“Ah, that sounds like Oren’s wife, Shea.”
“It is. Caitlin is dreadfully unhappy. She has no skill at weaving and wants to learn to cook from Ide, who is more than willing to teach her, but Shea insists Caitlin learn to weave. I was hoping Oren might be persuaded to intervene, and Ide suggested the idea might go down better with him after a good meal.”
“I doubt he can change Shea’s mind, but aye, ye will have your best chance after Oren’s belly is full of his favorite foods. Who is the other lass, the one who wants to be a weaver?”
“Meriel.”
“Meriel?” Tadhg sounded aghast. “I sent Meriel to the kitchens as punishment.”
“I know ye did, but Tadhg, she knows what she did was wrong. She admitted it to me and apologized. She won’t do anything like it again. She hates working in the kitchens and frankly, I think it is an even greater punishment for Ide than it is for Meriel.”
“My love, even if ye can convince Oren to let Caitlin work in the kitchens, there is no way ye will convince Shea to teach Meriel anything.”
Mairead laughed. “I wasn’t even going to try. Ide says Meriel’s mother and Mae were good friends. Mae and Pol only have Gallia, and I understand she isn’t thrilled about learning to weave either so Mae has no one to teach her skills to. I thought perhaps she might be willing to train Meriel.”
“I suppose she might.”
“Then ye approve?”
“Aye, Caitlin can learn to cook and Meriel to weave, as long as ye can convince Oren and Mae. When do ye plan to do this?”
“Tomorrow. I see no reason to wait.”
“My love, I’m leaving in the morning. I have some business to attend to, and I won’t return until the next day. If ye think ye might need me, ye should wait until I return.”
“As long as ye approve, I’m sure I can do this myself.”
~ * ~
As planned, the next day all of Oren’s favorites were served at the noon meal, including an apple and dried current tart to finish. He was in an exceptionally good mood, and Mairead began her campaign.
“Oh, my, Ide certainly does make a delicious apple tart.”
“Aye, she does at that.”
“I think the secret to a good tart is the crust. I understand it is very hard to make a good crust.”
“Well, some people do seem to have the knack of it better than others. My mother could make excellent tarts, too.”
“And does your wife have the knack?”
“No, not really, Shea has never been much for cooking. Mind ye, she is an excellent spinner and weaver. Most of the laird’s clothes are made from her cloth.”
“She certainly is skilled, then. I have never seen any finer cloth. Still, it is a good thing we have Ide around too, fine cloth doesn’t make for much of a feast.”
“Aye, Ide is a treasure.”
“Ye know, I don’t think I have met your wife yet.”
“I’d say ye might not have. She was here for the wedding feasts but rarely comes up to the keep otherwise. She prefers to work the loom when the daylight is at its best. She says there is precious little enough light in the winter for her to waste it eating.”
“I suppose she is right in that. But I guess it means she doesn’t do much cooking or baking then, especially not in the winter.”
Oren laughed. “No, her mind is always on her wool. In case ye hadn’t observed it yourself, my lady, I take most of my meals here.”
“Ye have a daughter, I believe, does she not help with the cooking and such?”
“Admittedly, my wife is not terribly skilled in the kitchen herself, but our Caitlin does try her hand at cooking some. Still, most of her time is spent learning how to weave.”
“Oh, well, with someone as skilled as your wife to teach her, I’m sure she will be a fine weaver someday, too.”
Oren’s brow furrowed at her comment. Mairead had clearly struck a nerve but she feigned innocence. “Is something wrong?”
“Nay, my lady. It’s just that Caitlin—that is, her mother—well, Caitlin doesn’t seem to be able to quite get the knack of working the loom, and she doesn’t spin very well either. Shea thinks she doesn’t try hard enough.”
“I’m sure a mother knows if her daughter is putting in the required effort.”
“Nay, Caitlin is a sweet, hardworking lass.” Oren sounded slightly indignant. “I think she tries her best, but perhaps it is like making crust for tarts? Some people have the knack and others don’t, and it is hard to enjoy doing something when ye find it so frustrating.”
“That is true. I suppose she has no other skill?”
“What gave ye such an idea? Didn’t I just say Caitlin tries to cook?”
“Now a good cook, such as Ide, is like a rare jewel, but ye said your wife doesn’t cook much. Caitlin couldn’t really be expected to be very skilled in the kitchen with no one to teach her. It’s a shame, really. She might have a knack for cooking.”
“Aye, it is a shame.” Oren rubbed his chin and seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “Her mother wants her to learn to weave, but ye are right about a good cook being indispensable.”
“But I don’t suppose Ide has time to teach her.”
“Of course Ide would teach her if I asked her to. Ide knows what a good lass Caitlin is, and she would be lucky to have her.”
“Well, it seems to me ye have found the solution yourself.”
“Nay, I don’t think Shea would like the idea.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I certainly wouldn’t try to force my will on a man, but I suppose ye know what’s best in your own home.” Mairead smiled sweetly.
“That I do, and I think it would be best for Caitlin to learn cooking skills from Ide,” he said with firm resolve. “Excuse me, my lady, I am going to discuss this with Ide now.”
“I think ye might have a very good idea there.” Mairead had to escape the great hall before she exploded with laughter.
Twelve
Flush with her victory, Mairead smiled as she wrapped her plaid around her head and made her way to the village to discuss the possibility of Meriel learning to weave from Pol’s wife, Mae. As she walked she took stock of “the rest of her life,” which began a little over a month ago. The first few days had been a challenge but so much had changed since then. She believed the clan was finally beginning to accept her. Now Christmas was just over a week away, and the preparations were well started. She was pleased with what she had accomplished. When she arrived at the cottage where Pol’s family lived, Mae welcomed her warmly.
“My lady, please come in and sit by the fire. It is a bitter cold day.”
“Aye, it is, the air smells like snow. I hope I am not interrupting ye. If I am, I would be happy to come back another time.”
“Ye are always welcome here. I love to have an excuse for a wee break in the afternoon.”
“Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time but I have a question for ye. Would ye consider training Meriel as a weaver?”
Mae couldn’t have looked more shocked if she had been asked to teach the sheep to weave their own wool. “Meriel? David’s daughter, Meriel? Are ye sure?”
Mairead went on undaunted, “I understand her mother was a weaver and ye were friends?”
“Aye, my lady, we were good friends. I still miss her.”
“Meriel remembers being fascinated watching her mother work. She would like to learn.”
“Aye, her mother was an excellent weaver. But, my lady, ye know full well the laird sent Meriel to work in the kitchens.”
“She hates it there.”
“She brought it on herself.”
“I know, but she made a mistake, and she is sorry for it. I’ve discussed this with the laird and he will allow her to work with ye if ye are willing.” Mae looked unconvinced, and Mairead continued to present her case. “Sometimes young women do stupid things. I know I have made my share of mistakes.”
“Oh, I can tell ye were quite the trouble maker,” Mae teased.
Mairead laughed. “None of us is perfect, but some of us have been blessed with loving women to teach us.”
“Ye may be right, but, honestly, Meriel has always managed to create problems. Ye only witnessed the most recent one.”
“Maybe she just needs a strong woman to help guide her a bit. Ye said her mother was your dear friend. Would ye consider doing it for her?”
Mae sighed and shook her head in resignation. “It might be a mistake, but aye, I’ll take her on. Her mother would have wanted it. Mind ye, if she doesn’t put her full effort into it, I won’t keep her.”
“I wouldn’t expect ye to, but I think she may surprise ye.”
~ * ~
The afternoon light was fading as Mairead made her way back to the keep. Clouds were gathering, and it was growing colder. She already missed Tadhg, and she didn’t look forward to spending the evening alone. Chilled by the time she returned to the keep, she retreated to the warmth of her solar for the first time in weeks, hoping to take some solace from her music.
Her harp stood like an old friend waiting for her by the hearth. She lit several candles, sat by the harp, pulling it toward her to rest it on her shoulder. She hoped to lose herself in its delicate melodies. As she began to tune the strings, the candlelight illuminated the sound board into which the strings were anchored. There was a dark mark, or indentation of some kind, on the sounding board. Standing the harp upright again, she knelt beside it with a candle to inspect it more closely. It looked as if the edge had been struck by something hard, creating a dent and a small crack along the grain of the wood. The flaw wasn’t terrible—the instrument could still be played. Perhaps one of the craftsmen at Cnocreidh could repair the surface damage. Still, Mairead couldn’t understand what would have caused this damage to the harp. It was as if someone had struck it with something deliberately.
As she was checking the harp over to make sure there was no other damage, the sounds of muffled crying came from the hall, followed immediately by a nearby door slamming. Someone was clearly upset. She went through the antechamber and stepped into the hall trying to determine the source of the sounds. To her surprise, the sound came from Flan’s room. She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She entered anyway to find her brother sobbing face down on his bed.
She rushed to him and knelt next the bed. “Oh Flan, what is wrong, why are ye crying?”
“I’m sorry, Mairead, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.
“Flan, what has happened?”
“Mairead, we don’t belong here. I’m so sorry. Can we just go home? Please, Mairead?”
“I have never seen ye like this. Calm down now and tell me what has ye so upset.”
“Mairead, the Mathesons are hateful. I can take it if I have to, but they say ugly things about ye behind your back and ye shouldn’t have to stay here among them.”
“Flan, don’t say that. Maybe a few of them—”
“No, Mairead, ye don’t understand.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
When he was able to stop crying, he sat up. Mairead moved to sit beside him on the bed. His lip was swollen, and his face bruised. “Flan, what’s this? Were ye fighting?”
“Aye.” He wiped the tears from his face with the heels of his hands.
“Flan, why?”
“I was helping Heck in the stable because the laird is away. Some of the older lads came in and were saying mean things. They said there were more deserving Matheson lads who should have been the laird’s squire and then they said there were better Matheson lasses who should have been the laird’s wife. I tried to ignore them and just do my work. But then Tully said terrible things about ye just because of the story about ye.”
“What story, Flan?”
“Ye know. The night when—well, when—ye know, when Meriel said ye had no clothes on. Well, I got mad. I knocked Tully to the ground and hit him, but the others pulled me off and held me while Tully hit me.”
“Oh, Flan, ye were fighting because of me? Are ye hurt?”
“Not too much. Heck stopped them before Tully got more than a punch or two in. They said they were just teaching me a lesson but Heck asked them why it took three braw young warriors to teach a sapling squire a lesson. And he told them to get out. Mairead, I’m sorry I ever asked Laird Matheson to marry ye. This is all my fault.”
“Don’t say such a thing, Flan. I’m sorry ye are hurting, pet, but I am not sorry I married Laird Matheson. He is a good husband, and it will just take time to get to know the rest of the Mathesons better. I won’t lie to ye, it hasn’t been easy for me, either. But all of the Mathesons are not unkind.”
“A lot of them are.” Flan wore a sullen expression.
“Flan, tell me, do ye want to be a great warrior?”
“Aye, I do.”
“Do ye think Laird Matheson can help ye become one?”
“Aye,” he agreed grudgingly.
“Then ye will do what it takes to stay here and become a great warrior. Ye are Flan MacKenzie and ye won’t let some ugliness spouted by a few of the Mathesons stop ye.”
“But what about ye, Mairead? Someday I can go home. Ye have to stay here with this nasty lot.”
Home. Mairead’s heart caught at the thought of it, but she said, “I am home, Flan. I have been learning to make it work. Ye don’t need to fight my battles.”
“But Mairead—”
“No more, Flan. We can do this. I am not a mouse and neither are ye.”
He put his arms around her. “Aye, Mairead.”
She returned his hug. “Good. We will go down to supper together in a bit.”
He sniffed loudly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I don’t want go down for supper tonight. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
“Flan, ye can’t hide here. Wear your battle scars with pride. After all, ye won them defending your lady. Ye might want to wash your face and clean yourself up a bit, though.” He nodded. Before she left the chamber she said, “After supper come to my solar. I will play my harp and ye can tell me some of Da’s old stories like we used to do at Carraigile.”
After supper, Mairead spent the evening with Flan as planned. She played her harp and her recorder, allowing the music to work its magic on them, raising their spirits. Well after midnight, Mairead finally overrode Flan’s pleas for more, chivying him to bed. As she was putting the instruments away, Flan pointed to the damage on the base of the harp.
“Mairead, how did that happen?”
“I’m not sure. It must been damaged during the move,” she answered, although she didn’t quite believe it herself.