have, my lord," she addressed him formally and politely. "With your permission I would retire to my own chamber. This has been a long and difficult day for me after so many days of travel. I am very weary, and I would be alone to mourn my family. There is much new here to which I must accustom myself."
He nodded. "Aye, ye look tired," he admitted. "Go along then, Ellen."
"Good night then, my lord." She curtsied to him.
"Will ye nae bid me a good night?" Anice whined.
"No, I will not. You are his whore, and it does not behoove me even to acknowledge you, Anice.
I will not address you again." Then Ellen turned and walked from the hall.
"Will ye let her speak to me that way?" Anice raged at her lover.
"She‘s right," Balgair MacArthur said, and then he laughed heartily. "She hae spirit, does Ellen MacArthur." And he laughed again.
Ellen made her way from the hall, his laughter echoing in her ears. At least he had not chastised or scolded her for her speech to Anice. She climbed the narrow stone staircase to the second floor, where her chamber was located. The room was dusty. There was no fire in the small hearth. But before she might return downstairs to fetch a servant to aid her, the door to the chamber opened and several entered, led by Sorcha.
"Come wi‘ me, lassie, to the kitchens. Cook and I will see ye fed while yer chamber is put in order," Sorcha said, leading her back out into the hall. "It hae been a bad day for us, and I‘m sorry ye were greeted with cold and darkness here."
In the kitchens Ellen was seated at the long wooden table that was the heart of the place. Cook placed a full trencher before her and ladled rabbit stew into it. A slab of buttered bread was set next to the trencher, along with a polished wooden cup of watered wine. Ellen ate greedily, realizing that she hadn‘t eaten since morning on the trail. Her last meal of oatcakes and dried meat, she had thought. She spooned the hot stew into her mouth, almost burning her tongue in her eagerness. She drank several swallows of wine to save herself. When she had finished she thanked the cook, asking her, "May I take a bit of bread for the night? The rations were scant on our travels, and I‘m still hungry, but I fear to eat more right now lest I be sick."
The cook looked at the girl curiously, and then nodded. "Here, lassie," she said, handing her a round, freshly baked loaf.
"Thank you," Ellen replied, and, quickly tucking the bread beneath her skirts, she hurried from the kitchens.
Behind her the cook nodded to herself, and wiped a tear from her eye.
Upstairs Ellen found her room now in a most welcoming condition. A hot fire burned in the hearth. There was a basin on the table, and a large jug in the coals of the fire that would be filled with water. Her bed had been made, the heavy curtains now free of dust. Everything smelled fresh. And her saddlebag lay on a chair. Ellen poured some hot water into the basin and bathed herself as best as she could. What she really wanted was a tub, but that would have to come tomorrow. She needed a good night‘s rest, and she needed to think about how she was going to make her escape from Lochearn. There was no way she would ever marry Balgair MacArthur.
There was no way she would ever wed the man who had so callously slain her grandsire and her betrothed husband.
Ellen climbed into her bed. Thank heavens Peigi hadn‘t traveled with them. Suddenly she was sleepy. The bed was comfortable and familiar, the room warm with the fire. She sighed, and her eyes closed as she fell into an exhausted sleep. It was the sound of her bedchamber door creaking open that awakened her again with a start.
"Who is there?" she called out, and a shadow loomed up next to her bed.
"‘Tis me, my hinny," Balgair MacArthur said. His words were slurred slightly, for he was quite drunk, and he stumbled as he came toward her.
"You have entered the wrong bedchamber, my lord," Ellen said warily.
"Nay, I hae nae entered the
He nodded. "Aye, ye look tired," he admitted. "Go along then, Ellen."
"Good night then, my lord." She curtsied to him.
"Will ye nae bid me a good night?" Anice whined.
"No, I will not. You are his whore, and it does not behoove me even to acknowledge you, Anice.
I will not address you again." Then Ellen turned and walked from the hall.
"Will ye let her speak to me that way?" Anice raged at her lover.
"She‘s right," Balgair MacArthur said, and then he laughed heartily. "She hae spirit, does Ellen MacArthur." And he laughed again.
Ellen made her way from the hall, his laughter echoing in her ears. At least he had not chastised or scolded her for her speech to Anice. She climbed the narrow stone staircase to the second floor, where her chamber was located. The room was dusty. There was no fire in the small hearth. But before she might return downstairs to fetch a servant to aid her, the door to the chamber opened and several entered, led by Sorcha.
"Come wi‘ me, lassie, to the kitchens. Cook and I will see ye fed while yer chamber is put in order," Sorcha said, leading her back out into the hall. "It hae been a bad day for us, and I‘m sorry ye were greeted with cold and darkness here."
In the kitchens Ellen was seated at the long wooden table that was the heart of the place. Cook placed a full trencher before her and ladled rabbit stew into it. A slab of buttered bread was set next to the trencher, along with a polished wooden cup of watered wine. Ellen ate greedily, realizing that she hadn‘t eaten since morning on the trail. Her last meal of oatcakes and dried meat, she had thought. She spooned the hot stew into her mouth, almost burning her tongue in her eagerness. She drank several swallows of wine to save herself. When she had finished she thanked the cook, asking her, "May I take a bit of bread for the night? The rations were scant on our travels, and I‘m still hungry, but I fear to eat more right now lest I be sick."
The cook looked at the girl curiously, and then nodded. "Here, lassie," she said, handing her a round, freshly baked loaf.
"Thank you," Ellen replied, and, quickly tucking the bread beneath her skirts, she hurried from the kitchens.
Behind her the cook nodded to herself, and wiped a tear from her eye.
Upstairs Ellen found her room now in a most welcoming condition. A hot fire burned in the hearth. There was a basin on the table, and a large jug in the coals of the fire that would be filled with water. Her bed had been made, the heavy curtains now free of dust. Everything smelled fresh. And her saddlebag lay on a chair. Ellen poured some hot water into the basin and bathed herself as best as she could. What she really wanted was a tub, but that would have to come tomorrow. She needed a good night‘s rest, and she needed to think about how she was going to make her escape from Lochearn. There was no way she would ever marry Balgair MacArthur.
There was no way she would ever wed the man who had so callously slain her grandsire and her betrothed husband.
Ellen climbed into her bed. Thank heavens Peigi hadn‘t traveled with them. Suddenly she was sleepy. The bed was comfortable and familiar, the room warm with the fire. She sighed, and her eyes closed as she fell into an exhausted sleep. It was the sound of her bedchamber door creaking open that awakened her again with a start.
"Who is there?" she called out, and a shadow loomed up next to her bed.
"‘Tis me, my hinny," Balgair MacArthur said. His words were slurred slightly, for he was quite drunk, and he stumbled as he came toward her.
"You have entered the wrong bedchamber, my lord," Ellen said warily.
"Nay, I hae nae entered the
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