Fiona nodded. The churning in her belly turned into excitement. She was looking forward to working on the tapestry. “Well, I think I should have a chat to ye over an ale one evening,” she said with a smile. “I wish to hear about the battle. To see it through yer eyes.”
That pleased the rat-catcher. The pugnacious expression on his face and the challenge in his eyes both softened. He nodded. “Aye, lass. Perhaps.”
The tension around the table lessened slightly. Fiona reached for her cup of ale and drained the remnants.
“Are ye ready for me to finish that tour?” Carrie asked, flashing her a smile.
Fiona smiled back. “I am.”
Fiona followed Carrie out into the warm evening light. It was one of those glorious spring evenings when the whole world seemed gilded.
Now that supper had ended, the barmkin was a flurry of activity as servants finished their chores. Two lasses hauled water, lads wheeled barrows of muck from the stables, and on the walls, men changed shifts. Wee Stu had ventured outdoors too and was shooing the fowl back into their coop so that they could be safely locked away overnight.
“Is Stu Essie’s?” Fiona asked Carrie as they walked across the courtyard.
The lady’s maid shook her head. “His Ma was a cook’s assistant … she died two winters ago.”
“And his Da?”
“No one knows.” Carrie cast a fond look at where the lad was chattering to the fowl. “He’s an orphan now … so we all look after him.”
Fiona smiled, pleased to hear it. “There are a lot of stores,” she noted, her gaze traveling over the line of stacked-stone and timber buildings with thatched roofs. Everything about Dounarywse was so big compared to what she was used to. Overwhelming.
“Aye … over the years, the keep has tried to remain as self-sufficient as it can,” Carrie explained. “The Battle of Dounarwyse showed the castle just how vulnerable it could be under siege. As such, the laird increased the number of storehouses inside the walls. All the fresh food comes in daily from the village.”
Fiona nodded, her gaze fascinated, despite her lingering nerves. Indeed, she’d marked the small village beyond the walls—the pitched-roof kirk and the patchwork of run rigs where tenants farmed all the produce needed to keep this bustling community thriving.
She wondered how long she’d live here. Tapestries, especially big ones, traditionally took years to make. Dounarwyse could be her home for a while. Warmth suffused her chest at the thought. Soon, everything that seemed new and exciting would become familiar. Soon, Craignure would seem like another life, belonging to another person. Here, she could reinvent herself.
“Would ye like to go up on the walls?” Carrie asked. “Ye can see in every direction for miles. And this time of day, the mountains are bonnie indeed.”
“Aye … lead the way,” Fiona replied, her lips curving.
The two women climbed the stone steps near the gatehouse, arriving upon the eastern walls. As Carrie had said, there was a splendid view to Dùn da Ghaoithe—the mountain range’s deep corries and etched peaks golden in the late light.
“Are ye from Dounarwyse?” Fiona asked, as the two lasses stood shoulder to shoulder. Until now, the conversation had revolved solely around her. Fiona knew nothing of the young woman who’d welcomed her so warmly to the castle.
“Aye,” Carrie replied, grinning. “My family has farmed these lands for generations.” Her expression sobered then. “Don’t worry about Essie. She has a mean bark, but when she bites, ye’ll find she’s all gums.”
Fiona snorted, even as Carrie’s support warmed her. “I expected someone here might have something to say about my humble origins,” she replied. “I prepared myself for it.”
“Even so.” A groove etched between Carrie’s brows. “She was unwelcoming. Most of us are delighted to have ye at Dounarwyse.”
A smile tugged at Fiona’s lips. “And I’m glad to be here.” She liked Carrie. They’d only just met, yet she felt as if she’d known her for years. Back in Craignure, she worked too hard to have time to gossip with the lasses at market or at the docks. And her relationship with her younger sisters had never been close. Maybe she’d find a real friend in Carrie—someone who’d be by her side as she navigated this new life.
“Come on, let’s finish up the tour.” Carrie stepped back from the wall. “Ye’ll be done in … and ye’ll start work early tomorrow.”
Fiona nodded. In truth, excitement and nerves had carried her through the day. Nonetheless, tiredness now loomed like a shadow. She’d sleep well tonight.
The women made their way along the southern wall to where the Sound of Mull sparkled in the evening light. To one side stretched a terrace built over two of the buildings below, and upon that terrace, two men, stripped to the waist, sparred with swords.
Fiona recognized both warriors.
The first was the lean warrior with the scarred eyebrow who’d been amongst the group accompanying her from Craignure. The other was the laird’s son.
Her pulse fluttered.Ailean—that was the name Captain Jack had given her.
Neither man had seen Carrie and Fiona, too intent on fighting. The thud of the bound blades pounded through the warm air.
