“Good morning, Catrina,” Jane said. “Yes. It is not that I did not find the other one suitable for use,” she added quickly. “I just-”
“Ye didnae want tae use the laird’s bath chamber,” Catrina said. “It is quite all right. He suggested that ye use his because it is the best in the castle, as I am sure ye have noticed. Breakfast is ready. I shall have it brought up. But dinner must be eaten communally. And we shall have tae talk about Scottish dining etiquette. I am told it is nae as elaborate as English dining etiquette. But it is different, so it would help matters if ye would learn.”
Jane nodded. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome,” Catrina responded. “Alistair will be meeting the people today. You are permitted to be present.”
“I will …?”
“Yes. A laird must judge cases in his terrain. He must settle disputes and make pronouncements on the validity of contracts. Things such as that.”
“And he has to lead his warriors into battle by himself also?”
“A Scottish laird must nae only be brave, but wise,” Catrina said. “I shall fetch ye when it is time.” Catrina walked out of the room and not long afterwards, Fionnula came bearing a tray of breakfast.
Afterwards, Jane spent her time rereading Eleonor’s letter, which strengthened her resolve to find Eleonor’s lover no matter what. Alistair seemed like a reasonable person. Surely, he would let her go as soon as she was no longer needed? He appeared more than reasonable, for he had treated her so far as a guest and not a prisoner. Perhaps… and this was a stretch, but perhaps, he could even help her? He knew the terrain more than she did. He was a laird, after all. But one could never be so sure. It was always best to be on one’s guard.
And why did she think him kind just because he gave her a good room and let her eat what the rest of the castle was eating and let her share his bathroom? He wouldn’t have needed to do all that if he had simply let her complete her journey. She would have been at Loch Lomond right now, getting bound to Commander Pierce till death did they part. The thought caused her to shudder. She thought of how life by the man’s side would be, and as always, it filled her with dread. Her father had not even done her the courtesy of refraining from causing her more distress. He’d told her simply that Loch Lomond was nothing like Marsh Manor. “I know you detest this house,” he’d said, “but when you get to Loch Lomond, you will wish to return. It is a war zone, crawling with soldiers who wish to return to England. There will be no one to put fresh flowers in your vase every morning. I doubt that they even grow flowers. You will be in hostile territory, where hell may break loose at any point. Which is why you must keep the commander happy. If you are in his good graces, you will spend the rest of your life relatively well.”
Jane would never admit it to a living soul, but a little part of her was relieved that she was here instead. At least, it would shorten the number of days that she would have to spend as a despicable man’s wife. Infinitesimally, but it was welcome all the same.
Jane moved from the bed to the window. She had never been one who was able to bask in idleness. At home, she spent her time doing embroidery, taking French classes, painting, and writing poems. The first two were on her father’s orders. The last two were of her own volition. But her father had not allowed her to take her painting paraphernalia along, and she didn’t feel much like writing a poem at this time. She wondered if she was allowed downstairs. But it would be rude, would it not, not to mention unwise, to wander about the dominion of people who, to all intents and purposes, were her captors?
As if she’d read her mind, Fionnula entered the room and said, “Lady Jane, Lady Catrina has asked that I escort ye downstairs.”
“Oh,” Jane said. “Is it time?”
“No, that is not fer hours still,” Fionnula said.
“Oh.”
Jane followed the girl out of the room, down the hallway, and below the stairs. Jane could not help but notice that even though the castle had an austere feel to it (it was, after all, a castle), it was better aired than Marsh Manor. An effort had been made to bring vibrancy to the building. There were colorful murals on the walls, and the wood was gleaming with polish. It was very bright, and Jane could feel the air come in through the windows as she walked. They descended the stairs, and Fionnula led Jane to what appeared to be solar. Two women were bent over sewing tables, cutting material. When Jane and Fionnula entered, one of them raised her head up and then went right back to her task.
“Ah, there you are!”
It was Catrina. She entered the solar, a bundle of fabrics balanced on her arm. Fionnula quickly relieved her of them and placed them on an empty table near one of the women who had ignored Jane. The other woman looked up finally. When she saw Jane, she smiled. “The Englishwoman,” she said. Her dress was yellow, a youthful color, even though she had to be about 60. Her hair was braided into two plaits that ran down her back.
“My name is Jane,” Jane said.
“Jane,” the woman said. “I am Catrina and Keith’s aunt.” She chuckled. “Ye have such enchanting green eyes.”
“They are just green eyes,” the other woman said without looking up.
“And that is Garia,” Mary said. “Aptly named, fer ye can see she is nae taller than a child.” There was no derision in her voice, only mirth.
“And ye are Mary, named after our Lord’s mother, but everyone agrees that that was a mistake.”
Mary’s laugh was boisterous. She turned back to Jane. “I saw ye as ye were ushered intae the castle yesterday. Ye look much better rested now. Come, sit with us. Dae ye sew?”
“No,” Jane said, a little apologetically. “But I embroider.”
“’Tis a wonderful skill, embroidering,” Mary said.
“Thank-”
“A child could embroider,” Garia said. “Flowers and trees and the sun and whatnot. ‘Tis a skill fer the flighty. The real work is sewing. But I understand why ye dae nae sew. Ye are a snooty lady, aren’t ye?”
“She’s nae a lady,” Fionnula responded. “Her faither doesnae have a title. They are gentry, nae nobility.”
