A knock soundedat the door. April opened it to a maid bringing a morning tray of hot tea and porridge. Gracie drew in a steadying breath, feeling less like an imposter and more like a woman with purpose.
She straightenedher shoulders and said, “Thank ye, April, for remindin’ me who I am.”
14
Gracie sat by the hearth with a warm cup of tea cradled in her hands, the steam curling like soft breath before her face.
“April,”she said gently, “I would have ye gather some maids and servants that ken of a village called Glenmoor, and have them meet me in the great hall in one hour.”
April’s eyesbrightened with purpose as she replied, “Aye, me lady, I will do so at once.” She dipped into a curtsy and hurried away.
An hour later,Gracie stood facing five maids and three servants who lined themselves in a neat row. They were a varied lot, some young and bright-eyed, others weathered by years of work, all watching her with a mix of curiosity and respect.
“Thank ye for comin’,”Gracie said, clasping her hands before her. “I have need of yer knowledge, and I would hear ye plain.”
She drewa steady breath and asked, “Have any of ye visited Glenmoor, or have kin there?”
A stout maidwith auburn hair stepped forward and said, “I am Morag, me lady, and me sister wed a shepherd there.”
A lean servantnamed Alasdair added, “I hauled grain through that valley once, years past, afore the rains failed.”
A timid girlcalled Isla whispered, “Me gran was born there, though she left when she was but a bairn.”
An older manwith silver in his beard cleared his throat and said, “Name’s Ewan, me lady, and I ken Glenmoor well.”
A freckled maid namedPippa chimed in, “Me cousin writes from there, and she says the fields are naught but dust. They are proud folk, but pride doesnae warm an empty hearth.”
Gracie listened,her heart tightening with each word.
Morag spoke again,voice heavy, saying, “The drought withered their barley, and the sheep perished on bare hills.”
Alasdair added,“The cold came early to that valley, me lady, and the woods near are stripped, so there’s little firewood left to heat their homes.”
“They burn peat and broken fence,”Isla said softly, “and still the nights bite hard.”
Gracie asked,“What of the children and the elders, how are they farin'?”
Ewan answered,“The wee ones are thin, and the old ones keep to their beds, for they’ve nay strength for the chill.”
“Do wagons reach them easy?”Gracie continued.
Nessa shookher head and said, “The road is narrow and steep, but passable if the weather holds.”
Gracie stepped closer and said,“Ye have given me a gift in speakin’ so true, and I thank ye all.”
They bowedand murmured their gratitude, surprise softening into hope. As they departed, Gracie felt something settle within her, a quiet certainty that she could be more than she knew.
Gracie crossedthe inner yard and made her way toward the stables, the air rich with hay, leather, and warm horseflesh. The long stone building echoed with soft nickers and the clink of tack, sunlight slanting through narrow windows to stripe the packed earth. Grooms moved about with practiced ease, brushing flanks and tightening girths. She paused, feeling small amid the size and strength gathered there, and searched for Jaxon.
She foundhim beside a broad-shouldered bay, sleeves rolled, speaking with Connor over stacked crates and sacks.
“Count it twice,”Jaxon said, his voice firm, “for I will nae have a single family go hungry on me watch.”
Connor nodded and replied,“There’s grain, dried meat, and barrels of clean water, me laird.”
Jaxon added,“Make sure there are casks of wine and dried fish.”
Connor gesturedtoward the wagons and said, “We have room for more if ye wish.”
