For a moment she sighed and hovered in that delicious state between sleep and wakefulness. It was likely close to the hour when the keep would start to come awake and begin the new day, but she was loath to move from her warm spot in her husband’s arms.
But she remembered Nora speaking the day before on when the women of the keep rose to make sure fires were set in the chambers and also the great hall, so that the chill would be taken from the rooms when the warriors began their day.
Regretfully, she eased from the warmth of her bed and quietly added wood to the hearth. There were no coals from the night before, so she had to use one of the half burned candles to add flame to wood.
Once a crackling blaze had begun and she was satisfied that her husband would wake to a fine fire, she smoothed the wrinkles from the dress she’d donned the evening before. Then she quickly pulled the rest of her hair around to braid it.
When she’d finished, she went below stairs in search of Nora or the other women. Stifling her yawn, she went into the kitchens to find Mary lighting a fire in the great hearth she used for cooking.
Eveline didn’t miss the surprise in Mary’s eyes when she looked up and saw Eveline. But it was quickly masked and she directed Eveline to set about the task of lighting a fire in the two hearths in the hall.
What she didn’t bother telling Eveline was how she was to bring the wood in for such a task. The fireplaces were huge and the logs they used were much larger than in the smaller hearths in the chambers.
Not about to let an insignificant detail such as that prevent her from performing her task, she went outside, shivering as she glanced at the predawn sky that was just starting to lighten ever so slightly in the east.
Her breath came out in a visible puff and the air felt damp and cold on her face.
As suspected, she found a large woodpile where larger logs were stacked against the back wall of the keep, just outside the door that exited the kitchen.
She managed to wrest one of the logs from its perch, and it tumbled to the ground at her feet. She pushed it upright and after realizing there was no way she could lift it, she set about rolling it on its edge.
When she arrived at the stone steps leading back into the keep, she frowned and stared at the log she held upright.
One step at a time. She didn’t have to lift it for long. Just enough to lug it up each step in turn until she reached the top.
Huffing from exertion, she strained to lift the log just enough that she could slide it onto the first step. For several moments she stood there huffing with exertion, and then she braced herself to pick it up to the next step. By the time she managed to make it to the top step, she’d been working for several minutes.
She propped it on the top step, leaning heavily on it as she eyed the stack of logs behind her. How would she ever manage to bring in enough to lay both fires in the hall by the time the men started trickling down to break their fast?
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to manage the task standing here whimpering about it, that much was certain.
Determined not to be made a fool of, she rolled the log toward the hearth, eased it down to the floor, and then went back for another.
After four more trips, she had enough wood to start the first fire. She was so exhausted and weary that her hands shook as she went to maneuver the wood into the pit. She had the first situated and was about to duck back for the next when a hand tapped her on the shoulder.
Startled, she reared back and took in the horrified expression of one of the younger soldiers. He looked so appalled that she frowned, not understanding what it was she’d done wrong.
“My lady, ’tis my duty to set the logs each morn. ’Tis no job for a lass of your size. Please, allow me to finish. I would not displease the laird by having his wife do such an arduous task. Your hands, my lady. They’re bleeding. Please go have one of the women tend to them.”
She glanced down in bewilderment to see that her hands were torn and bleeding from her struggle with the wood. Perhaps she’d misunderstood Mary, or she’d simply read the wrong words from her lips. She’d thought that it was her task to set the fires, but she was fiercely glad that she wouldn’t have to wrestle more wood into the hall. Her back ached horribly, and now that he’d drawn attention to her hands, they were starting to sting.
Graeme would be furious and the last thing she wanted was for the other members of her clan to see that she couldn’t even handle the task of bringing in wood without it tearing up her tender, dainty hands.
Her overtunic had sleeves long enough that they’d hide her hands. She hadn’t worn one over her underdress this morn, but she’d be certain to don it so that no one would see the damage she’d done to her palms and fingers.
For now, she had to find a place to wash in private. A glance outside told her the sun was already peeking over the horizon, which meant her husband would be making an appearance shortly.
She ducked out of the hall after thanking the young man who’d taken over the task of lighting the fires and then she headed toward the guard tower.
’Twas an inconvenience to have to go through a guard every time she wanted to walk down to the river, but she supposed she could appreciate Graeme’s dedication to the safety of his people.
She called up to the guard, sure she was bellowing since she put all her strength behind the call. He stuck his head out, frowned as though she were completely daft, and then shook his head.
A moment later, a rider appeared, looking none too pleased that he was to accompany Eveline outside the gate. He likely had to miss breaking his fast.
“I’m only going to the river to wash my hands,” she said to the rider. “There’s no reason for you to accompany me. The guard can see clear to the path I’m taking.”
The rider didn’t look impressed with her speech and he ignored her, riding forward and then looking at her expectantly.
Disgruntled with his rudeness, she took out, walking at a sedate pace across the dew dampened ground toward the river. There was a distinct chill to the air, but she enjoyed it, invigorated after the exhausting chore of wrestling with the logs for the fire.
Once she reached the bank where she’d taken her impromptu swim just days before, she knelt and stuck her hands into the chilly water.
Blood had already started to dry over the places where the skin was abraded and had broken. The water was a shock to the tender areas and she winced as she set about picking the splinters from the wounds.
It was then she noticed the blisters from the day before. Two had broken and weeped clear liquid, but there were still several tight pockets that hadn’t yet burst. She sighed, knowing that she’d likely added several more this morning.
As she rose, her stomach growled and then clenched into a knot that had her wavering unsteadily. She hadn’t supped the evening before and now she was late to break her fast. If she hurried, she might still be in time.
“Where the hell is my wife?” Graeme demanded, his voice booming over the hall.
One of his soldiers who was tending the fires looked uneasily in Graeme’s direction and Graeme latched onto that expression and strode forward.
“Have you seen your mistress this morning?”
Anton swallowed nervously. “Aye, Laird. She was …” He winced and then continued on in a rush. “She was bringing in logs for the fires in the hall. I stopped her, of course, and told her it was my duty to attend the fires. She seemed relieved, but then she hurried out and I haven’t seen her since.”
“She was doing what?” Graeme roared.
Anton flinched. “I could not believe it either. The lass had no business trying to lug in the wood, but she had five logs lined up for the first fire before I came into the hall.”
Graeme closed his eyes and shook his head. This was nonsense. Complete and utter nonsense and no matter what Rorie said or how valid her argument was, there was no way he was allowing this to continue.
He was prevented from demanding an accounting from every single woman in the keep when Eveline hurried in, her cheeks pale from the cold. Several tendrils of her hair had come loose from her braid and they framed her face. Despite her harried expression, she still managed to take Graeme’s breath away.
“Oh, good morn, Graeme,” she said breathlessly. She dipped a curtsy and then hurried on past him toward the table where food was already being served.
He blinked and swiveled so he could follow her progress across the room. She sat next to his chair and smiled at his brothers, who’d already taken their seats. Only Rorie was missing, but then the lass didn’t always come to break her fast with the others.
Before he left to go sit with her and his brothers, he turned back to Anton with a quick frown. “Do not allow this to happen again. You make certain she doesn’t try to carry wood inside this keep even if you have to stack it inside. She isn’t to light these fires.”
Anton nodded his agreement and Graeme left to go sit next to his wife.
She smiled brilliantly at him as he took his seat by her side. Despite her seeming cheer, he could see the dark smudges underneath her eyes and it made him angry all over again that she was working so hard to find acceptance and his clan was being ridiculously thickheaded in their resistance.
Who could possibly resist a smile such as hers? Furthermore, how could anyone spend even a moment in Eveline’s presence and think she was anything like her kin? The Armstrongs were a bloodthirsty, savage lot who thought nothing of killing others to suit their purposes. Eveline was a tenderhearted lass who didn’t have a mean bone in her body.
Except that she had taken a sword to the women of his clan and had run them all out of the keep.
He frowned over that matter. The lass had been under duress and she could hardly be blamed for taking a stand in the face of such mean-spirited insults.
He fully intended to take up the matter of all this work she was performing over the morning meal, but she kept up a lively conversation with his brothers, though he had no idea of what the discussion was about, exactly. He wasn’t sure his brothers had any more idea than he did, but they indulged her and responded in kind with a ready smile.
He appreciated their acceptance and their support, and he knew that in time it would bleed over into the rest of the clan. Perhaps Rorie was right and Eveline just needed some time to adjust and time to win over the women.
It seemed to him that she already had the support of his men. They didn’t seem inclined to want her to suffer and thus far he’d heard of no man offering insult to her. The women, however, were another matter, but even then he couldn’t exactly fault them for their loyalty to him and the Montgomery name.
He sighed. ’Twas a difficult matter to be certain. The women had always been steadfast in support of the men of the clan. It was a matter that had always brought Graeme much pride. His own mother had been an important factor in bringing that kind of fierce, unbending loyalty to the women.
Before she’d died giving birth to Rorie, she’d often rallied the women around the men, preached the importance of having strong clan ties that extended to every single man, woman, and child. Graeme’s father had oft chuckled and said it was a foolish man who tread in the path of his wife because she was fiercer than any warrior Robert Montgomery had ever trained.
His mother would have liked Eveline. Graeme didn’t deceive himself by thinking that his mother’s acceptance of Eveline would have been automatic. She would have greeted the marriage with every bit as much disdain as all the other members of the clan had. But given time, she would have been drawn to Eveline’s charm and her resilience. She would have also heartily approved of Eveline being resourceful enough to have avoided marriage with a man who intended to sorely abuse her.
Graeme frowned when Eveline rose after having finished her meal. He’d fully intended to address the matter of her duties.
“A moment please, Eveline,” he said when he was sure he had her attention.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Graeme. I don’t have time right now. There are duties to attend and I’m sure you must be busy with the men. We’ll discuss what it is you have on your mind at the evening meal.”
With that she smiled and kissed him full on the lips in front of the entire hall. Then she patted his cheek and cheerfully went on by. She walked out of the hall at a fast clip, leaving Graeme completely befuddled.
It wasn’t until a moment later that he realized he was still frozen to his chair, the imprint of her mouth still tingling on his lips.
There were snickers and guffaws all around, but he paid them no heed. His gaze was riveted to the soft swing of his wife’s bottom as she exited the hall.
CHAPTER 30
Father Drummond arrived the next day and Eveline was surprised to discover he was a young man, perhaps a few years younger than Teague.
He was cheerful looking, with a ready smile and an easy disposition. In a sea of warriors, he stood out because he was so different from the others. He was paler skinned, fair without a blemish that could be seen. He had blond hair, almost the same shade as Eveline’s, and blue eyes that sparkled when he smiled.
Eveline thought they could be siblings because they resembled each other so closely.
It shamed her that she’d expected an older man, stern and forbidding, a harsh taskmaster who would be ruthless in his teachings.
It was obvious he was a friend to the Montgomery clan, because everyone greeted him warmly. He was treated to a series of slaps on the back that should have had him flat on the ground. Eveline winced every time a different warrior greeted him.
Rorie was practically dancing in delight, so excited was she by the priest’s arrival. She could barely contain herself while she waited for Father Drummond’s attention.
He greeted her warmly in turn, kissing her on either cheek when Graeme finally came around to the reason he’d sent for the father.