The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,7
visits to Da’s rooms last night alone. Poor Godfrey. He said he’s too old to be chasing off a bitch in heat. Replace him with younger guards. Maybe she’ll chase after one of them to warm her bed and leave Da alone.” Sorcha came to a halt. “On second thought, replace Godfrey with Raibie and Kiff. Neither of them will be tempted with the likes of that one.” She glanced around the large room, wishing she could simply order the unwanted guests packed up and carted off. With a conspiratorial nod, she lowered her voice. “I have no doubt those tonics the woman drinks are meant to get her with a bairn. I believe she’d lay with anyone in the keep to be able to claim Da as the father.”
“Hmm.” The housekeeper’s response spoke volumes. Mrs. Breckenridge was completely devoted to Chieftain Greyloch. “And yet Himself swears he never invited them here for a wee visit as they claimed he did?”
“Adamantly.” Sorcha continued inspecting the room, checking the table holding all the candlesticks the servants had cleaned and refilled for the evening.
Those of silver were meant for the head table and gleamed without a single fingerprint. The heavier iron candelabras were destined for the narrow side tables along the walls. Those had been scrubbed free of old wax drippings and oiled until they shone a lustrous black. The dark chandeliers hanging from above had also been cleaned and fitted with fresh beeswax candles. “I asked Da three times if he invited that cow and her son to come and visit. He swears on Mama’s tomb that he did not.”
“Then I believe Himself,” Mrs. Breckenridge said, loyalty ringing in her tone. “It was probably that old Raibert Pearsley. I dinna trust that man one whit. If there’s a loose woman to be found, Raibert Pearsley will find her, and ye ken as well as I how little store he places on a woman leading the clan. He’s been the most outspoken against any decisions ye’ve made.”
Sorcha agreed with Mrs. Breckenridge’s assessment completely. Raibert Pearsley was one of Clan Greyloch’s advisors and a likely suspect in trying to saddle her father with another wife in a bid to get him a son and a more acceptable heir than Sorcha—“a mere daughter” in the man’s own words. And the rest of the advisors, and Da, too, had spent far too many of their waking hours trying to marry Sorcha off to the highest bidder. Said they were doing it for the sake of the clan. She had lost count of how many offers she’d refused. Apparently, many in Clan Greyloch feared a woman’s leadership.
“Make certain all the advisors except for War Chief MacIlroy are aware that they are not to sit at the head table.” Sorcha eyed the layout of the room again, then pointed to one of the draftier corners. “Move a table for the advisors to that spot just below the window. With all their hot air, they’ll be plenty warm enough, I’m sure.”
“I shall see it done.” The housekeeper halted as they came even with the hearth closest to the archway leading to the kitchens. “Look at that! Still filthy as can be. Excuse me, m’lady. Apparently, it’s time I lit a fire under a few lazy slugabeds.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Breckenridge.” Sorcha had no doubt the housekeeper would have that hearth clean enough to eat a meal off of within an hour’s time.
“Sorcie!”
Sorcha turned, responding to the name her closest friends had called her since the three of them were wee bairns. Jenny Pratt, an orphaned lass Mama had taken in, the sister of Sorcha’s heart if not by blood, waved from the entry hall as she shrugged off her cloak and shook it out.
“The rain’s trying to turn to sleet again,” Jenny announced with a disgusted shiver. “Old Aderyn says we’ve got another big snow headed our way. Reckon she’s right?” The dark-haired girl brushed at the moisture beading up on her wool skirts. The cold had turned her nose and cheeks a bright scarlet that perfectly highlighted the deep blue of her eyes. “Have ye seen Heckie? I’ve nay been able to find him anywhere. He promised to sit with me at the meal tonight, but now I canna find him. Have ye any idea where he might be hiding? Ye know how I worry after him. Especially of late. I fear he might be having one of his spells. I have looked all over—”