Seeds of Time (17 page)

Darrell rubbed her forehead. She would have to find time to speak with Luke later. She was so filled with questions that she longed for her ragged notebook, sitting on her desk at Eagle Glen, just to help her organize the worries that tangled through her mind like the gnarled roots of Delaney's tree. She followed Kate out through a low stone archway and looked around. Most of the second floor was taken up by the Great Hall, which was a large open room with sconces on the walls to hold torches for light and rushes and straw strewn over the ground. The windows were made of glass within lead frames, and they opened to let in the daylight and fresh air.

“Our Ainslie Castle was built more than one hundred years ago,” Eleanor told them, “but since my father has become Laird, he has made several changes. He brought in a glazier who made the glass for the windows. Now we have more than shutters to keep out the wind and snow.”

She walked with them over to an enormous fireplace on one wall. “This new fireplace has meant the most change for us,” she said. “Until last year, we burned our fires in the centre of the hall for all to keep warm.” She pointed to a circular hearth that was bordered by stone and had clearly not been in use recently. “But now we have fireplaces throughout the castle, which keep us much warmer in our beds at night.”

Kate looked at Darrell and raised her eyebrows. As Eleanor walked on ahead, Kate whispered, “Fireplaces, a new invention? How far back have we come?” Darrell shrugged. “I told you already. We're somewhere around the middle of the fourteenth century.”

Kate closed her eyes and swayed a little on her feet. Darrell clutched her arm tightly. “It's going to be okay, Kate.”

Kate's eyes flew open and her face reddened. “How do YOU know?” she said, miserably.

From the end of the hall, Eleanor turned around to look at them with impatience, and they scurried to catch up. In spite of the hurry, Darrell had to walk carefully
because the floor was strewn with rushes and seemed slippery and sticky.

Eleanor sniffed. “The smell in here is terrible. It is time this hall was swept out and cleaned. It should have been done before our return.”

“Why do you keep rushes on the floor?” asked Kate, without thinking. Eleanor looked at her out of the corner of her eye and pulled Darrell's arm out of Kate's grasp.

“The maidservant is quite ignorant of our ways,” she whispered, “and speaks so forwardly, as though she were my equal.”

Darrell laughed. “You must forgive her,” she said teasingly, “for she comes from a far and distant place. Yet I am fond of her, and keep her to help me, all the same.” Kate scowled at Darrell and didn't reply. Seizing the opportunity, Darrell patted Kate's shoulder and continued, “My Kate is so ignorant, I believe she does not know where we are, and I would venture to guess that she does not even know the date.”

Eleanor took the bait, and looked suitably shocked. Then her natural kindness took over and she reached out to touch Kate's arm.

“It must be frightening to know so little, and yet ye are so loyal to yer Lady. This is the Castle Ainslie within the lordship of MacKenzie, and includes this land along with a group of small islands. It is the ancestral
seat of the Clan MacKenzie, of which my father Sir William is the Laird. We are on the Western Highlands of Scotland.” She turned to Darrell. “Do ye think it is necessary for me to tell her it is the year of our Lord 1351?” she asked seriously.

Darrell smiled. “No, I'm sure that is quite enough information for now.”

Eleanor nodded. “Still, to be polite, I must answer her question about the rushes. They add warmth and softness to our floors, but they must be cleaned away periodically, for under them lay many crumbs and spills, and worse if the dogs have been up here.”

Darrell and Kate made their way over the floor hurriedly.

Eleanor looked excited. “Ye must share my solar, as it is the nicest. I will have my room prepared, and yer things can be brought there.” She looked crestfallen. “I had forgotten, all yer things have been lost.” She looked critically at Darrell. “I am afraid ye are much too large to fit any of my clothes.”

“Don't worry,” said Darrell hastily. “I'll be just fine for now.”

Eleanor nodded, and a number of women entered the hall and began erecting trestle tables and covering them with cloths. “Let me take ye both upstairs to prepare for the evening meal. I will have my maids bring ye water to clean and refresh yerselves after yer journey.”

Eleanor bustled over to another spiral stone stair. Kate and Darrell exchanged a glance, then followed her upstairs to prepare for the evening to come.

The small staircase wound up from the Great Hall into Sir William's solar. It was vast room with a large curtained bed and a number of tables and chests scattered throughout. On the floor lay the skins of several animals, including two goats and a large brown bear.

“Where is her father?” whispered Kate, when Eleanor had hurried ahead.

“Last I heard, he was searching in the north for a place free of the plague,” Darrell whispered back.

There were no hallways to be seen. Instead each room led into the next one, through one or more connecting doorways.

There was a heavy wooden door, which Eleanor moved to bypass. Darrell reached out and put a hand on her arm. “And this leads to ...?” Darrell asked.

Upon entering the solar, Eleanor had removed the white wimple that had covered her face and neck in the carriage. Now she turned to Darrell with an embarrassed look and blushed to the roots of her pale blonde hair.

“It is the
garderobe
,” she whispered, and made a move as if to keep walking past.

“The wardrobe?” questioned Kate, once again forgetting her role as humble servant.

Eleanor shot her an irritated look and took Darrell's arm, propelling her out of the anteroom and into another bedchamber.

Darrell still looked confused. “I'm sorry, but I am not familiar with that word. Is it another storage closet?”

Eleanor shook her head and stared at Darrell in surprise, clearly astounded by her new friend's ignorance. “It is the place where we empty the chamber pots, Lady Dara,” Eleanor said with evident embarrassment. “The door is a heavy wood, so the smell will not travel through to the solar or other bed chambers.” She bristled at Kate's amused smile and turned her back. “Tis the latest design, just installed two summers ago. The walls are a part of the buttress on this side and all the wastes drop into a channel that flows into the sea.”

Kate looked disgusted. “You drop untreated sewage into the ocean?”

Darrell gave her a warning glance. “It sounds like a very efficient system,” she said, steering Eleanor away from Kate.

She changed the subject. “Please show us your room.” Kate had followed behind Darrell and Eleanor, tossing a last shocked glance over her shoulder at the primitive facilities.

Darrell looked around Eleanor's solar as they entered. She and Kate were sleeping here on straw pallets that were made up on the floor. Eleanor had two maids who normally slept in the room, but they were summarily sent down to sleep in the kitchen. The room was a large one on the uppermost floor. Darrell sat down on Eleanor's bed, which had a wooden frame and woven strips of leather supporting the feather mattress, with a cover made of fur. She watched as Eleanor pulled back and fastened the heavy linen hangings surrounding the bed. Eleanor laid her discarded wimple on a large chest meant for holding her clothes and sat on the window seat. She turned her back to a view that overlooked most of the island.

Darrell could see that Kate was as struck by the plainness of the room as she herself was, but she hastened to murmur appreciatively at the view. Two of Lady Eleanor's maids scurried into the room bearing small pitchers of lukewarm water and poured it into a bowl that sat on a tiny corner table.

After a quick wash in the basin, Eleanor insisted that Darrell remove her torn over-skirt. Darrell agreed and sat, secretly far more cool and comfortable in her light chemise and petticoat, gazing out the castle window. Eleanor pulled out her stitchery basket.

Kate sat beside Darrell on the cushioned window seat. “You should draw this view,” she said with a tiny
smile at Darrell's twitching fingers. Darrell smiled back, relieved to see that Kate's panic seemed to have calmed somewhat.

“Ye are an artist?” asked Eleanor. “Then ye must have materials!” She dropped her sewing basket and pressed a roll of parchment paper into Darrell's hands. “I have no use for the parchment,” she said with some regret, “as I cannot draw and I have no one to send a letter to. The plague has made sending messages far too expensive and risky in these terrible times.”

Darrell accepted the parchment and turned eagerly to the view from the high window, one piece of her charcoal streaking across the page. As Darrell drew, Eleanor returned to her stitchery basket and began to mend the tear in Darrell's over-skirt. She glanced up at Darrell and said shyly, “Forgive me my impertinence, Lady Dara, but can ye tell me why yer hair is uncovered and why ye walk on a stick of wood instead of a foot?”

Darrell thought quickly. She knew very few people would survive amputation in this day of primitive medicine. “I was born without a foot and have known no other way of walking,” she said, her face colouring slightly. “And after the shipwreck, we were left with only the clothes we are wearing.”

Lady Eleanor looked horrified. “Ye are lucky to have yer life after such a disaster!” She looked at Darrell with undisguised interest. “Still, if all ye have lost are yer possessions,”
she said kindly, “then the good God and yer servants have protected ye well.” She glanced sideways at Darrell, appraisingly. “Yer size must have also protected ye. Ye and yer maid are the tallest girls I have ever seen!”

Darrell exchanged an amused glance with Kate and turned back to her drawing.

Eleanor seemed delighted with her new guests. Stitching carefully, she gossiped merrily about the various happenings in the castle and around her father's lands.

Darrell watched Eleanor's skill with a needle and thread with awe. “I could never sew as well as you,” she remarked, wondering what Eleanor would think about sewing machines.

Eleanor smiled and bowed her head modestly. She gestured at the rough sketch Darrell held in her lap. “And I could never draw pictures as ye can, Lady Dara,” she replied. “We each have our own skills given to us by God.”

From her perch by the window, Kate snorted audibly. “Some of us have great skills in things other than stitchery or art,” she said with disdain. “And we weren't
given
them at all. We
earned
them.” Darrell grinned.

Eleanor, pointedly ignoring Kate, changed the subject and once again took up her stream of chatter.

Darrell, trying to keep the peace in the unexpected rivalry for her attention, only caught the end of one of Eleanor's remarks. “I'm sorry, what did you just say?”

“I said, I worry so much for my father. He has gone to visit our Nordic cousins to see if they are safe from the plague that ravages our land. He has warned me to no longer accept servant help from anywhere outside the castle ... even the village.” She gazed pointedly at Kate, and then smiled ingratiatingly at Darrell. “Of course, in yer case we will make an exception. Tis only charitable to do so.”

Kate rolled her eyes, and Darrell poked her gently with the end of her charcoal, willing her to silence. Kate smouldered but held her peace.

Eleanor, gazing out the window, blushed, and withdrew her head. “Tell me, Lady Dara, what do ye think of the captain of the guard?”

Darrell tried to keep any expression out of her voice. “The captain of the guard? I don't think I've met him.”

Eleanor's face remained pink. She had mended the tear in Darrell's skirt with a series of tiny, fine stitches so that the repair was almost invisible. Darrell smiled appreciatively at the fine work and took it over to show Kate. She was enjoying Kate's role as maidservant and teased her by dropping the dress into her lap.

“Alas,” Darrell said, dramatically, “if only your stitchery, young Kate, was as fine as that of Lady Eleanor ...”

Kate scowled. “I'll give you a few stitches, if you'd like, Darrell,” she muttered under her breath. Eleanor looked disapprovingly at Kate and whispered to Darrell,
“M'lady, I think ye should seek a less sullen maidservant. I know many a fair young girl that would delight in the position.”

Darrell laughed. “Oh, I think she'll do for now,” she said, as Kate frowned her disapproval. Inwardly, Darrell heaved a sigh of relief. The subject of
Hamish, Captain of the Guard, had clearly been dropped for now. She glanced sidelong at Eleanor, thinking. Why had she blushed at the mere mention of his name? A gong reverberated deep within the walls of the castle. Darrell filed away her thoughts of Eleanor and Hamish for another time, and the girls began to put away their things.

Dinner was a wonderful event, served with much merriment in the Great Hall. Darrell had sent Kate on a trip down to the stables in time to rescue Brodie and help get him cleaned up for the evening meal. The servants joined the family in the Great Hall to eat, so neither Kate nor Brodie were considered out of place. They sat together further down the long table from where Darrell was seated and drank in as much of their surroundings as they ate food. Delaney slunk under the diners' chairs and feasted on dropped scraps before creeping back and curling up under Darrell's chair.

The excitement of the celebration was marred for Darrell when Eleanor swept her over to introduce Hamish, Captain of the Guard, just as dinner began. “Ye really must meet our new visitor, Hamish,” Eleanor said.

Hamish bowed and kissed Darrell's hand, but he lifted his head to look up at her with a puzzled look in his eye. Darrell's stomach dropped and she quickly withdrew her hand and hurried to her place at the table to avoid any complicated questions. With vivid memories of a snarling Delaney, smoky torchlight, and a terrified run across the beach racing through her mind, she made a mental note to avoid him if at all possible. The last thing she wanted was to remind him of the events of their brief first acquaintance.