Highland Wolf (Highland Brides #10)(75)
“But,” she added with a small frown that brought his gaze sharply to hers, “the floor is so barren. There should be rush mats.”
“There will be eventually,” he assured her.
His reassurances did not displace her frown though, and she said, “Husband, now we’re in a bed in our own chamber, ye may forget what ’tis like to sleep on cold stone at night, but I ha’e no’. I woke up every mornin’ feelin’ old and sore from the cold leachin’ into me bones.”
Conall felt his eyebrows draw together at her words as his gaze slid over the stone floor. Right now, the great hall was empty except for where they and their guards sat at the trestle table, but tonight the tables would be broken down and leaned against the walls, and the floor would be covered with bodies as their people tried to get some rest after a long day of hard work. And that, unfortunately, would continue for a while. Once the barracks were done, some of the men would move into it, but they too would be stuck on stone floor until beds could be made for them. The great hall would remain full of sleeping people at night until the MacKay soldiers left and cottages could be built for the families who wished to sleep outside the wall on farms, or in the village that he hoped would eventually be rebuilt.
“Surely our people deserve at least rush mats,” Claray said softly. “Or even just rushes strewn about to soften the floor and protect them from the cold stone?”
Conall frowned at her words. He agreed with her wholeheartedly that their people deserved it. The problem was how to do it?
“Ye’re absolutely right, sweeting,” he agreed. “But how do we manage the task? Half the women are cleanin’ the barracks so the soldiers now in the bailey have protection from the rain while they sleep, and the other half are finishin’ the work ye started in the gardens. Both tasks are too important to put off for the women to gather rushes.”
“Then assign some men to the task,” she suggested. “If ye took two dozen men and the wagons me da sent to pile it in, it should no’ take long. And I could oversee them meself, show them the best rushes to gather and such.”
Her words made his frown deepen. It wasn’t that he minded setting men to the task, though he hadn’t thought of that himself. And the truth was, with so many men here, he could manage without two or even three dozen men for an afternoon, but—“I do no’ like the idea o’ ye leavin’ the safety o’ the curtain walls.”
Her lips twitched with amusement. “Husband, we’ve had arrows shot at us twice, hittin’ me once, both inside the safety o’ the curtain walls,” she pointed out. “Besides, I would ha’e two dozen men with me, and me guard.”
“And me,” he announced, making up his mind. They would go out that very afternoon and gather enough rushes for the floors of the keep and the barracks. Unfortunately, there was no time right now for the rushes to be woven into mats that could then be sewn together to properly cover the barracks and great hall floors. That project would have to wait until later. But even having the rushes strewn loosely across the floors would insulate the sleeping clan members from the cold stone and give them a bit of cushion too. It would give them all a more comfortable sleep until they were further along in the repairs and rebuilding and could provide them proper accommodations.
Of course, having loose rushes just strewn around the floor would be a bit of a nuisance for the ladies with their long gowns. The material would catch at the rushes and drag them around a bit. But judging by the wide smile Claray was giving him, she didn’t care and was willing to put up with the nuisance of it to make their people more comfortable. Another reason to love his wife, he decided. She cared about her people more than her own convenience. He’d met a lady or two over the years who would not have troubled themselves to care. Aye. His parents had chosen well for him.
“Will ye tell me about yer mother?”
Conall pulled his gaze away from the men hacking down the rushes that had grown along the moat, and glanced to his wife.
Claray was seated on the end of one of the already full wagons and he frowned when he noticed that she seemed to be sorting some of the larger rushes into a separate pile.
“What are ye doin’, lass?” he asked, moving back to her side.
“Pickin’ out the ones that would make good rushlights,” she explained.
Conall’s eyebrows rose slightly. “There’s no need fer that. Yer mother sent a crate full o’ beeswax candles with the things she packed away. We should be good fer light fer quite a while.”
“And we’ll be good fer light fer longer still if we use rushlights as well,” she pointed out with a shrug. “Besides, we have a lot o’ fat left over from all the meat yer men have been catchin’, cleanin’ and cookin’ up. It’ll take little effort to render it into tallow, soak the rushes in it and make rushlights.”
Her words made him smile. Rushlights were generally thought of as fit more for peasants than nobility. Most ladies would not use them, preferring their candles as the status symbol they were. His wife wasn’t concerned about status apparently.
“So,” she said now, “what was yer mother like?”
“Why?” he asked, rather than answer.
Claray shrugged, not looking up from her work. “Yer aunt Annabel said she was a wonderful woman and mother. I was just curious as to what ye remember and if ye thought so too.”