"How do you think?" she asked dryly, then cried out with relief as the key finally slid off of the drapes. Dropping the poker on the bed, she jumped to the floor to retrieve the small item, sighing with mingled relief and pleasure as she finally clasped it in her hand.
"What will you do?"
Iliana looked surprised. "Why, take it off, of course." Just as Ebba began to look relieved, she added, "'Twill be nice to be without it for a few minutes at least."
The woman gaped at her. "Surely you do not intend to put it back on?"
"Of course." She frowned over her maid's disapproving expression. "I told you last night, Ebba. I shall not live like this. I will have a clean home, a clean bed, and a clean man in it. If it kills us both," she added on a mutter as she unlocked the belt.
"Gilley." Duncan caught the smithy's arm as he drew abreast of him and urged him to a halt, forcing a stiff smile to his own lips as he did. He had meant to have a word with the man directly on leaving the bedchamber that morn. Howbeit, he had been caught up by one concern or another all morning. Now, when it was nearing midday, he had finally managed to get away long enough to seek out the locksmith. "I would have a word with ye."
Gilley hesitated, then nodded. "Aye, but yer da is awaitin' me inside. He wishes another set o' keys made. Fer yer bride," he explained when Duncan looked perplexed.
"Why would she be needin' a set o' keys?"
"She is chatelaine now," the man pointed out with surprise.
Duncan grunted over that, then shrugged it aside. "I shall be quick. 'Tis about locks and keys I wished to speak with ye as well. Ye see, I have this lock I need to unlock, but I have no key and kenned mayhap ye could tell me how to do it?"
He blinked. "Well, if ye bring it to me, I can surely do it fer ye."
Duncan imagined carting Iliana to the locksmith's hut, setting her on his table, and throwing her skirts over her head to reveal the lock. Nay, 'twas not an option. The tale would reach every corner of the keep ere the nooning meal. Besides, he did not like the idea of having another man's eyes on his wife's belt of chastity. Or what it hid.
"Nay. I canna be doin' that. 'Tis not possible." He shook his head firmly. "Ye'll have to be tellin' me how to do it on me own."
The locksmith frowned. "I canna be tellin' ye how, less I be seein' the lock in question. If ye canna bring it to me, then surely I can be goin' to it?"
"Nay. Ye canna." He scowled irritably. "Just tell me how to open locks."
"If 'twas that easy, everyone would be a locksmith. I canna help ye less I see it."
"Well...Damn!" Reaching for the sword at his belt, he tugged it from his sheath and used it to draw a rough sketch of the lock in the dirt at their feet. "There," he said with satisfaction as he finished the picture. "Does that not help ye?"
The locksmith's eyebrows rose slightly. "What be it?"
"What do ye think 'tis, ye bloody fool! 'Tis the lock."
Gilley shrugged, unconcerned by the insult. "Looks more like a mouse to me."
"Aye. A mouse." Angus's voice sounded by his left shoulder.
Slumping in defeat, Duncan turned to peer at his father. "What do ye want?"
Angus raised his eyebrows but smiled slightly despite his son's irritation. "I was lookin' fer Gilley here."
"Well, I'll leave ye to him then."
"Nay, I'd ha'e a word with ye as well."
When Duncan turned back questioningly, Angus gestured toward the men in the bailey. "Have ye a man or two to spare this afternoon?"
"There may be one or two I could do without," he admitted slowly. Ever since he had turned nineteen his father had been giving him responsibility over Dunbar keep and its people. It had started with a little here and a little there, adding more and more with each passing year until now, he was pretty much in charge of all who served them. Unofficially. Officially, his father was laird and had veto power over any decision Duncan made until he died. In reality, they worked serious decisions out between them, benefiting from Angus's wisdom and Duncan's vigor and passion.
"Good, good. Send 'em up to the keep when ye be gettin' the chance then, hmm?" He smiled at him cheerfully, then turned to Gilley. "Now, about those keys--"
"What be ye needin' the men in the keep fer?" Duncan interrupted suspiciously. He very rarely saw his father so cheerful. The man had been solemn and grim most of Duncan's life. At least since his wife, Lady Muireall, had died. In Duncan's faint memories his mother had been a bolt of sunshine that had made everyone around her happy...including her irascible husband.
"'Tis not me. 'Tis yer wife," his father told him easily. "She's made a start on cleanin' up the great hall. She had the women throw out all the old rushes, then set 'em to as-crubbin' the stone floor, and she'll need new rushes to--"
"What the devil was wrong with the old rushes?"
Angus Dunbar raised his eyebrows in slight surprise at his son's show of temper. "Well, lad, they have been there fer nigh on a year."
"And would have lasted another year just fine. We always leave the rushes about fer a year or two ere changin' 'em."
"Aye, 'tis true that we have let things go a bit--"
"Let things go!" Duncan stared at him in disbelief, feeling suddenly betrayed at the mere suggestion that his wife might actually have something to complain about.
"Aye." Angus sighed. "The truth is, son, yer mother wid never have put up with the keep being in the state it has been in since 'er death. I fear I let it get so. I fair fell apart when she died. Sank deep into sadness and never pulled meself back out. I neglected the state o' the keep and even me people--"
"Now, me laird," Gilley interrupted, but Angus waved him to silence.
"Say what ye will, Gilley, but 'tis true and well I ken it. I am no sayin' I did not keep ye all safe. 'S truth, anger was about the only thing likely to get a rise from me. I worked out much anger on many an enemy's neck and chest with me sword. But when it came to the softer needs, I have not been here. Even fer me own children. Howbeit," he went on, when both men opened their mouths to argue. "Iliana is here now and wishes to set the place to rights...as yer mother did ere her, and it fair warms me heart a bit. We are lucky to have her."
Duncan would have had a great deal of difficulty agreeing with that right then but kept his opinion to himself as he turned away. "I'll send two men fer rushes, but no more."
"Giorsal."
"Aye, me lady?" Other than glancing over from where she stood, hands on hips, supervising the women, who were on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor, the servant did not move except to arch an eyebrow in question. Servant or no, there was little doubt that she thought herself the queen bee at Dunbar.
Forcing herself to maintain her patience, Iliana set down the edge of the tapestry she had been helping Ebba with and moved to the woman's side so that she would not have to yell across the room. Her mother had taught her that there was little authority, let alone dignity, in shrieking from a distance like a fishwife selling her wares. Pausing at the woman's side, Iliana graced her with a somewhat cool smile, then announced, "Lord Angus is seeing to fresh rushes for the floor, but I thought mayhap something pleasant smelling would be nice to add to them. Mayhap you could take a couple of women and go collect some--"
"Heather."
&n
bsp; Iliana blinked at the interruption. "Heather?"
Pursing her lips, the woman nodded her head with firm certainty. "Aye. 'Tis what 'er ladyship put among the rushes."
Trying not to grit her teeth, Iliana forced a smile that was even chillier than the first. "That may be so, but I prefer lavender."
Giorsal shook her head at once. "Lady Muireall always put heather--"
"I am not Lady Muireall," Iliana snapped coldly, "and I prefer lavender."
"There is no lavender this far north," the servant announced.
Iliana sighed in defeat, not needing to see the satisfaction on the other woman's face to know when she had lost. "I see."
"There be a muckle o' heather, though."
"I am sure there is," she commented dryly.
"I'll take the women and go find some." Barking a word in Gaelic that immediately drew the other women to her side, she led them away without even pretending to await permission.
Watching them go, Iliana moved dispiritedly to the trestle table and dropped onto its bench with a sigh. She was definitely not having a good day.
The great hall had been empty when she had made her way down that morning. Determined to begin work on setting the castle to rights, Iliana had not bothered with breaking her fast, but had sent Ebba in search of servants. The maid had returned with Giorsal and three other women older than her own grandmother would have been were she still alive. Despite their elevated ages, they had gotten a great deal done that morning, but Iliana began to think that setting Dunbar keep to rights might very well kill her. 'Twas not the work so much. While she could not say she was used to the hard labor she had been performing that morning, she had certainly worked before. The real problem was the women, or at least their attitudes.