moors? And perhaps give Laren a position in the village? Annie can‘t live with the loneliness out here."
"He could work with the cattle," the laird said thoughtfully. "I could put one of the older men, a widower perhaps, at the signal fire."
"Do it in the spring, after the lass has had her bairn. Her husband will have gone the winter without her, and she without him. He will be more amenable to making a change," Ellen said with a small smile.
"You‘re a very devious lass," Duncan replied, smiling back.
"My grandsire always said I had a practical streak," she replied.
He liked her, Duncan realized, and as the days passed he really began to understand what a great loss Lochearn was to and for her. She was meant to be the wife of a man of property. She had been trained from her birth for such a role. She knew how to nurture gently without coddling, and how to be strong as well. And she was certainly easy to get along with, he found. His sister, with whom he had had little association over the years but knew by reputation, liked her too.
God only knew that Maggie was not an easy person, but Ellen MacArthur had quickly gained her respect and her friendship.
The Christmastide season came, and Maggie warned him to have some small gift for Ellen, but she would not say why. On Christmas Day, the first of the twelve days of the feast, he discovered why when Ellen shyly presented him with three fine new linen shirts she had made for him.
"Of course, the linen is yours, my lord," she told him. "Maggie found it for me in a storeroom, but the work is all mine. It is the only way I can thank you for sheltering me. I took one of your old shirts to make the pattern, but I can make any alterations needed once you have tried one of the shirts on," Ellen finished.
He carefully inspected her handiwork, and then praised it. "Your stitches are so small, Ellen, that I can barely see them," he said. "I have not had any new shirts in a long time. The last I recall came from my sister-in-law, Adair, several years ago. Thank you!" And then he smiled at her.
"And as turnabout is fair play, lass, I thought you might want to make yourself a few new gowns." He handed her a key. "This will unlock the storeroom in the chamber my mother
inhabited when she lived here. I did not know of it, but Maggie did. I realized most of your clothing was left behind at Lochearn but the little you brought to court."
Quick tears sprang into Ellen‘s soft gray-blue eyes. "Thank you, my lord," she said, her voice trembling just slightly. "I have, I fear, become a bit shabby."
Sister Margaret Mary gave a small smile as she watched her brother and Ellen. Yes, she thought to herself, God will answer my prayers in this particular matter.
The winter passed in relative quiet. The snows came down from the north and covered the earth around them. But the hall was warm, and the days began to grow longer. Ellen found herself managing the daily affairs of the keep when Sim, the laird‘s steward, began coming to her for this and for that. She did not wish to appear forward, but Maggie assured her that the place needed a woman‘s touch. And so the days seemed to fly by. In the evening they would sit, the three of them, close by the fire talking or sometimes playing chess. Maggie appeared to be particularly skilled at the game.
"You‘re too clever, sister," the laird said one evening. "And here I assumed you spent all of your time on your knees in prayer at your convent. It would seem otherwise."
"Chess," Maggie told her sibling, "is a game of strategy and skill, Duncan. Like most men you are too impatient. Check. And mate." She took his king and smiled.
Ellen burst out laughing at the look of surprise upon the laird‘s face.
Then Maggie laughed too, unable to help herself.
"So," the laird said, and a wicked look came into his eye, "you find my helplessness before this religious charlatan amusing, Mistress MacArthur, do you?" He stood up. "I think you need a lesson
"He could work with the cattle," the laird said thoughtfully. "I could put one of the older men, a widower perhaps, at the signal fire."
"Do it in the spring, after the lass has had her bairn. Her husband will have gone the winter without her, and she without him. He will be more amenable to making a change," Ellen said with a small smile.
"You‘re a very devious lass," Duncan replied, smiling back.
"My grandsire always said I had a practical streak," she replied.
He liked her, Duncan realized, and as the days passed he really began to understand what a great loss Lochearn was to and for her. She was meant to be the wife of a man of property. She had been trained from her birth for such a role. She knew how to nurture gently without coddling, and how to be strong as well. And she was certainly easy to get along with, he found. His sister, with whom he had had little association over the years but knew by reputation, liked her too.
God only knew that Maggie was not an easy person, but Ellen MacArthur had quickly gained her respect and her friendship.
The Christmastide season came, and Maggie warned him to have some small gift for Ellen, but she would not say why. On Christmas Day, the first of the twelve days of the feast, he discovered why when Ellen shyly presented him with three fine new linen shirts she had made for him.
"Of course, the linen is yours, my lord," she told him. "Maggie found it for me in a storeroom, but the work is all mine. It is the only way I can thank you for sheltering me. I took one of your old shirts to make the pattern, but I can make any alterations needed once you have tried one of the shirts on," Ellen finished.
He carefully inspected her handiwork, and then praised it. "Your stitches are so small, Ellen, that I can barely see them," he said. "I have not had any new shirts in a long time. The last I recall came from my sister-in-law, Adair, several years ago. Thank you!" And then he smiled at her.
"And as turnabout is fair play, lass, I thought you might want to make yourself a few new gowns." He handed her a key. "This will unlock the storeroom in the chamber my mother
inhabited when she lived here. I did not know of it, but Maggie did. I realized most of your clothing was left behind at Lochearn but the little you brought to court."
Quick tears sprang into Ellen‘s soft gray-blue eyes. "Thank you, my lord," she said, her voice trembling just slightly. "I have, I fear, become a bit shabby."
Sister Margaret Mary gave a small smile as she watched her brother and Ellen. Yes, she thought to herself, God will answer my prayers in this particular matter.
The winter passed in relative quiet. The snows came down from the north and covered the earth around them. But the hall was warm, and the days began to grow longer. Ellen found herself managing the daily affairs of the keep when Sim, the laird‘s steward, began coming to her for this and for that. She did not wish to appear forward, but Maggie assured her that the place needed a woman‘s touch. And so the days seemed to fly by. In the evening they would sit, the three of them, close by the fire talking or sometimes playing chess. Maggie appeared to be particularly skilled at the game.
"You‘re too clever, sister," the laird said one evening. "And here I assumed you spent all of your time on your knees in prayer at your convent. It would seem otherwise."
"Chess," Maggie told her sibling, "is a game of strategy and skill, Duncan. Like most men you are too impatient. Check. And mate." She took his king and smiled.
Ellen burst out laughing at the look of surprise upon the laird‘s face.
Then Maggie laughed too, unable to help herself.
"So," the laird said, and a wicked look came into his eye, "you find my helplessness before this religious charlatan amusing, Mistress MacArthur, do you?" He stood up. "I think you need a lesson
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