promise.” The poor maid was so eager to please. Perhaps she could use that sweet trait to her advantage. “Tell me about Thursa Castle, aye? That will help me feel more at ease.”
“Happy to, mistress.” But she held up a finger. “Beg pardon while I check the sitting room again.” She opened the door, peered out, and frowned. “They still havena brought yer trunks. How can I put away yer things if they dinna bring them in from the bailey?”
Lorna inwardly cringed, knowing that what she was about to share would seem strange. “I have nothing but the clothes I’m wearing. There will be no trunk.”
Ebby stared at her, slowly blinking as though struggling to process that information. “Nothing?”
Lorna tried to play it off as a common thing. She rose from the table and moved closer to the fire. “Well, there is my cloak. Hesther may be using it to keep warm, though. That poor wee lass needs it more than I.” She stretched her hands closer to the flames, reveling in the delicious warmth. “Now, come. Tell me about Thursa. About yer chieftain and what I can expect from him.”
“Oh, he is the kindest man, mistress.” Ebby’s smile brightened like a beacon. “Most wouldha put me back out in the cold, what with my fumble-fingered ways.” She hugged her thin frame and rocked from heel to toe again, looking more contended than anyone Lorna had ever met. “But not Chieftain Sinclair. He allowed me to stay here at Thursa.”
Lorna decided Ebby’s rocking had to be a quirky, self-soothing habit. She turned to warm her backside. “How long have ye known him?”
The maid’s rocking shifted to a swaying from side to side. “Ever since he found me and my brother going from door to door, begging for scraps in Inverness. We were nothing but a pair of weans, really.” Her swaying stopped, and she twisted her stained apron in her hands. “He brought us here, and Mrs. Thistlewick took us in.” She wiped the corners of her eyes. “She made my wee brother’s last days so much easier than they wouldha been.”
“I am so sorry.” Lorna reached over and squeezed the lass’s hand. “I never meant to stir unhappy memories.”
Ebby offered a trembling tip of her head. “Those memories were the start of many good and happy times. My wee brother is in heaven now. No more suffering for him. And I am blessed to live here with the kindest folk I have ever known.” She smoothed her apron back down and added more wine to Lorna’s cup, accidentally sloshing a bit on the table. “Oh, me.” As she dabbed at the spill with a rag from her pocket, she bumped the table and spilled even more. “Heaven help ye, mistress. Did ye anger himself to be saddled with a maid like me?”
“I am glad he chose ye for me.” Lorna rested her hand on the girl’s arm, stopping her vain efforts at cleaning up the mess. “Dinna worry about the table, aye? We can tend to it later.” Hoping that everything she had heard about servants knowing therealworkings of a keep was true, she leaned close and lowered her voice. “But I do have a question. If he is such a kind and generous man, why the devil is he marrying that vicious cow?”
Ebby clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. After a hurried curtsy, she darted out the door, banging into everything in her path.
“Well, bloody hell.” Lorna stared at the door Ebby had left ajar. Clearly, she had pushed the girl too far.
Not knowing what else to do, she wiped up the wine spills and sorted the table, slightly disappointed that her closest source of information had disappeared. She wondered if Mrs. Thistlewick had a rule against gossiping.
After cleaning the mess the best she could, she ventured out into the adjoining room and then on into the next, which appeared to be a library or learning area of sorts. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a stringed instrument she wasn’t familiar with leaned against a chair. The chieftain had called this Bella’s floor, but sakes’ alive, how many rooms did one child need? Did she not get lonely up here all by herself? And how in the devil did she ever find anyone to help her? Shouldn’t the nursemaid’s room connect to wherever the bairns slept?
She found her way to what appeared to be the main hallway and forged onward. After glancing around to ensure she was alone, she paused and listened at the closed doors, hoping to hear the children talking. That method made her search go quicker.
At the third door, she picked up on a muffled conversation that made her frown. That wasn’t a child’s voice. It sounded like a man. What was a man doing on the children’s floor? Assuming the worst, she threw open the door, ready to fight if need be. Quickly assessing the innocent scene, she tucked her fists behind her back.
“What are ye doing here on the children’s floor?” she asked, deciding to deflect their befuddled looks with bravado.
The man standing in front of the children’s table proffered a polite bow. “Good day to ye, mistress. I am Sir Jasper Sinclair. The clan’s war chief.” He grinned and added a humble shrug. “Or man-at-arms. Whichever ye prefer. The title makes no difference.” He moved toward her, and his grin took on an irritating smugness. “However, once ye have been here a while, ye will find our fine chieftain has granted me the right to go anywhere I wish in this keep.”
She refused to be bullied. He might be a high-ranking knight within this clan, but she was determined to hold her own. Head held high, she positioned herself between Frances and Hesther. They sat at a large round table, in chairs made smaller to fit bairns. Bella sat with them, looking as though she had just gotten away with something she should not have done.
