Page 22 of The Lyon and the Lass

The woman peeked in the carriage. “The lass has a lot of packages in there. I wonder how much clothes she needs?”

Listening to the conversation that she had a hard time understanding, Christine felt as though she’d already lost whatever control she might have had. Again she cleared her throat and looked at one of the young girls. “Is there someone who can lead to me to the laird’s bedchamber?”

She had no idea if Kerrigan planned for them sleep together, but she thought it was a good place to start.

“Isla, get ye lazy bum up here.” An older man who had straw sticking out of his hair nodded to the young girl who had commented on her packages.

Isla stepped forward in a dirty dress and barefoot. “Aye?”

“Ye heard Lady Christine. Show her to the laird’s bedchamber.” He slapped the lass on the back of the head.

“Hear now,” Christine said, aghast. “I will have none of that.”

“What did ye say, lass?” the man shouted, his brows raised, his hand cupping his ear.

She raised her voice. “I said, there will be no slapping, hitting, or any other physical form of discipline.”

He stared at her for a few moments, obviously trying to figure out what she’d said. Then he shook his head, straw falling all around him. “Ye won’t be getting anything done, ye ken. ’Tis no’ a verra lively bunch ye have here.” With those words, which she had trouble understanding, he walked off, scratching the front of his trews.

When the other lasses began to return to whatever it was they’d been doing, Christine grabbed one of their arms. “My apologies, but can someone unload the carriage and bring those things upstairs?”

The girl she’d stopped huffed her annoyance. “’Twill be a lot of work. We have chores to do. Do ye need these things right now?”

She raised her chin. “Well, yes, actually I do.” It seemed it was time for her to take charge. If Kerrigan expected her to runthe castle and keep—she wasn’t sure what the difference was but had heard him say it—she needed to be strong and let them all know that she was an Englishwoman, a lady, and the daughter of a viscount.

“If that is so, then Isla can carry these things to the bedchamber when she shows ye the way.” The girl turned and sashayed back to the steps leading to what Christine assumed was the keep, the other girls following her like ducks behind their mother.

She was still waiting for Isla to show her into the keep and to the bedchamber, but the lass stood there just staring at her. Were all these lasses dim-witted? Certainly being presented with their laird’s English wife should not have taken them by surprise because Patrick had seemed to know about it.

If Kerrigan was nearby at the moment, Christine would have hit him over the head with something heavy. How dare he introduce her and then stride off as if he’d done his duty. While she didn’t expect him to coddle her, since she knew the Scots were tougher and not as formal or aware of social graces as the English, she did think it would have been helpful had he shown her to their room, at least.

With a deep sigh, Isla picked up some of the packages. Christine gathered a few more. Goodness, she wasn’t aware of how much she had purchased on their stops. However, if she held these things in her hands, and followed Isla she would end up in her bedchamber.

The young maid was anything but chatty, which might have been for the best because it seemed they had a problem understanding each other. She juggled much more than Christine could handle, and after some of the items were in their arms, Isla took off, Christine right behind her. “Will someone else fetch the rest of my things?” she asked the young maid as she had to almost run to keep up with her.

The lass shrugged. “If no’ ye can get them yourself or have the laird do it for ye.”

This was the maid who had complained that she couldn’t understand her when she’d spoken before. Well, she was finding understanding her just as difficult. Had the lass said she should askKerriganto retrieve the items?

It seemed odd to her that the laird would be expected to do what a lower servant should. She was finding she had a lot to learn about the differences between the English and the Scots.

Isla led her up two flights of stone stairs to a landing very poorly lit. She opened one of the doors and stepped inside before she not too gently dropped the things she was carrying on the floor. “This is the laird’s bedchamber.”

With those words she turned and left. Was the lass going to get the rest of her things? Was she off for the day and leaving? Was she going to summon someone else to get the rest?

She pushed all those questions aside when she went to one of the windows and pulled aside the covering, allowing bright sunlight into the room.

Her hand flew to her mouth as she looked around the bedchamber that appeared to have not been cleaned most likely since the Battle of Culloden. She slowly spun around, taking in the unmade bed, dirty clothes lying on the floor, used plates with questionable leavings on them stacked on two tables, and mouse droppings on the rushes.

She dropped to the bed, then screamed as a baby pig appeared from beneath it with a squeal. She shifted and the piglet grunted and pushed at her with his nose. “My apologies. Do you own this room? Now I understand why it looks like a pig pen.” She wrinkled her nose. “And why it smells like one, too.”

Once Christine rid the room of the pig by carrying it, squealing all the way to the kitchen door, she turned to thosein the room watching her with surprise, and said, “The laird’s bedchamber is a disgrace. It needs a thorough cleaning.”

No one spoke. She turned to Isla. “Who is in charge of making sure the rooms are clean?” She lifted the piglet. “And that animals who belong outside are kept there?”

The girl shrugged.

One of the young maids sitting at a worktable cutting vegetables cleared her throat and looked at her. “My lady, there is no one in charge. Of anything. The laird told us when he left for London to find a wife that she would be in charge. I guess that means you.”