But it hadn’t done any good. No one had spoken up in the days since, so Conall wasn’t surprised when Roderick said, “Nay.”
However, while he wasn’t surprised, he was disappointed. He wanted this over with. Conall knew that whether it was MacNaughton, or the old trouble behind these attacks, they weren’t going to stop until either he was dead, or the culprit was found. He wasn’t worried for himself. He’d lived on the cusp of death for twenty-two years. Claray was another matter entirely. She’d already been wounded once and he was terrified she might be injured again, or even killed.
Thoughts of Claray had him turning his feet toward the keep. He should return to her before she woke up, he thought. He’d already been away longer than he’d intended. Conall had slipped out that morning, planning only to check the progress on the wall, but learning that the men were almost done replacing the roof on the barracks had made him decide to go inspect that too. It had rained twice this past week. Luckily, both times the rain had been light, and had occurred during the day and not at night. But he wasn’t counting on that luck to hold out much longer and would rather get the men who had been sleeping in the bailey into the barracks as quickly as possible.
Fortunately, the roof should be finished by the end of that day, and while he’d been inspecting them, his aunt had led the women into the barracks to start cleaning it. If everything went well, the men should be able to move into it by the sup, he thought as he mounted the steps to the keep.
“For heaven’s sake, Hendrie. Put me down. I can walk.”
Those words as Conall led the men into the keep drew his startled gaze to the stairs. Hendrie was just stepping off of them with Colban on his heels, and Claray in his arms. Though his wife was obviously not pleased with that fact. While her first request had been made politely, Hendrie’s not complying but heading toward the trestle tables with her had her now scowling. There was definite irritation in her voice as she said, “I said I can walk, Hendrie. Put me down now, please.”
Much to his relief, Hendrie ignored his wife and continued on to the tables with her. He was setting her on the bench when Conall caught up to them.
Claray turned with exasperation on the man as he straightened, her mouth opening, either to thank him despite her irritation, or to give him hell. But her jaw locked open when she saw Conall standing behind the soldier.
“Hendrie was right to carry ye,” he growled, nodding at the man when Hamish’s young protégé turned with a start to see Conall behind him. Turning his full attention back to his wife, he added, “Ye were sorely injured and should no’ be out o’ bed.”
Claray’s shoulders sagged as she heaved out a little sigh, but then straightened again almost at once as she argued, “But, husband, I feel ever so much better. And I wanted to see all the changes ye told me about. And, in truth, I’m tired o’ being stuck in me room all the time. And I did no’ take chances. I was slow and careful getting ready, and walking about our room and up the hall. And there was really no reason fer Hendrie to carry me when we got to the stairs. I was doing fine,” she assured him with a glare in Hendrie’s direction.
“Begging yer pardon, m’lady,” Hendrie put in. “But ye were swaying about like a reed in a strong wind at the top o’ the stairs. ’Tis why I thought I’d best carry ye the rest o’ the way.”
“I was no’ doing that,” Claray protested, flushing bright pink even as she spoke.
“Aye, ye were,” Colban assured her gently when Hendrie glanced his way for support. The young soldier then quickly added, “But yer fever was high there fer a bit while ye were ailing. Mayhap yer a little addled and just do no’ recall, or did no’ notice.”
Claray opened her mouth, closed it again and then frowned and avoided Conall’s eyes as she admitted, “I may have been teetering a bit, but I’m sure ’twas no’ as bad as Hendrie is suggesting.”
“Aye, ’twas,” Hendrie and Colban said together, and Conall was hard-pressed not to laugh at her vexed expression.
Ignoring them now, Claray turned back to him and said quietly, “Please, husband. I’d like to sit at table to break me fast and then see everything that’s been done. I feel useless lying abed in our room all the time while everyone else works so hard on our home.”
Conall softened at her words. He understood completely. He’d never been the greatest at lying about when injured or ill either. Nodding, he waved the men away.
“I’ll go see if Cook is about and can fetch some food and drink,” Hamish murmured, smiling at Claray before hurrying off toward the door to the kitchens.
Claray looked after the man with surprise, and then turned to Conall to ask, “We ha’e a cook?”
“Aye.” Smiling faintly, Conall settled on the bench next to her. “Me aunt recognized one o’ the returnin’ women as having worked in the kitchens at MacKay. She interviewed her, askin’ about her skills, and what she’d done at MacKay, and then asked the woman if she’d be willin’ to take on the position as head cook here and oversee the kitchens. They agreed it would be just a temporary thing to see if she liked it and could handle the job. If no’, we will replace her as quickly as we can, but if she did a good job and wished to keep the position, it would be hers . . . If ye agreed,” he added solemnly.
“Oh,” Claray breathed, and then smiled widely. “Aye. That’s wonderful.” She released a small chuckle and shook her head. “It did no’ even occur to me to wonder where the broth and food came from that ye’ve been bringin’ up each day.”
“I’m no’ surprised. Ye’ve been mendin’ from a serious injury,” he said with a shrug, and then glanced around before asking, “What do ye think o’ the great hall?”
Claray was silent for a long while as her gaze moved around the large room. He watched as her eyes slid over the clean stone walls with the tapestries hanging on them, gifts from her mother that had been packed onto the wagons. She examined the new, if somewhat plain, trestle tables and benches, and then her gaze moved on to the two large—also plain—chairs by the fire. Each chair had a pretty cushion on its seat, and a small embroidered pillow leaning against its back that the inhabitant could adjust for their comfort. The cushions and pillows were also from the wagons her mother had packed.
“I like it,” Claray said finally, and then added in a soft voice, “’Tis starting to look like a home.”
“Aye,” he agreed, and had to fight the urge to take her hand.
“But,” she added with a small frown that brought his gaze sharply to hers, “the floor is so barren. There should be rush mats.”
“There will be eventually,” he assured her.
His reassurances did not displace her frown though, and she said, “Husband, now we’re in a bed in our own chamber, ye may forget what ’tis like to sleep on cold stone at night, but I ha’e no’. I woke up every mornin’ feelin’ old and sore from the cold leachin’ into me bones.”
Conall felt his eyebrows draw together at her words as his gaze slid over the stone floor. Right now, the great hall was empty except for where they and their guards sat at the trestle table, but tonight the tables would be broken down and leaned against the walls, and the floor would be covered with bodies as their people tried to get some rest after a long day of hard work. And that, unfortunately, would continue for a while. Once the barracks were done, some of the men would move into it, but they too would be stuck on stone floor until beds could be made for them. The great hall would remain full of sleeping people at night until the MacKay soldiers left and cottages could be built for the families who wished to sleep outside the wall on farms, or in the village that he hoped would eventually be rebuilt.