Adrienne Basso (26 page)

As if sensing her presence, Ewan looked up and gave her a welcoming smile. Grace returned it. “I will not disturb yer work, husband, though I will ask if ye could spare a lad or two to help with the kitchen garden. Vegetables and herbs need to be planted, and the sooner that is done, the sooner they will grow.”

“I’ll send Arthur and Giles to ye once we have secured the roof,” Ewan replied. “Just make certain someone keeps careful watch. The lads have a talent fer getting into mischief.”

“I shall put Cook in charge of the work. Thank ye.”

Very aware of the curious looks she was receiving from the working men, Grace dipped a respectful curtsy, then let out a yelp when Ewan grabbed her arm. He leaned his head down and kissed her soundly on the lips. “That, my dearest wife, is the proper way to say thank ye.”

The men hooted and whistled and Grace blushed. “I shall strive to remember, sir,” she replied with a saucy wink.

Grace returned to the great hall in a happy mood, her spirits buoyed. She passed through the front door and the women ceased talking for a few moments. They gave her a collective stare, pressed their heads together, and then the conversation once again started. Grace shuddered, thinking what Lady Moira might have told these women about her. No matter. ’Twas time to get to know the members of her household.

Deirdre made the introductions. Grace smiled and nodded a greeting, repeating each name so that she might remember them. There was uncertainty among the faces staring back at her, but that was not unexpected.

Grace also noticed several anxious glances toward the stairs leading to the kitchen and decided that was most likely where Lady Moira was this morning. Clearly, the women feared being caught talking to her.

In due course, Lady Moira emerged. She spared no greeting for Grace and immediately began assigning duties to the others. Grace decided to let the insult lie, choosing to listen rather than speak. She quietly melted into the background and observed, soon gaining a grudging respect for Lady Moira’s household knowledge, though she did not agree that such a firm hand was needed with the servants.

When all was set to rights in the great hall, several of the women retreated to the storeroom. Lady Moira led the way, declaring the need for an inventory. The work had just begun when a sudden commotion drew everyone’s attention. One of the women clumsily knocked over a wooden bin of oats, spilling the precious grain on the dirt floor.

Frantic, the girl dropped to her knees and started gathering the oats into a pile and scooping handfuls of them back into the bin.

“That’s not fit to serve the dogs,” Lady Moira bellowed. “There’s bits of dirt, straw, and small rocks mixed in with the oats.”

The maid’s eyes welled with tears. “I . . . I . . . c-can fix it, m-milady,” she said.

With tears flowing, the young servant started picking out the large pieces of straw and rocks, but it was impossible to separate them. Truth be told, the girl was making more of a mess.

Grace noticed several of the other women looked pained, but no one dared to move. Grace remembered the girl’s name was Helen. She seemed a simple soul, a bit slow, mayhap even dim-witted, but earnest and eager. Her speech was thick and her eyes a tad dull, making her the ideal target for mockery.

Fearing Lady Moira’s retribution, Grace knew she must intervene. Moving forward, she knelt beside Helen.

“’Twas simply a mistake,” Grace said calmly. “We all make mistakes, do we not, Helen?”

“A . . . aye.” The girl ceased her weeping and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. “I dinnae mean to make such a mess.”

“I know.” Grace raised her head. “We need to sift the oats to remove the large bits of debris.”

“I’ll get a sieve from the kitchen,” Deirdre volunteered.

Grace saw the fire of anger building in Lady Moira’s eyes, uncertain if it was directed at her or Helen. No matter. This poor, simpleminded creature was doing her best and Grace was determined to help her.

She showed Helen how to properly sift the oats, then stayed at her side while the girl performed the task. Her hands shook at first, but gradually her confidence built and Helen successfully finished the job.

With a grateful smile, the girl rose awkwardly to her feet. Grace felt a moment of triumph, but then Helen stepped back and knocked over a pitcher of wine. It cracked on the hard dirt floor, spewing liquid in all directions.

Everyone gasped and leaped away. Grace quickly checked the front of her own gown, relieved to discover it was clean, then looked at the others. Most of the women were smiling and nodding their heads. Except for Lady Moira. She blinked in bewilderment, then stared down the front of her dress. It was splattered with wine and stained a deep red color.

One of the women cried out, then clasped her hand over her mouth. Grace tensed, knowing she would be unable to protect Helen now. Servants were struck for far less and it was obvious the gown was ruined.

“I should box yer ears fer this, girl,” Lady Moira said in an angry voice.

Shamed, Helen bowed her head. “’Tis what I deserve, milady.”

“Hmm.” Lady Moira took a deep breath. Pressing her mouth into a taut line, she ineffectively brushed at the stain covering her chest. “There are some who say ye are of little account, Helen.”

“Aye,” Helen whispered, lowering her head even more.

“But I dinnae believe it,” Lady Moira exclaimed.

“Ye have always been kind to me.” She gave Lady Moira a sorrowful look. “I am truly sorry that I ruined yer gown.”

Grace’s brow rose in astonishment. Had her ears deceived her? Did Helen just say that Lady Moira was
kind
?

“Ye shall help the laundress clean my gown, Helen.”

“I will use lye and then soapwort, milady, and scrub until the wine stain is gone,” Helen promised, sounding eager.

“Take care not to tear the fabric,” Lady Moira admonished.

“I will be ever so careful. And I will tell the laundress to add marjoram so the gown will smell sweet.”

“Very good. Now come and help me change. Ye must wash the gown right away, before the stain has time to set.”

Sparing not a glance for the others, Lady Moira sailed from the storeroom, Helen following dutifully in her wake. The rest of the women returned to their work. Grace also remained, but her mind was in a whirl, as she tried to comprehend what she had just witnessed. She was pleased that Helen had not been harshly punished, but astonished to discover that Lady Moira was capable of such compassion.

Surprised and hopeful and selfish enough to pray that one day that compassion would be cast in her direction.

By the end of the week Grace was feeling pleased over the progress and improvements that had been made. Seeds were planted, a weaving hut and looms constructed, and a brand-new chair sat at the head table on Ewan’s other side. Lady Moira had naturally commented on the size and design, claiming it was not as grand as the other two chairs, but she sat upon it at every meal.

As for Ewan, well, her husband’s stamina was nothing short of miraculous, for he worked alongside his men until it was too dark to see, ate a hearty supper, and then made love to her for a good part of the night.

She could see the pride he took in his holding, the care and concern he had for those under his protection. Yet underlying it all, Grace felt something was lacking. Ewan was working hard to build a legacy, yet had no legitimate name to pass along.

Grace had an idea of how to change that, but needed her brother’s help to make the plan succeed. The problem lay in getting word to Brian without alerting Ewan. Happily, that opportunity came sooner than she expected, when Ewan told her he was sending a few of his men south to barter for additional supplies.

“Will the men travel on McKenna land?” she asked, stooping to push several seeds deeper into the soil. They were walking the southern fields this morning, surveying the progress.

“Most likely.” Ewan tilted his head. “Why do ye ask? Are ye in need of something from yer brother?”

“Well, I’d like news of my family. The time has come and gone fer Aileen’s babe to be born. I should like to know if it was a lad or a lass.”

“I shall instruct the men to stop and speak with Brian.”

“Wonderful! I will write a letter this evening fer them to deliver.”

Ewan’s eyes narrowed. “Why must ye write? Is something amiss ye wish to report to him?”

Grace was taken aback by the harshness of Ewan’s tone. He seemed genuinely distressed at the idea of her writing to her brother. Why?

“It seems foolish to waste this opportunity. We sent word to them of our marriage and I asked that Brian gift the convent with additional supplies, since I took nearly all of what I was bringing to them here, as my dowry. I would like to assure both my brother and Aileen that all is well and that I am happy. If ye wish, ye may read the letter before I seal it.”

That suggestion brought an almost stoic expression to Ewan’s handsome face. He said nothing, just looked straight ahead to the fields. Grace waited. Finally, he glanced her way and for a moment he looked embarrassed. Grace swallowed her cry of understanding, not wanting to further insult him.

Ewan was unable to read. Or write, most likely. Only sons of the nobles were tutored—bastards, especially those who were ignored by their fathers, as Ewan was—were not afforded that privilege.

Ewan cleared his throat. “’Tis unusual fer a woman to read and write.”

Grace’s heart lurched. It was so painful to see her proud husband humbled by the limitations of his birth. “I was raised to be a nun, with the hope of one day assuming the duties of the abbess. Thus I was taught to read, write, and do my sums.”

He met her gaze squarely. “Those are useful skills fer a wife as well.”

“Aye.” She grasped his hand and squeezed. “If ye’d like, I can teach ye.”

Ewan stiffened and Grace feared she had gone too far. But then he squeezed her hand in return and a sense of relief washed through her. “I would be honored. Och, be careful of the mud.”

The warning came a moment too late as Grace’s foot sank into the soft dirt. “Blessed Mother, these are my best slippers!”

Ewan lifted her and threw her over his shoulder. Grace let out a surprised grunt as her head landed against the center of his back. Ewan laughed and moved his hand to her hip, his touch familiar and possessive.

“Ewan, put me down,” Grace commanded, though it was hard to sound forceful with her head hanging toward the ground. “My slippers are already ruined. A few more steps in this quagmire will make no difference.”

“In a moment, dearest,” he replied, giving her bottom a playful swat.

They went a fair distance before stopping. Laughing, Ewan set her on a moss-covered bit of ground at the bottom of a small hill. Then his hands cupped her bottom and lifted until her face was near enough for a kiss.

His mouth played over hers. Grace melted into his hardness, his strength, skimming the crease of his lips with her tongue, boldly pressing for entrance.

Ewan eagerly complied, pulling her closer, deepening their kiss. In the blink of an eye Grace found herself lying on the ground, her shoulders pressing against the moss while her husband loomed above her. She snuggled against him, savoring the feeling of his strength surrounding her, protecting her.

“I fear we are not alone,” she whispered, tilting her head toward the thick bushes where she heard something rustling.

“No one will dare to disturb us.”

Ewan bent his head for another kiss, but Grace pulled back and raised a brow. “What about yer mother? She seems to take joy in coming between us.”

“Nay, I willnae allow my mother to make trouble in our marriage.” He reached beneath her gown and smoothed his fingertips over the top of her thighs.

Driven by the need to say more, Grace banked the embers of passion smoldering inside her and pushed aside the sensual fog Ewan was creating. “By all the saints I swear yer mother looks at me as though wondering if her hands are large enough to squeeze around my throat.”

Ewan’s lips lifted off her shoulder. “Ye exaggerate.”

“Do I? Yer mother meets me with a constant frown and a watchful stare.” Grace hated how peevish she sounded, but she had to tell someone aside from Edna how she felt and Ewan appeared willing to listen.

True, some progress had been made when dealing with Lady Moira, but not nearly enough. Most importantly, Grace had realized that she had no need to be loved by the woman that was her husband’s mother, but she did chafe under her palpable dislike.

“I dinnae know what else to do, Ewan. I work until I can scarcely stand up at the end of the day and all she can say to me is that wealthy ladies like to whine and complain and order everyone to do their bidding.”

A lock of Ewan’s hair fell over his eye. Grace swept it aside, cupped his jaw, and continued. “Yer mother does not approve of how I make soap. Nor does she like my recipe fer rabbit stew or my design fer the new looms that have just been built, or the way I’ve instructed the women to weave the cloth. Honestly, there are times I feel she disapproves of the way I breathe.”

“I’ll speak to her,” Ewan promised.

“Nay.”

He had made this offer before, but once again Grace was reluctant to take it, knowing this problem was hers to solve.

A soft groan sounded deep in his throat. “Why do ye tell me of these difficulties if ye dinnae want me to fix them?”

“It just felt good talking to ye about it. Does that make any sense?”

“Nay, but I’ve long given up trying to understand the workings of a woman’s mind.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. “There is another way to guarantee my mother’s approval. Give her a grandchild and she’ll think the sun rises and sets upon ye.”

Grace tilted her head and acted as though she were pondering the idea. “’Tis a most ingenious solution, good sir, yet I need someone to help with that particular chore.” She parted her lips and ran her tongue teasingly around them. Ewan’s nostrils flared and his grip on her hand tightened. “Might ye know of anyone interested in the task?”

Chapter Fifteen