“Take them to your father. We must offer them safety.”
She opened her mouth to state she knew what needed done, when he whacked her mare’s rump.
Rhiannon hung her mistress’ gown on the edge of the window. A cloth covered the stone sill, allowing her to air the gown for tonight’s supper and not dirty the material.
She fingered the velvet gown. It took her hours produce the color for her mistress. Glancing around her, she then snatched up the dress. Held the emerald material to her as if it was hers.
She sauntered to the polished bronze looking glass and admired her reflection. She did not see the lines on her face or the grey hair stretched tight into a bun underneath her head covering.
As if accepting a compliment, she bowed her head with a smile. She did not see her eyes grown cold from years of unhappiness and hatred. She returned the gown to the window. Longingly, she brushed her hands on the front of the gown. Velvet, soft like fur, but shorter. The color deepened as she stroked the material.
She stepped back. Her hand drew out the tattered envelope tied to the underside of her skirts. She kissed the broken seal. The seal of her clan, O’Neill.
Curse her husband Angus who sent her into the mist. So long she had waited.
Now in this letter she had her means of revenge, and the promise of enough gold to buy as many fancy gowns as she wished. Have her lord and lady kiss her feet.
For seventeen years she had been a servant here. When she arrived and told them of her plight, she wanted the Laird and Lady to rise up against her husband. The Laird refused and wanted her gone. His wife argued that it would be Christian to take her in. He agreed, only if she would become a slave. Rhiannon refused and left. No other clan would take her in. Swallowing her pride for the moment, she returned to take her place as a member of the lower class. But she knew one day she would have her revenge on her husband and the Liannons.
She recognized Angus’s sword when the child Kaireen returned. She had heard her mistress bemoan her reckless daughter many times, and Rhiannon had stoked the fire with her words to learn the details of the sword. Straightway, she sent a letter to the O’Neill keep—to the one family member who loved her, her son.
He shared her feelings regarding the laird, her husband. Rhiannon knew the laird did not know of his son’s hatred toward him.
Hatred she helped to fester and grow in the child’s mind. When Angus had discovered her secret, he had her banished, but only after his sons pleaded not to kill her.
“Never let him know how you truly feel about him,” she had whispered to the young boy as she hugged him.
Angus thought he had remedied the problem. But it was too late, her roots had taken hold.
• • •
After Elva’s treatment, Kaireen and Bram’s hands were healed from the fire. Since their hands had been treated and bandaged in the dark, neither saw how much damage was done. Elva told them to keep the bandages on for a full day and then they could take them off. Her hands had been red and tender when she removed the bandages. Even the cook and servants felt pity for her as they did not require as much manual labor from her.
Kaireen was pleased with her progress today from the previous night of kitchen work and the fire. She finished her duties in the kitchens. She had made mistakes, but pleased the cook with her idea of adding onions to the stew.
After the meal the second night, a few of the servants stayed to help her clean. Her punishment was one-third done. The worst was yet to come.
Rhiannon.
She could not recall one instance of her acting nice. Rhiannon made lye soap feel like heaven.
Kaireen plodded down the corridor to the lowest level of the keep. Gossip flew around concerning Bram and some type of blood eagle. Rumors ranged from beating one with eagles, to letting eagles eat a person’s flesh.
However, whatever it meant, the usual drunken manservant tonight did not have a drop of wine. He apologized to any woman he thought he may have bumped into. Sweat beaded his forehead and his eyes darted around as if the devil lurked to drag him away.
Kaireen smiled. She thought of Bram and his promise to always speak truth to her.
A blush swept over her as she remembered his other promises. Still, a part of her mind held a sliver of reluctance. Maybe this was a ruse as part of being a spy? Never had he given love as the reason for their marriage, only to obtain land.
Around the corner, Bram leaned against the wall.
Her breath caught in her throat. He wore a saffron tunic and hose. Cross gathers weaved round his legs and vanished into leather boots. His dimple made her flush. “I cannot stop thinking about you or our kisses.” He strode toward her.
But her feet stuck to the floor.
He reached for her and her rebellious body softened in his embrace.
His lips lowered to hers and she threw her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. What did it matter if they shared a few kisses? She still was not going to marry him anyway.
Aye, she remembered too well the feel of his lips upon hers. She did not care if anyone saw them. After the fire, she thought she might never see him again. She leaned into his arms; aware of the flutter in her chest which made her think she must have lost her breath or maybe the fire’s remains had yet to be purged from her lungs.
Thoughts were lost in his embrace. It was as though she had drunk too much wine and could think of nothing but him. Her lips wanted the deeper caress of his tongue dancing with hers. Warmth spread from her stomach down between her legs. She could not get close enough to him. The touch of his muscled body soothed away the aches in her bones like the bath that Elva had drawn for her before the fire.
His tongue teased hers until they danced, becoming one rhythm. He eased away from her, breathing heavily. “’Tis best saved for our wedding day. No more,
ek elska pik,
my
ástir
.”
She heard the Norse words, but did not understand their meaning. “Best to sate your needs elsewhere, for you will never have any lovemaking with me.” She whispered.
“I’ve had a few mistresses before.”
Her mind tormented her with images of his lips upon a buxom woman. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she cared at all.
“Leave me.” She straightened. “I will arrange for father to pay you for your troubles.”
“No.” His tone made her step back. “I will not stray from our bed with another. This I vow upon the Norns.”
She shook her head. “I will not marry you.”
“Aye, you will marry me. You will meet my needs and I, yours. I promise you I will not stray from your bed.”
Curse her. She knew men went through women like pigs rooting for truffles. Regardless if she had love in a marriage or not, she would not allow infidelity. “Pray you do not stray, for if you do I will shoot arrows into you and the wench together.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She spun on her heel at his laughter.
Kaireen flipped her auburn hair back and took the narrow steps to the dyeing area.
Candlelight flickered across the stone walls. Though the sun rose and lit most of the keep, this part of the dungeon was devoid of natural light.
As a child, her mother explained the necessity of women dyeing here. If an invading clan tried to breech the walls, or dig underneath, then the liquid in the dye barrels would ripple and alert the women.
Until now, Kaireen had not visited the place again, because Rhiannon spent most of her time here.
Following the stairs round a corner, a stink crawled forward and choked her. Smell of sour milk, rotten swine slop, and urine. Rhiannon must be oblivious to the stench, because this aroma crept around her wherever she went. But here the odors clashed into each other, each fighting for dominance.
Kaireen wrestled with the urge to vomit, and wished she could race upstairs. Any punishment, days in the stocks, years in the kitchens, were better than this.
Now Bram would not want to come near her-which in her mind would be a good thing. Already she had become too used to his presence; she needed distance to strengthen her resolve not to kiss him again. She worried this brief exposure to the dyes may haunt her months to come. No, she was not a quitter. She would take her punishment.
To ease her nausea, she took breaths with her mouth. But she tasted the tingle of stink upon her tongue. She set her resolve and moved forward. Rhiannon would not be kind, especially if she was late.
Inside, barrels were filled with crushed berries, sap, onion skins, and various leaves crammed into every open space.
Wool and linen hung from the ceiling drying. Vats of colored liquid cluttered the floors. Torches lined the walls, sending flickering light across the massive room. Servants scurried about, applying sap to pre-dyed fabric. She watched while others stirred bolts of fabric into the vats. These quarters spread three times the size of her bedchamber.
Kaireen was amazed that none of these ladies appeared bothered by the stench. Many of them nodded their heads in greeting. Younger ones dipped into half a curtsy.
Within seconds Rhiannon snapped her fingers and then everyone jerked back to their duties. She strode forward, her gaze shifting down her nose at Kaireen. Her grey hair was tied into her usual tight bun. She wore a stout black gown which made her pale skin look like a shallow frame hiding bones.
“You are late. I will request your lord father and mother increase your punishment.” She glared at Kaireen. “They have been too lenient on you. Long ago they should have sent you to the convent, or placed under my authority.” Her dark eyes twinkled as if a secret existed somewhere in their depths.
Rhiannon strolled away and whistled for Kaireen to follow as though she called a dog. She pointed to the mordant barrels. These held alum, alder wood, and burnt seaweed. “These are applied to the fabric
before
placing it into the dye vats.” Huge bolts of woven material of wool, linen, and others were piled high in sections.
Kaireen locked her arms to her sides in order not to strangle this woman. How dare she speak to her with an arrogant tone. “Why?” she asked with as much loathing as she dared.
“Why?” Rhiannon looked back at her with an eyebrow raised. “To help the dye stay on the material, of course. Then the fabric is cut and sewn into garments.”
With giggles echoing from some of the women, she then pointed out the dyes of the room: vats of nettle for green and brown colors. Saffron for golds, silver birch for browns, onion skins for oranges or browns, and woad for blues.
Rhiannon stopped between a vat of crushed privet berries and a barrel of alum.
“Take that bolt there.” She pointed to a stack of linen and wool. “Rub every inch of it with this alum and salt. Rachel?”
At her word, a plump girl with yellow braids waddled forward, carrying a cup full of salt. Rhiannon rolled her eyes at the servant’s clumsy curtsy, which nearly toppled the girl on her face.
“Let them set with the mordant for an hour. You may help the others while you wait. Cook will send food by noon. Plunge the bolt in the privet berries, and stir so the color distributes equally.” She stomped away.
Kaireen wrinkled her nose and picked a length of wool. She used her hands to spread the alum mixed with salt. The sticky alum with gritty salt stuck underneath her nails. Soon her palms were raw from scrubbing.
Rachel, who brought the salt, gestured with her chubby hands how to spread the mixture evenly. Red colored her cheeks as she grinned at Kaireen’s words of thanks.
Rhiannon paraded around, shouting orders and insults at the other workers. Never did she insult Kaireen, but she held her assaults on the tip of her tongue. Her tone cutting her words as if slapping. “I do not think you have the skill for this, Kaireen. We will be happy to have passed your last hour with us.”
At noon, Kaireen bit a piece of meat from a chicken leg. After cleaning her hands three times, she felt as though she still had salt underneath her nails.
Through the fabrics scattered across the quarters, she glared at Rhiannon. She smiled at the vision of dunking the woman into the foul smelling vat of woad.
After they finished eating, everyone went back to their chores. Kaireen assisted Rachel to smear burnt seaweed onto a wool mound of wool as preparation for the dye.
Soon, her bolts would be ready to dye. She bent her head to tell the young girl goodbye, when Rhiannon bellowed her name.
She cringed, but then schooled her face. “Aye?” She stopped at the woman’s glare.
“What are you doing?” She looked as if she had eaten an old egg. “’Tis past time you dyed your pile of fabric instead of talking.”
Snickering rose from the corners of the room. But when Rhiannon looked, with a smile, none of the servants gave any clue as to who had laughed. Her smile faltered as she glared back at Kaireen. “No doubt you’re spreading your empty headedness with talk of jewels and spoiled pampering.”
She clenched her fists. Rhiannon watched her, waited for her to err, and humiliate her for it. She bent, gathering the sticky fabric and then dumping them into the vat.
Kaireen grabbed the long handle of a paddle, hitting the sides of the vat as she stirred the liquid.
She forced the fabric down, not allowing them to float to the surface. She would show Rhiannon. Hers would color better than anyone’s.
Half an hour later, women crept by, murmuring to Kaireen that the dye was done. But she refused to listen, her green eyes locked on the grey bun yards in front of her.
Her arms were numb from stirring, but she would not stop. She would not give the woman the satisfaction of her failure. If a few minutes were called for to soak the linen, then more time would make the color better, she reasoned.
Evening approached and Rhiannon examined each of their work. She stopped at her vat and tsked. “My, my.” She held her hand for the oar.
Kaireen handed it to her. Though Rhiannon smiled, her smile sent shivers down Kaireen’s spine.
“This will not do. You need to smear oak galls into this now. I am afraid this will take you into the night until you may go.”