Page 25 of The Lyon and the Lass

Her dirty, bare feet.

Continuing to wave the spoon around like a sword, bits of meat flying around the room, she continued, “The lad was supposed to go to the granary this morning and get the flour, but the mon told him he couldna give him any more flour until the bill was paid.”

Christine was aghast. “You mean the castle was denied flour because we are behind on the bill?”

A young man whom Christine assumed was Edward spoke up. “Aye, my lady, ’tis about six moons since we paid the mon.”

Her headache increased. “Go back to the granary and ask the man for an order of flour and tell him he will receive full payment tomorrow.” It was unlikely the flour would arrive in time for supper, but at least there would be bread when they broke their fast in the morning.

Edward shot out of the room on his quest, and Christine took a deep breath. At leastsomethinghad been accomplished. “Is anyone aware of a room in this castle that is clean?”

“This is no’ the castle, my lady. This is the keep.” Isla answered.

Christine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. At least now she knew there was a difference between the castle and the keep. “I will re-phrase my question.” Two maids sitting side-by-side looked confusingly at each other, apparently not understanding her statement.

“Is there a clean bedchamber anywhere here? The castle, the keep, the stables, anywhere?”

“Aye, Jackson’s room in the stable is always clean. He does it himself e’er day.” Isla shrugged. “I doona ken why, but he does.”

“The old man?”

“Nay. John just hangs around the stable. He doesn’t work there, his job is to tend to the sheep.”

Of which they had none.

No doubt this group didn’t understand cleaning each day. “And that is the only room you know of that is clean? Is there no one assigned to the duty of cleaning the rooms?”

The other lass spoke up. “’Tis true. The rest of us leave after supper and return to our homes in the village, so we ne’er use any of the bedchambers. Since the laird’s mam passed and then Fiona got married and then Mariam, no one has really slept in the keep except the laird, Patrick, Neil, and the few guardsmen who don’t have a cottage in the village.”

And the laird had been gone for a month. That explained one of the reasons the castle—rather, the keep—was in such disarray. But that didn’t solve her immediate problem. “Someone please ask Jackson if the laird and I can use his bed for the night.”

“Aye, I will, my lady.” A young girl—she really had to learn their names—was off with Isla yelling at her that she needed her to begin bringing out the food. Based on what she’d seen so far, Christine made haste from the kitchen before she was asked to act as a maid. There were certain things she didn’t intend to do.

Kerrigan sat atthe dais growing impatient. He had seen very little of Christine all day and it appeared that supper was not on time. There was a lot to do now that he’d returned with the money to take care of all those repairs that needed to be done as well as contacting the man from whom he’d purchased his flock from before.

Before all the sheep had died, they’d managed to save as much wool as they could. It had been washed, but the carding engine had broken down and without that, and the coin to either fix it or buy a new one, the entire production had come to a halt.

Tomorrow he would take a trip to Edinburgh and see about a new engine and also find other contacts to replace the sheep in case the man he usually bought from was unable to sell him any. He wondered, in fact, if the sheep farmer’s animals had been tainted by the disease that took his flock.

Just as he was about to go to the kitchen and find his wife and his supper, Christine appeared at the entrance to the great hall. She looked a tad frazzled and very tired. She walked to the dais and sat next to him. His cousin Patrick then joined them, sitting on Kerrigan’s other side.

“Do ye have any idea when supper will be brought out?” Kerrigan was quite hungry and those who ate at the keep kept looking at the entrance, waiting for the food.

“Isla is just gathering the maids to bring out the food.”

Kerrigan nodded as the young lasses came out with trays. They plunked bowls of some sort of stew on the tables, along with scant pieces of cheese. He looked at Mavis, one of the serving lasses, who had just turned to walk back to the kitchen. “Where is the bread, lass?”

She shrugged. “We doona have any.”

Christine nodded at Mavis and turned to Kerrigan. “I have arranged to have the overdue bill to the granary paid tomorrow, so there will be bread in the morning.”

He kept looking at the bowl of devil-knew-what and said, “No bread.”

“No.” Christine picked up her spoon and carefully dipped into the contents. She placed it in her mouth with a great deal of trepidation that—once the taste and texture settled on her tongue—had been well-deserved. But there was no fix for it. It would fill their bellies no matter the taste. She closed her eyes and shuddered as she swallowed.

Vile. Christine took a sip of ale to wash out her mouth before she turned to him. “We also will be sleeping in the stable tonight.”

He stared at her. “No bread?”