And with that, Cook bustled away to direct one of the scullery maids on how to prepare pastry.
Emer did what she was told. She finally arrived at the part of the castle where the distillery was housed after giving the upstairs housekeeper the news and visiting the herb garden for some fresh cuttings. Half of the distillery room was underground to keep it cool in the warmer months, but the upper half was above ground for natural lighting. The sun bathed the room as she turned the key in the lock and walked in, but the glassed windows were too high up for Emer to be able to look out.
Cabinets full of dried herbs lined the walls. Strands of exotic root bunches hung from the ceiling and sconces. A beautiful copper distillery stood on a workbench in the middle of the room with a huge glass flask at the end of the apparatus, as though waiting for a concentrated essence to drop into it.
Emer got to work once she had located all of her ingredients. She had brought a small pot of honey with her from the staff dining table to use as the base for her medicine. Into an iron pot went hyssop, comfrey, pennyroyal, and dried bark with a thin covering of spring water over the whole. While she waited for the brew to stew over a small fire, she lighted in the hearth. Emer pottered around the room, pulling open draws and holding crumbling blocks of concentrated spices to her nose, inhaling deeply. She was pleasantly surprised with some of the intense odors the bricks gave off and went to the tablet on the workbench to write down the names of the ones she liked the best.
When her infusion was sufficiently reduced, she took the pot off the fire, checked the flagstones in front of the hearth were free of combustible material, and then left the concoction to steep while it cooled down to room temperature.
Emer had time to run back up all the stairs and clean Caillen’s bedchamber, and maybe even Gawain’s too.
She knew Laird Maclachlan’s rooms as well as she knew her own, if not better. He would only order the fires lighted on days when a dismal dreich swept in from the north. Yesterday had been fine, so she did not even bother glancing over at the hearth. In a trice, she had tidied his bed, dusted the surfaces until they shone, and brushed the corners and floors, emptying the debris from her dustpan into the fireplace.
Emer trusted Gilby would have folded his Lairdship’s clothes away into the wardrobe and bureau drawers, but when she found Caillen’s traveling cloak thrown carelessly onto one of the armchairs by the fire, she checked it for tears and dampness before deciding to stow it inside an old chest pushed up against one side of the wall. When she opened it, a strong blast of lavender hit her full in the face. The chest looked as though it had been used to store ancient blankets and great plaids for the last fifty years.
The lavender had done its work, and no moths flew out of the wooden space when she flung open the lid. Emer could not put the cloak in there, however; an amused smile came to her face as she imagined Caillen’s perplexity if he went out visiting the fierce chieftains who lived close to the castle, wafting the scent of lavender in their direction.
She placed the cloak gently into another chest on the other side of the chamber and left the room with a nostalgic sigh.
Am I never to find the man who kissed me the night of the feast? Unlike Davi, I care nae if he’s a footman or a groom. The way he made me heart feel at his touch was something I will hang onto for the rest of me life.
Emer had heard stories about true love’s first kiss when she was a young girl. She had to believe those tales now and could not envision telling her husband on their wedding night she had lost her heart to a dark stranger in an even darker room and only after one kiss.
She was a practical young woman, and after giving herself a stern shake, she trotted down the passages to where her sister had told her Gawain’s dressing room would be found.
She located Gawain’s hidden bedchamber key after lifting up all the cushions on the elegant chaise longue that sat in one corner of the dressing room. It was pushed in deep between one side of the back support and the stuffing. Emer held back, giving a little huff of exasperation.
The least Davi could have done was tell me he stuck it way at the back underneath.
Then she remembered her poor sister sweating and tossing upstairs in their bedchamber and felt instantly contrite. The sickly young woman should rather be rewarded for having remembered about tidying up the room at all!
She inserted the key in the lock quietly, very aware that this was not her domain or her duty. It stood to reason that the two newest staff recruits would be considered trustworthy if a spy was afoot, but Gawain must have been very quick off the mark to gauge Davinia free of all suspicion. Perhaps there was hope for her sister yet? Perhaps he did have feelings for her, and this was his little way of getting closer to her? Stranger things had happened when it came to love and attraction.
The mess in the room was quite daunting at first, and Emer could not stop a thought crossing her mind: Davinia must really adore Gawain to tidy his bedchamber every day when it was this untidy, no matter how much he was paying her.
She pressed on, emptying the ashes in the fireplace-Gawain obviously ordered one to be lit in his room no matter what the weather-sweeping the hearth, folding the many clothes strewn over the furniture, and checking the piles of chemises and jerkins for rips or dirt. Davinia could mend any tears Gawain’s clothes had in her bed when she was feeling better.
There was a locked writing bureau in one corner, and as Emer oiled the beautiful mahogany wood on the top and sides of the desk, she heard a click. A hidden compartment within the desk had sprung open as though someone was hiding inside the bureau and had given the partition a push.
Emer was fascinated by the device. She had heard of such things before but had never yet come across one in her life, mainly because Nethy had distinctly lacked the intrigues of great Lairds and Ladies who lived in grand castles and palaces.
She tried to push the secret drawer back into the side of the desk, but it remained adamantly stuck. Emer took out the contents of the slender drawer, hoping to see a latch of some kind when she bent down to peer into the hole. She knew there were hooks and buttons she could lift or press, which would allow the railings to ease back. She felt along the inside of the hollow but found nothing. Sighing, she started to pack the letters and little objects that had been inside the drawer back.
An elaborate insignia caught her eye. One of the letters seemed to come from the Sutherland clan. It bore their crest. On closer inspection, one of the small objects that had made the drawer rattle when it slid out was a delicate gold pin-the head of which was the same symbol as on the letter-a hawk with a sprig of heather clutched in its left claw.
“It’s a particularly fine piece of Gaelic craftsmanship, is nae it?” a voice said behind her.
Emer jumped so hard she did not remember there was a marble mantelshelf above her and cracked the back of her head at the bottom of it with a sharp thud. She saw stars for a few seconds and staggered around to see who had spoken. She was not surprised to see Gawain standing beside her. It was his bedchamber, after all.
He took the opportunity Emer’s dazed and painful injury had caused to step in front of her and shut the drawer. She did not see how he did it but heard the click through the ringing in her ears.
Despite the pain she was suffering, Emer realized some explanation was necessary.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but...but me sister is too ill to come and tidy yer chambers this day. She asked me to come and do it-I was oiling the wood, and the...that drawer snicked open as easy as yer please.”
Gawain turned around after securing the drawer and gave her a forgiving smile, “Nay, girl, ‘tis nae worry. Are ye sure yer sister is all right, and she will be back working for me soon? Was it she who asked ye to come, nae Mistress Burroughs or someone? I would hate for me brither to hold me responsible for giving ye more work! He relies on ye so heavily for his own purposes, does he nae?”
Emer was too busy holding her head in her hands to pay much attention to what Gawain was saying, “...’twas me sister...aah...she’s ill, sir,” was all she managed to say, in between rubbing the rapidly forming lump at the back of her head and trying to hold back the tears which were springing into her eyes involuntarily.
