not help ye?”
The locksmith's eyebrows rose slightly. “What be it?” “What do ye think 'tis, ye bloody
fool! Tis the lock.” Gilley shrugged, unconcerned by the insult. “Looks more like a mouse
to me.” “Aye. A mouse.” Angus's voice sounded by his left shoulder.
Slumping in defeat,Duncanturned to peer at his father. “Whatdo ye want?”
Angus raised his eyebrows but smiled slightly despite his son's irritation. “I was lookin'
fer Gilley here.”
“Well, I'll leave ye to him then.”
“Nay, I'd ha'e a word with ye as well.”
WhenDuncanturned back questioningly, Angus gestured toward the men in the bailey. “Have ye
a man or two to spare this afternoon?”
“There may be one or two I could do without,” he admitted slowly. Ever since he had turned
nineteen his father had been giving him responsibility overDunbarkeep and its people. It
had started with a little here and a little there, adding more and more with each passing
year until now, he was pretty much in charge of all who served them. Unofficially.
Officially, his father was laird and had veto power over any decision Duncanmade until he
died. In reality, they worked serious decisions out between them, benefiting from Angus's
wisdom andDuncan's vigor and passion.
“Good, good. Send 'em up to the keep when ye be gettin' the chance then, hmm?” He smiled
at him cheerfully, then turned to Gilley. “Now, about those keys”
“What be ye needin' the men in the keep fer?”Duncaninterrupted suspiciously. He very
rarely saw his father so cheerful. The man had been solemn and grim most ofDuncan's life.
At least since his wife. Lady Muireall, had died. InDuncan's faint memories his mother had
been a bolt of sunshine that had made everyone around her happy... including her irascible
husband.
“ Tis not me. Tis yer wife,” his father told him easily. “She's made a start on cleanin'
up the great hall. She had the women throw out all the old rushes, then set 'em to
ascrubbin' the stone floor, and she'll need new rushes to”
“What the devil was wrong with the old rushes?”
Angus Dunbar raised his eyebrows in slight surprise at his son's show of temper. “Well,
lad, they have been there fer nigh on a year.”
“And would have lasted another year just fine. We always leave the rushes about fer a year
or two ere changin1'em.”
“Aye, 'tis true that we have let things go a bit”
“Let things go!”Duncanstared at him in disbelief, feeling suddenly betrayed at the mere
suggestion that his wife might actually have something to complain about.
“Aye.” Angus sighed. 'The truth is, son, yer mother wid never have put up with the keep
being in the state it has been in since 'er death. I fear I let it get so. I fair fell
apart when she died. Sank deep into sadness and never pulled meself back out. I neglected
the state of the keep and even me people"
“Now, me laird,” Gilley interrupted, but Angus waved him to silence.
"Say what ye will, Gilley, but 'tis true and well I ken it. I am no sayin' I did not keep
ye all safe. 'S truth, anger was about the only thing likely to get a rise from me. I
worked out much anger on many an enemy's
neck and chest with me sword. But when it came to the softer needs, I have not been here.
Even fer me own childien. Howbeit,“ he went on, when both men opened their mouths to
argue. ”Iliana is here now and wishes to set the place to rights... as yer mother did ere
her, and it fair warms me heart a bit. We are luck to have her."
Duncanwould have had a great deal of difficulty agreeing with that right then but kept his
opinion to himself as he turned away. “I'll send two men fer rushes, but no more.”
“Giorsal.”
“Aye, me lady?” Other than glancing over from where she stood, hands on hips, supervising
the women, who were on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor, the servant did not move
except to
The locksmith's eyebrows rose slightly. “What be it?” “What do ye think 'tis, ye bloody
fool! Tis the lock.” Gilley shrugged, unconcerned by the insult. “Looks more like a mouse
to me.” “Aye. A mouse.” Angus's voice sounded by his left shoulder.
Slumping in defeat,Duncanturned to peer at his father. “Whatdo ye want?”
Angus raised his eyebrows but smiled slightly despite his son's irritation. “I was lookin'
fer Gilley here.”
“Well, I'll leave ye to him then.”
“Nay, I'd ha'e a word with ye as well.”
WhenDuncanturned back questioningly, Angus gestured toward the men in the bailey. “Have ye
a man or two to spare this afternoon?”
“There may be one or two I could do without,” he admitted slowly. Ever since he had turned
nineteen his father had been giving him responsibility overDunbarkeep and its people. It
had started with a little here and a little there, adding more and more with each passing
year until now, he was pretty much in charge of all who served them. Unofficially.
Officially, his father was laird and had veto power over any decision Duncanmade until he
died. In reality, they worked serious decisions out between them, benefiting from Angus's
wisdom andDuncan's vigor and passion.
“Good, good. Send 'em up to the keep when ye be gettin' the chance then, hmm?” He smiled
at him cheerfully, then turned to Gilley. “Now, about those keys”
“What be ye needin' the men in the keep fer?”Duncaninterrupted suspiciously. He very
rarely saw his father so cheerful. The man had been solemn and grim most ofDuncan's life.
At least since his wife. Lady Muireall, had died. InDuncan's faint memories his mother had
been a bolt of sunshine that had made everyone around her happy... including her irascible
husband.
“ Tis not me. Tis yer wife,” his father told him easily. “She's made a start on cleanin'
up the great hall. She had the women throw out all the old rushes, then set 'em to
ascrubbin' the stone floor, and she'll need new rushes to”
“What the devil was wrong with the old rushes?”
Angus Dunbar raised his eyebrows in slight surprise at his son's show of temper. “Well,
lad, they have been there fer nigh on a year.”
“And would have lasted another year just fine. We always leave the rushes about fer a year
or two ere changin1'em.”
“Aye, 'tis true that we have let things go a bit”
“Let things go!”Duncanstared at him in disbelief, feeling suddenly betrayed at the mere
suggestion that his wife might actually have something to complain about.
“Aye.” Angus sighed. 'The truth is, son, yer mother wid never have put up with the keep
being in the state it has been in since 'er death. I fear I let it get so. I fair fell
apart when she died. Sank deep into sadness and never pulled meself back out. I neglected
the state of the keep and even me people"
“Now, me laird,” Gilley interrupted, but Angus waved him to silence.
"Say what ye will, Gilley, but 'tis true and well I ken it. I am no sayin' I did not keep
ye all safe. 'S truth, anger was about the only thing likely to get a rise from me. I
worked out much anger on many an enemy's
neck and chest with me sword. But when it came to the softer needs, I have not been here.
Even fer me own childien. Howbeit,“ he went on, when both men opened their mouths to
argue. ”Iliana is here now and wishes to set the place to rights... as yer mother did ere
her, and it fair warms me heart a bit. We are luck to have her."
Duncanwould have had a great deal of difficulty agreeing with that right then but kept his
opinion to himself as he turned away. “I'll send two men fer rushes, but no more.”
“Giorsal.”
“Aye, me lady?” Other than glancing over from where she stood, hands on hips, supervising
the women, who were on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor, the servant did not move
except to
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