“Nay, I merely have a question about Eveline. She’s above stairs sleeping the sleep of the dead and I wondered what occurred today that would exhaust her so. What did the two of you do?”

Rorie sighed and pressed her lips together, her eyes completely giving away the fact that something was up.

“Rorie,” he said in a warning voice. “If you know something, you’d better speak up. You know I have no tolerance for such matters.”

“She’s resting because she’s been working tirelessly with the other women.”

Graeme frowned. “What?”

Rorie gave him an impatient look. “You cannot intervene, Graeme. ’Tis important to Eveline.”

“What is important? I vow, Rorie, you make me want to tear my own hair out at times. Explain what is about before I throttle you.”

“She asked me to take her to Nora so she could ask Nora to instruct her in the way of running the keep. She feels as though ’tis unfair of you to expect the clan to accept her when she’s done nothing to gain that acceptance.”

Graeme swore and shook his head. “She doesn’t have to work herself into the ground to prove herself. ’Tis foolishness. She is their mistress. ’Tis she who should be directing their work, not the other way around.”

Rorie nodded. “Aye, and ’tis the way it’ll be, but first she must learn and who better to instruct her than Nora? I stood there myself, Graeme. Nora agreed. Eveline was all smiles and quite happy with the accomplishment. Once I was sure all was well, I took my leave and retreated to Da’s chamber.”

“I saw her above stairs. She was clearly exhausted,” Graeme said in a grim voice. “I don’t like it.”

“She wants to fit in, Graeme,” Rorie said softly. “She wants it so much that she’ll do whatever it takes to achieve it. She wants a place in our clan, and this is how she feels she must accomplish it, whether you or I agree with her methods or not.”

“She should not have to prove anything,” Graeme said harshly.

“In that we are agreed. But Eveline does not feel that way. ’Tis important to her and so I’ll not gainsay her, nor should you. Allow her this, Graeme. What does it hurt?”

She had him there. If Eveline was happy and content, then what was there for him to say on the matter? It didn’t sit well with him that she felt she had to dirty her hands to gain the approval of the other women, but perhaps she was wiser than he.

He didn’t try to understand the workings of a woman’s mind. ’Twas a sure way for a man to remain permanently perplexed. And if Nora had indeed taken Eveline under her wing, it would bode well for her acceptance by the other women, because Nora was well thought of in the clan and her leadership role over the other women was well established.

“All right,” he conceded. “I’ll not step in or interfere in the matter. But I want you to watch closely, Rorie. If anything arises that I should know of, I expect you to bring it to my attention immediately.”

Rorie nodded her agreement.

“See that she has something to eat when she awakens. I’ll be taking a group of men hunting and won’t return until late.”

CHAPTER 29

Eveline was horrified when she awoke pressed soundly against Graeme’s body. It was obvious it was long past the sleeping hour and that she’d slept right through the rest of the afternoon and beyond the evening meal.

Her husband was sound asleep in their bed and his arms were wrapped tightly around her so that her body was perfectly aligned with his.

For a moment she sighed and hovered in that delicious state between sleep and wakefulness. It was likely close to the hour when the keep would start to come awake and begin the new day, but she was loath to move from her warm spot in her husband’s arms.

But she remembered Nora speaking the day before on when the women of the keep rose to make sure fires were set in the chambers and also the great hall, so that the chill would be taken from the rooms when the warriors began their day.

Regretfully, she eased from the warmth of her bed and quietly added wood to the hearth. There were no coals from the night before, so she had to use one of the half burned candles to add flame to wood.

Once a crackling blaze had begun and she was satisfied that her husband would wake to a fine fire, she smoothed the wrinkles from the dress she’d donned the evening before. Then she quickly pulled the rest of her hair around to braid it.

When she’d finished, she went below stairs in search of Nora or the other women. Stifling her yawn, she went into the kitchens to find Mary lighting a fire in the great hearth she used for cooking.

Eveline didn’t miss the surprise in Mary’s eyes when she looked up and saw Eveline. But it was quickly masked and she directed Eveline to set about the task of lighting a fire in the two hearths in the hall.

What she didn’t bother telling Eveline was how she was to bring the wood in for such a task. The fireplaces were huge and the logs they used were much larger than in the smaller hearths in the chambers.

Not about to let an insignificant detail such as that prevent her from performing her task, she went outside, shivering as she glanced at the predawn sky that was just starting to lighten ever so slightly in the east.

Her breath came out in a visible puff and the air felt damp and cold on her face.

As suspected, she found a large woodpile where larger logs were stacked against the back wall of the keep, just outside the door that exited the kitchen.

She managed to wrest one of the logs from its perch, and it tumbled to the ground at her feet. She pushed it upright and after realizing there was no way she could lift it, she set about rolling it on its edge.

When she arrived at the stone steps leading back into the keep, she frowned and stared at the log she held upright.

One step at a time. She didn’t have to lift it for long. Just enough to lug it up each step in turn until she reached the top.

Huffing from exertion, she strained to lift the log just enough that she could slide it onto the first step. For several moments she stood there huffing with exertion, and then she braced herself to pick it up to the next step. By the time she managed to make it to the top step, she’d been working for several minutes.

She propped it on the top step, leaning heavily on it as she eyed the stack of logs behind her. How would she ever manage to bring in enough to lay both fires in the hall by the time the men started trickling down to break their fast?

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to manage the task standing here whimpering about it, that much was certain.

Determined not to be made a fool of, she rolled the log toward the hearth, eased it down to the floor, and then went back for another.

After four more trips, she had enough wood to start the first fire. She was so exhausted and weary that her hands shook as she went to maneuver the wood into the pit. She had the first situated and was about to duck back for the next when a hand tapped her on the shoulder.

Startled, she reared back and took in the horrified expression of one of the younger soldiers. He looked so appalled that she frowned, not understanding what it was she’d done wrong.

“My lady, ’tis my duty to set the logs each morn. ’Tis no job for a lass of your size. Please, allow me to finish. I would not displease the laird by having his wife do such an arduous task. Your hands, my lady. They’re bleeding. Please go have one of the women tend to them.”

She glanced down in bewilderment to see that her hands were torn and bleeding from her struggle with the wood. Perhaps she’d misunderstood Mary, or she’d simply read the wrong words from her lips. She’d thought that it was her task to set the fires, but she was fiercely glad that she wouldn’t have to wrestle more wood into the hall. Her back ached horribly, and now that he’d drawn attention to her hands, they were starting to sting.

Graeme would be furious and the last thing she wanted was for the other members of her clan to see that she couldn’t even handle the task of bringing in wood without it tearing up her tender, dainty hands.

Her overtunic had sleeves long enough that they’d hide her hands. She hadn’t worn one over her underdress this morn, but she’d be certain to don it so that no one would see the damage she’d done to her palms and fingers.

For now, she had to find a place to wash in private. A glance outside told her the sun was already peeking over the horizon, which meant her husband would be making an appearance shortly.

She ducked out of the hall after thanking the young man who’d taken over the task of lighting the fires and then she headed toward the guard tower.

’Twas an inconvenience to have to go through a guard every time she wanted to walk down to the river, but she supposed she could appreciate Graeme’s dedication to the safety of his people.

She called up to the guard, sure she was bellowing since she put all her strength behind the call. He stuck his head out, frowned as though she were completely daft, and then shook his head.

A moment later, a rider appeared, looking none too pleased that he was to accompany Eveline outside the gate. He likely had to miss breaking his fast.

“I’m only going to the river to wash my hands,” she said to the rider. “There’s no reason for you to accompany me. The guard can see clear to the path I’m taking.”

The rider didn’t look impressed with her speech and he ignored her, riding forward and then looking at her expectantly.

Disgruntled with his rudeness, she took out, walking at a sedate pace across the dew dampened ground toward the river. There was a distinct chill to the air, but she enjoyed it, invigorated after the exhausting chore of wrestling with the logs for the fire.

Once she reached the bank where she’d taken her impromptu swim just days before, she knelt and stuck her hands into the chilly water.

Blood had already started to dry over the places where the skin was abraded and had broken. The water was a shock to the tender areas and she winced as she set about picking the splinters from the wounds.

It was then she noticed the blisters from the day before. Two had broken and weeped clear liquid, but there were still several tight pockets that hadn’t yet burst. She sighed, knowing that she’d likely added several more this morning.

As she rose, her stomach growled and then clenched into a knot that had her wavering unsteadily. She hadn’t supped the evening before and now she was late to break her fast. If she hurried, she might still be in time.

“Where the hell is my wife?” Graeme demanded, his voice booming over the hall.

One of his soldiers who was tending the fires looked uneasily in Graeme’s direction and Graeme latched onto that expression and strode forward.

“Have you seen your mistress this morning?”

Anton swallowed nervously. “Aye, Laird. She was …” He winced and then continued on in a rush. “She was bringing in logs for the fires in the hall. I stopped her, of course, and told her it was my duty to attend the fires. She seemed relieved, but then she hurried out and I haven’t seen her since.”

“She was doing what?” Graeme roared.

Anton flinched. “I could not believe it either. The lass had no business trying to lug in the wood, but she had five logs lined up for the first fire before I came into the hall.”

Graeme closed his eyes and shook his head. This was nonsense. Complete and utter nonsense and no matter what Rorie said or how valid her argument was, there was no way he was allowing this to continue.

He was prevented from demanding an accounting from every single woman in the keep when Eveline hurried in, her cheeks pale from the cold. Several tendrils of her hair had come loose from her braid and they framed her face. Despite her harried expression, she still managed to take Graeme’s breath away.

“Oh, good morn, Graeme,” she said breathlessly. She dipped a curtsy and then hurried on past him toward the table where food was already being served.

He blinked and swiveled so he could follow her progress across the room. She sat next to his chair and smiled at his brothers, who’d already taken their seats. Only Rorie was missing, but then the lass didn’t always come to break her fast with the others.

Before he left to go sit with her and his brothers, he turned back to Anton with a quick frown. “Do not allow this to happen again. You make certain she doesn’t try to carry wood inside this keep even if you have to stack it inside. She isn’t to light these fires.”

Anton nodded his agreement and Graeme left to go sit next to his wife.

She smiled brilliantly at him as he took his seat by her side. Despite her seeming cheer, he could see the dark smudges underneath her eyes and it made him angry all over again that she was working so hard to find acceptance and his clan was being ridiculously thickheaded in their resistance.

Who could possibly resist a smile such as hers? Furthermore, how could anyone spend even a moment in Eveline’s presence and think she was anything like her kin? The Armstrongs were a bloodthirsty, savage lot who thought nothing of killing others to suit their purposes. Eveline was a tenderhearted lass who didn’t have a mean bone in her body.