“Surely our people deserve at least rush mats,” Claray said softly. “Or even just rushes strewn about to soften the floor and protect them from the cold stone?”
Conall frowned at her words. He agreed with her wholeheartedly that their people deserved it. The problem was how to do it?
“Ye’re absolutely right, sweeting,” he agreed. “But how do we manage the task? Half the women are cleanin’ the barracks so the soldiers now in the bailey have protection from the rain while they sleep, and the other half are finishin’ the work ye started in the gardens. Both tasks are too important to put off for the women to gather rushes.”
“Then assign some men to the task,” she suggested. “If ye took two dozen men and the wagons me da sent to pile it in, it should no’ take long. And I could oversee them meself, show them the best rushes to gather and such.”
Her words made his frown deepen. It wasn’t that he minded setting men to the task, though he hadn’t thought of that himself. And the truth was, with so many men here, he could manage without two or even three dozen men for an afternoon, but—“I do no’ like the idea o’ ye leavin’ the safety o’ the curtain walls.”
Her lips twitched with amusement. “Husband, we’ve had arrows shot at us twice, hittin’ me once, both inside the safety o’ the curtain walls,” she pointed out. “Besides, I would ha’e two dozen men with me, and me guard.”
“And me,” he announced, making up his mind. They would go out that very afternoon and gather enough rushes for the floors of the keep and the barracks. Unfortunately, there was no time right now for the rushes to be woven into mats that could then be sewn together to properly cover the barracks and great hall floors. That project would have to wait until later. But even having the rushes strewn loosely across the floors would insulate the sleeping clan members from the cold stone and give them a bit of cushion too. It would give them all a more comfortable sleep until they were further along in the repairs and rebuilding and could provide them proper accommodations.
Of course, having loose rushes just strewn around the floor would be a bit of a nuisance for the ladies with their long gowns. The material would catch at the rushes and drag them around a bit. But judging by the wide smile Claray was giving him, she didn’t care and was willing to put up with the nuisance of it to make their people more comfortable. Another reason to love his wife, he decided. She cared about her people more than her own convenience. He’d met a lady or two over the years who would not have troubled themselves to care. Aye. His parents had chosen well for him.
“Will ye tell me about yer mother?”
Conall pulled his gaze away from the men hacking down the rushes that had grown along the moat, and glanced to his wife.
Claray was seated on the end of one of the already full wagons and he frowned when he noticed that she seemed to be sorting some of the larger rushes into a separate pile.
“What are ye doin’, lass?” he asked, moving back to her side.
“Pickin’ out the ones that would make good rushlights,” she explained.
Conall’s eyebrows rose slightly. “There’s no need fer that. Yer mother sent a crate full o’ beeswax candles with the things she packed away. We should be good fer light fer quite a while.”
“And we’ll be good fer light fer longer still if we use rushlights as well,” she pointed out with a shrug. “Besides, we have a lot o’ fat left over from all the meat yer men have been catchin’, cleanin’ and cookin’ up. It’ll take little effort to render it into tallow, soak the rushes in it and make rushlights.”
Her words made him smile. Rushlights were generally thought of as fit more for peasants than nobility. Most ladies would not use them, preferring their candles as the status symbol they were. His wife wasn’t concerned about status apparently.
“So,” she said now, “what was yer mother like?”
“Why?” he asked, rather than answer.
Claray shrugged, not looking up from her work. “Yer aunt Annabel said she was a wonderful woman and mother. I was just curious as to what ye remember and if ye thought so too.”
“Aye, I do,” Conall admitted, his voice husky as he thought on the memories he had of his childhood before the poisonings. He had more now than he used to. Being here at Deagh Fhortan was stirring them back to life in his head. “She was a verra good mother. I’m sure she had days when she was angry or frustrated by some occurrence or another, but I only ever remember her smilin’ and laughin’.”
“What else do ye remember?” she asked when he paused, so Conall began to list things off.
“I remember she loved my da and me. I remember quiet nights with the three o’ us by the fire. I remember her takin’ me swimmin’ in the pond. I remember helpin’ her pick fruit in the orchard . . .” He paused briefly and then admitted, “She did the actual pickin’ and would hand me an apple or pear, and I’d carry it to the basket and set it in, then run back fer the next apple or pear.”
Conall smiled at that memory, and then chuckled and added, “And I remember she used to play a game o’ chase with me. She’d say she was the ticklin’ bandit, and she’d chase me about until she caught me and then she’d cuddle and tickle me until we were both breathless with laughin’.”
Claray stopped sorting and smiled at him. “She does sound lovely.”
Conall nodded, his gaze wandering back to the men. They hadn’t actually had to go far at all to find the rushes. They were growing all along the sides of the moat that surrounded Deagh Fhortan. The only reason they’d even needed to bring the wagons was to carry the rushes back. So, they’d walked out, following the wagons and then following them again each time the men cleared an area, and the wagons moved further along the moat.
“What was yer da like?”
That pulled his attention back to his wife, and Conall watched her work for a moment before answering. “I remember him as strong, and brave, and smart.”
“So . . . like you,” Claray said with a nod that suggested she wasn’t surprised.
Conall stilled at the words, and then smiled at the fact that she saw him that way, but said, “Nay. He was better than me. He loved me mother and me, and loved our people. He worked tirelessly from dawn to dusk and even later, making sure everyone had what they needed.”
“Ye do the same,” she pointed out solemnly.
“Aye, but he—” Conall frowned and hesitated, before finally saying, “He did no’ have a bitter bone in his body.”
“And ye do?” she asked, seeming surprised.
Conall’s mouth twisted, and he nodded. “I was very angry fer a lot o’ years. Bitterly so.”
Claray eyed him consideringly, and then shook her head. “Ye do no’ seem like that now.”
His eyebrows rose slightly, but then he considered her words. Conall supposed the bitterness and anger that had seemed almost to possess him at times when he was younger had mellowed over the years. Perhaps twelve years of warring had helped get it out of his system.
“And do ye no’ think that had yer da survived while yer mother and all the others died, he might have been bitter and angry too?”