Angus was gaping after her when he heard a footstep behind him.
"Morning, Da."
Whirling, he took in the exhaustion on his son's face with disgust. "A wee bit tired this morn, are ye?"
Duncan's eyebrows rose at the sarcasm behind the question, but nodded. "I was up most o' the night."
"Aye. Iliana told me, ye randy bastard," he snapped sharply. "As exhausted as she was, could ye not let her be for one wee night?" On that note, he whirled away and stomped across the great hall to the trestle tables, leaving Duncan staring after him in bewilderment.
"Me lady!" Elgin eyed her with some concern as Iliana approached. "Are ye feeling a'right this morn? Mayhap ye shouldna be up."
"Thank you for your concern, Elgin, but I am fine. 'Twas just exhausted I was yester eve. I feel much better now," she assured him, then offered an apologetic smile. "Actually, I am more concerned now with you and your feelings."
"My feelings?" He appeared surprised.
"Aye. You made one of the finest meals it has been my pleasure to sit down to and I fear I made a poor show of appreciating it."
"Oh." He flushed with pleasure but shook his head. "There is no need to worry, me lady. I understood."
"Nay. You worked very hard on the meal, Elgin, and it was lovely. In fact, I am now quite looking forward to this evening's efforts. If they are half as good, 'twill be a great success."
"Thank ye, me lady. 'Tis kind o' ye to say so." He hesitated briefly, then added, "Me lady, I did wonder if..."
Iliana raised her eyebrows at his hesitation, then prompted. "Aye?"
"Well..." He glanced down at his plaid, scratching absently at one of the many stains on it, then sighed. "Ebba was a'talkin' yesterday about yer mother's cook, and she was sayin' that he had a...er...fine hat and an apron that helped to keep his clothes clean, and I was awonderin'--"
"You need not say another word," Iliana assured him, noting for the first time that his plaid was so speckled with food that 'twas difficult to tell what colors had originally been used in the pattern. "We will purchase material to make a proper apron from the merchant as soon as he arrives. In the meantime, mayhap we can find something suitable." Her gaze slid to the bloodstained bed linen hanging from the railing at the top of the stairs as she spoke and she grimaced. It had hung there since the wedding and she would be more than happy to have an excuse to remove it. Cutting out the stain, cutting up the rest, and making an apron out of it for the cook was as good an excuse as any.
"Aye," she said determinedly. "We shall find something suitable this very day."
"Thank ye, me lady." Elgin grinned widely, then began backing toward the kitchen door. "Now ye best be settin' yerself down an' I'll bring ye some nice pasties. Ye need to be keepin' yer strength up."
Smiling, Iliana moved to take her place at the table, her mind distracted by a new worry. The state of Elgin's plaid had reminded her of her plan to see to new plaids for everyone. She had spent very few of the coins her parents had put in her chests on the spices and now had every intention of using what was left on ensuring that her people were garbed in a fitting manner.
Distracted by such thoughts, Iliana did not notice the way Angus was glaring at Duncan. Neither did she notice the half-accusing, half-suspicious glances her husband sent her way, as if suspecting she was to blame for his father's animosity. In fact, she was so distracted that when she finished her meal and stood to leave the table and Duncan said he would have a word with her, she merely smiled absently, nodded, and walked away, leaving him glaring furiously after her.
"How many what?"
Drawing on her patience, Iliana forced a smile for Cailean Cummins's benefit, doing her best to ignore the rather unpleasant smoke wafting from the pipe between his teeth. It had taken nearly half an hour for her to find out where the plaids were made, then another fifteen minutes to track down who was in charge of the operation. She had been sorely disappointed upon meeting that man.
Cailean Cummins. He was Elgin's cousin. He was also testy, cantankerous, and not prone to liking to deal with females. He made that more than obvious by the way he managed to answer every question with a question of his own. She would also swear he was deliberately blowing the smoke from his pipe directly into her face. He was making what should have been a brief and simple conversation into a torturous trial. And quite frankly, she'd had enough.
"'Tis not that difficult a question to understand, Cailean Cummins. If you do not know the answer, you need simply say so."
"I ken the answer," he snapped, affronted enough to take the pipe out of his mouth.
Having started to turn as if to walk away, Iliana swung back now, eyebrows rising in doubt to hide her satisfaction. "Aye? Well then, how many people are there at Dunbar?"
"About four hundred."
"Fine. Then I should like that many plaids."
His eyes goggled at that, his jaw dropping open to allow his pipe to tumble out. Regaining himself, he quickly tried to catch the well-used item, cursed as he burned himself in the effort, then flushed as he realized just how foul a curse he had used and exactly in front of whom. "Sorry," he muttered. But what did ye say?"
"I should like four hundred plaids, please," Iliana said patiently. "I shall, of course, pay for them."
"I...Ye...What..."
Iliana rolled her eyes as the man continued to stammer at her, then patted his arm soothingly. "You need only tell me if you can supply that many plaids. If you cannot," she added with a pleasant smile, "I shall, of course, purchase them elsewhere."
His expression now shifte
d from dismayed to offended. Drawing himself up to his full height, which was still a good inch shorter than Iliana, he asked, "Would I be correct in thinkin' ye be buyin' the plaids fer the people here?"
"Aye, ye would. 'Tis well past time each had a new plaid, do you not think?"
"Nay, I do not. His lairdship gives them one every year in January. 'Tis only June now. These plaids will last another seven months."
"They'll last a lot longer with two of them available," Iliana responded at once. "'Sides, with only one, they have nothing to wear while cleaning it."
"Ye don't clean a plaid, me lady!" He seemed truly taken aback at the suggestion. "They canna keep ye warm should ye clean them."
Iliana rolled her eyes at that. "Can you or can you not supply me the plaids?"
He frowned over that, worry plucking at his brows. "My lady, 'tis not that I can not supply them, but his laird--"
"Has given me a free hand in tending to the keep and its people," Iliana finished. The lie had served her well so far; there seemed little reason to give it up. "As I said, if you cannot supply them, I will purchase them elsewhere." It was an unfair threat to use. She knew he would not wish his people wearing any but their own plaids.
"He can supply the plaids."
Iliana glanced toward the door of the hut they stood in front of, eyebrows rising slightly as a tall, robust redhead moved toward them. Mr. Cummins's wife was a good six inches taller than her husband. She also appeared to have a forceful personality. "Tell 'er ye can, Cailie."
The man grimaced at the order but nodded. "Aye. It would slow me down on filling another order, but aye, I could sell ye the plaids."
"When might I expect them?"
"Ere the nooning meal," his wife answered for him.
"Ere the nooning! Eda, 'tis almost noon now," Cailean protested heatedly.
"Ye must have that many made, Cailean. All ye needs must do is count them out."
"Aye, but--"
"That would be perfect," Iliana enthused. "I can make the announcement at table. I will expect you at noon, then."
"Aye, me lady," he answered resignedly, then turned to glare at his wife.
Iliana headed back toward the keep, smiling slightly as she heard Mr. Cummins berate his wife for her interference, and she in turn put him in his place, adding 'twould be nice to have more than one plaid at hand. Her smile faded abruptly, however, as the squabbling suddenly stopped and Mr. Cummins called out a greeting that drew her head up in surprise to see her husband striding toward her.