Aware that Jinny was watching, she moved to the trestle tables. She was halfway to them before she heard the kitchen door close. Apparently the woman had wanted to be sure she wouldn't return before going about her task.
Joan settled at the table to wait, her gaze wandering over the great hall. It was a large room and well tended with colorful wall hangings, and clean fresh rushes on the floor. From what she'd seen, Sinclair Castle was huge, prosperous and well tended. Lady Sinclair ran her servants as efficiently as she imagined Laird Sinclair ran his warriors.
The sound of the kitchen door opening distracted her and Joan smiled at Jinny when the girl rushed out with a tray in hand. The maid headed first for the table at the end of the room, the one that sat a little higher than the others, but changed direction when she noticed Joan sitting at one of the lower side tables.
"Here ye are, m'lady," the woman murmured, pausing beside her. "The pastries are fresh. Cook just pulled them out before ye came into the kitchens. And this cider is from the first batch of the season and I brought ye an apple too. I hope 'tis all right."
"It's lovely," Joan murmured. "Thank you."
"Me pleasure, m'lady," the maid curtsied, then turned and rushed away, disappearing back into the kitchens.
Joan began to eat. She'd finished perhaps half her food when a mean laugh made her pause and glance around to see Lady Finola approaching from the stairs.
"I can hardly believe he had the nerve to bring ye home to his family," the woman said with cruel amusement and when Joan stared at her blankly, said, " 'Tis no' bad enough yer the daughter of a thief and murderer, but look at ye, sitting at the low tables, yer gown and face filthy, yer hair a mess."
Sneering, Finola braced her hand on the table to lean toward her as she hissed, "Mark me words, once he's sated his lust fer ye, he'll ha'e the marriage annulled and toss ye aside as he should." Straightening, she looked down her nose at her and added coldly, "Ye do no' belong here. Yer no' lady. All ye'll do is shame the name o' Sinclair."
Movement behind and to the side of Finola caught her eye and Joan noted her aunt approaching from the stairs just as the woman said, "And yet Lady Sinclair told me just yesterday that she is grateful Campbell married Joan and not you, Lady Finola. So, apparently, she does not share your opinion."
Joan bit her lip and watched Finola warily. The woman had turned at the first word from Lady Annabel's mouth so she couldn't see her face, but the woman was terribly still, her hands balled into fists. For a minute, Joan thought she would attack Annabel, but in the end she merely hurried back up the stairs without uttering a word.
"Nasty bitch," Annabel muttered, watching her go.
"Mayhap," Joan murmured, and then added on a sigh, "But she's right."
"What?" Her aunt spun around to peer at her with concern. "Nay, Joan, she's not."
"I am the daughter of a thief and murderer."
"Nay, not a murderer," Annabel protested at once.
"She killed her husband, my father," Joan reminded her. That bit of news had been rather shocking when she'd learned it. Her mother had pummeled the man with her fists, he'd lost his balance, fallen and broken his neck.
"Aye, but 'twas an accident. Your mother loved your father. Truly she did, Joan. She did not mean to kill him."
Joan shrugged that away. "It matters little. As Finola said, I'm no lady. I don't know the first thing about being a lady. She said I was at the low table as if it was a disgrace, but I don't even know what a low table is. Or why I shouldn't sit at it. I mean, I know this table is lower than that one, but why should I not sit--"
"Nobles sit at the high table," Annabel murmured quietly. "The one on the end that is taller than the others. Servants and commoners sit at the lower tables."
"I see," Joan said wearily and stood up. "I think perhaps I should--"
"Joan," Lady Annabel said gently, catching her arm as she started to move past her. "Do not let what Finola said upset you. There are just a few things you need to learn, and that is why Annella and Kenna and I came with you. We can and will teach you these things."
"That won't change the fact that I'm the daughter of a thief and murderer," Joan pointed out unhappily.
"No, but then I am Kate's sister. Should I walk in shame over that?" she asked solemnly.
"No, of course not," Joan said at once. "You were her victim.
"As are you in a way," Lady Annabel said quietly. "You did not pick her for mother, Joan. And no one holds you responsible for the things she did. At least, no one who matters."
"You don't know that," Joan said at once. "It might matter to Cam's mother and father. In fact, I suspect it probably would if they knew."
"I am sure they do know," Annabel said quickly.
"How could they know? Cam could not even tell them the truth about how we met. I had no traveling party."
"Cam had to say that for the benefit of the women who are visiting here. It was to protect you, Joan, against their spreading gossip. But I am sure he told his parents the truth afterward. In fact, that is probably why his father wanted to talk to him and his brothers and sent us all away. He no doubt suspected Cam had altered the story somewhat because of their guests and wanted the true story.
"Joan," she continued gently, taking her hands. "You are your mother's daughter, not your mother. Your uncle and I do not hold you responsible for what she did, and no one else has the right to." She squeezed her hands. "Cam's parents are good people. I am sure they will not hold you responsible either. Besides," she added, smiling crookedly, "Lady Sinclair is
so grateful Cam has finally wed that I suspect she will champion you no matter what."
Joan sighed and lowered her head unhappily, brushing at a spot on her skirts.
"We will sew you more gowns," Annabel assured her. "In the meantime, you can borrow a couple of Annella's. And we shall speak to Lady Sinclair about arranging for a lady's maid for you. I would have done so myself ere we left MacKay, but with everything going on, there was no time. The rest is a simple matter of teaching you what you need to know."
Joan hesitated. "How quickly can you teach me enough that I won't embarrass Cam?"
"As quickly as we can," Annabel assured her, and when Joan still hesitated, she caught her hands again and said, "Joan, please, do not let Finola eat away at your confidence and spoil the happiness you have a chance at here. It is what she meant to do. Do not let her. You and Cam could have a good life if you just trust in yourself and give this a chance. All right?"
Joan nodded solemnly. It wasn't as if she had much choice. She was married now. Her only option besides trying to run was to try to make it work. She would do that first. She could always run later if she had to.
"Good." Annabel smiled at her widely. "Then why do you not take your food and drink upstairs. I shall go speak to the girls and send them to start your lessons while I speak to Lady Sinclair about a lady's maid for you."
Nodding, Joan gathered the tankard and food the maid had brought to her, then turned and hurried upstairs with them. Once she reached the door to Cam's room, though, she paused, frowning at the items in her hands.
"Let me help."
Joan glanced around quickly, eyes widening as a petite redhead rushed toward her from the stairwell. It was one of the women Lady Sinclair had brought here for Cam to consider.
The young woman smiled at her as she reached her side. "Yer hands are a bit full."
"Aye, I slept late and . . ." Joan shrugged helplessly, terribly self-conscious now about her clothing and hair. She bit her lip briefly, and then blurted, "I should have fixed my hair and gown ere I went below, but I--"
"But ye lost everything in the attack by the bandits I imagine," she guessed with a little frown, but then patted her arm and added brightly, "But 'twill be all right. I'm sure Lady Sinclair will arrange a maid fer ye, and perhaps I and the other girls could help sew ye new gowns," she offered. "If all of us work on it, we should be able to get at least a couple done ere we leave Sinclair."