Gathering the soft, worn fingers in her own, Makenna leaned over and whispered in her ear, “What I most need is not a chambermaid, but your wisdom and feminine guidance. I am completely at a loss on any of those duties performed in the Pinnacle.”
“Aye, milady, I will help where I can,” Doreen cried, gathering Makenna in her arms, relieved there would be no residual enmity.
Pulling herself free, Makenna wiped a stray tear and said, “Now, then, let us go, and, Gannon, you can begin my long-awaited training on what it means to be Lady of Lochlen.”
Two days later, Makenna stood speechless inside the bake house. It was the same here as it was at every station she had been to. At first, she had thought it was her ignorance. She assumed things could not truly be as inefficient and mismanaged as they appeared. Yet her inquisitive nature would not let her mind rest.
She discovered the truth by accident while meeting Lochlen’s one remaining candle maker. “Are you terribly overworked, chandler?”
He stared at Makenna completely perplexed for several moments before answering. Despite his years of service to the Dunstans, he had only seen Lady Makenna at a distance and not very often at that.
A ruddy-faced man with a gray and brown beard, Amos permanently stooped regardless of whether he sat or stood. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You look like your father,” came his answer. “’Tis good that you do. I like women who have color in their hair and face, reminds me of my sweet Bessie.”
Gannon leaned over and whispered that Bessie was his late wife. Alexander had hired Amos upon her death ten years ago. Makenna squared her shoulders and replied, “Why, thank you, chandler. I have just recently begun to enjoy the features I inherited.”
“Call me Amos.”
“All right, Amos. How do you fare? Are you overworked since you are now alone?”
“Are you here to play a trick on me?”
“No…”
“Then I’m not sure what you’re asking. The others left over a year ago because there is not enough work here for one chandler, let alone three. That is why I work alone, milady.”
Makenna could feel her jaw slacken. “But not one candelabra in the castle has a full set of tapers. Most only have one or two.” Turning she looked directly at Doreen. “What about the villagers, do they have candles?”
“Aye, milady, the chandlers that used to work for Lochlen now labor in their cottages making tallow candles. Their wives are most unhappy. The smell and the hours they put in are long and hard.”
“Why are they not making the candles here? Gannon says this room was built for the craft. I am getting the same impression I did when we were speaking with the hoppers, the weavers, and the spinners. First, I hear the laundresses must wash on one side of the keep and carry the wet items to another to hang because someone didn’t like the unsightly view of the clothes drying. Only time-absorbing tapestries with elaborate designs are to be created, and now there are too many candle makers when there are not enough candles? What is going on?”
Gannon shifted and Doreen wrung her hands. Neither spoke.
Amos grunted. “I will tell you, milady. Compared with beeswax candles, tallow candles smell. They do not burn as long, and soot accumulates on the stones and tapestries around them. Your sister hated the odor and the residue, and wanted them out of the keep. Beeswax candles are not harder to make, milady, but finding the beeswax is. It is only because your father was a comparatively wealthy laird that we even had candles lighting Lochlen these two years. Lady Deirdre asked me to stay because I have a trick for smoothing the wax as it’s poured over the rushes so that the candles were all the same width and length. Such things were important to the poor lass.”
Makenna found a seat and sank down on its hard wooden surface. Poor lass, my foot. She knew Deirdre could sometimes be self-indulgent, but she was not mean-spirited. Yet Makenna did not doubt the truth of the chandler’s words. There had to be a better explanation that would clarify all of these decisions and demands.
And yet, with each new stop, Makenna heard a similar description of Deirdre’s interference at almost every station at Lochlen. The castle normally employed two bakers, and three during festivals and four when guests arrived. Now only a lead baker and an assistant remained. However, they were both close to quitting. For two years, they worked extraordinary hours to meet their quotas, but what Makenna was shocked to discover—it was so very unnecessary. Deirdre had enjoyed the view walking along the curtain walls above the bake house, but she had not enjoyed the smoke associated with bakery brick ovens. Consequently, she had ordered only one of the three hearths to be used at a time.
Makenna had always believed her beautiful frail older sister to be this great lady of the castle taking over seamlessly when her mother had passed. But, in reality, everyone—or at least those actually running the keep—knew Deirdre was a poor mistress. Her kind nature, whimsical smile, and fragile features had allowed her to perpetuate the illusion of order and peace.
“Fire all the hearths you need to, Dugan. And if you need more help, and know someone willing to work here at Lochlen, hire them. The people need their bread, but you must also be allowed the time to raise your sons. Gannon will see that you have what you need,” Makenna directed, and then turned to leave.
Caught off guard, the round baker stood in bewilderment as the fiery redhead exited. Just days ago, he was confronting a naïve woman who was unaware of how her actions—or lack of them—affected those around her. Though she still had much to learn, he knew that she could, and more important, would. Was it possible the old laird had been correct? Maybe the Highlander and Makenna were the right ones to restore the strength and prosperity the clan once knew.
Chapter Eight
Colin weaved his way through the rocky hills moving as quickly as possible. He personally needed to see the destruction before too much time passed. His men did not have the experience and skill needed to examine such a brutal attack. He could not take the chance they would overlook critical clues that could identify the perpetrators. Even if he did have such men, he might have ridden out anyway to let the families know they had his support.
“You have been quiet,” Drake observed once he and Colin were out of earshot from the rest of the men in their small group.
“I’m always quiet.”
“Aye, you are, but rarely do you brood, Laird.”
Colin briefly glanced at Drake out of the corner of his eye. He had a gift for detecting a man’s disposition. That and his skill with a multitude of weapons made him an excellent commander and a natural trainer of men. “My mind is on discovering the particulars of what we are to encounter. I thought your mind would be occupied on the same.”
Drake heaved a great sigh. “Alas, it is not. My thoughts have been on a sweet lass with golden freckles and hair the color of winter grass.”
“And who is this lucky woman?”
“Her name is Ceridwin. Not only is she bonnie, but she was most understanding when I told her that I might be gone for an unknown amount of time. She made me promise to be careful and she pledged to wait for me. You are looking at a man in love, Laird.”
Colin found Drake’s pleased look irritating. His commander was well known to the ladies and well liked. He never slept alone when he desired company. Dunlop once accused Drake of using tricks to convince women to do his bidding and warm his bed. Drake’s reply had been, “You just have to know how they think. And I do, thank the good Lord, I do.”
It was hard to tell if Drake was truly smitten or having fun. “Be careful, friend. Love can mock even the truest of hearts.” As the words tumbled out, Colin knew he had spoken more than he should have.