The Marriage Contract (Marriage #3) - Cathy Maxwell Page 0,18

was to be docile. Years of being the poor relation had taught her to be cannier than she’d just been with Aidan. Now she would have to make up for lost ground.

At the foot of the stairs, Norval picked up a candle from the bits and pieces lying on a rude table and lit it off a wall torch. She slid a glance at her husband. Aidan stared into the fire, frowning. “Goodnight,” she said softly.

He stiffened but didn’t answer.

Following Norval up the stairs, Anne learned why the great hall had not been cleaned. The man was too old to be doing any chores.

“Are there maids that can be hired for service around here?” she asked.

“Hmmm?” Norval stopped on the stairs and made a full turn to face her. “I beg pardon, lass? Did you say something?” He cupped his ear, his accent so thick she could barely understand it.

She raised her voice. “Maids! Are there maids who could work here?”

“Mates? Do you mean breeding?”

While she tried to decipher what he’d said, he answered, “We breed sheep and horses. The laird has a fine hand at breeding.” Or so she thought that was what he’d said.

Nor was she ready to discuss Aidan’s breeding capabilities.

Fortunately, they had come to the top of the stairs where a long, narrow hall led off of the main building. There were a number of doors on either side. Following him, Anne overheard him mutter, “Guest room…guest room,” as if he wasn’t sure which one it was.

In fact, he almost walked by the room before recognizing it. “Och, this be the guest room…I believe?” Confused, he looked to her for confirmation.

Anne nodded. What else could she do? But she also seized opportunity and asked, “Which room is the laird’s?”

Norval knew which room it was. “The one at the end of the hall. It’s the biggest in the whole castle and a fine room it is,” he confided, as he reached for the door handle. Unfortunately, he missed and almost toppled to the ground.

She caught him and received a good whiff of his breath for her trouble. He was drunk.

But of course.

He fit the ambiance of Kelwin to perfection.

She shook her head. Aidan needed a wife for no other reason than to organize his household. “Have you been in the laird’s service long?”

“All my life,” Norval allowed. “I was born in the castle and have never been anywhere else.” She had to turn her head, unable to stand his breath this close.

She reached for the handle. “I’ll open the door.”

“Thank you, Princess Anne.”

She frowned at his use of Aidan’s sarcastic title. He stared at her, the picture of innocence. She took the candle stub from his hand before he burned himself as well. It was made of tallow and not of good quality. Her father had been a country doctor, a satisfying but not monetarily rewarding life. She remembered a happy childhood that included hours helping her mother make candles and soap. It appeared as if she would be doing quite a bit of both at Kelwin.

The room was dark. The slits of windows barely let in enough moonlight to matter. Anne held the candle high, Hugh’s sack tucked under her arm. The thin light highlighted the foot rail of a bed and reflected in the dusty mirror hanging over a wash basin on the opposite wall. She set her bag down beside the basin.

“Norval, please set a fire in the hearth,” she shouted, to ensure he heard correctly.

“Och, the night is too mild for a fire.”

“But you have one downstairs.”

“I don’t need to scratch my ears.”

Anne stood nose-to-nose with him. Her patience was at an end. She didn’t even bother to shout, but spoke slowly through clenched teeth so the words would permeate his ale-soaked brain. “You hear better than you pretend. I know what tricks servants play.”

He suddenly heard very well. “The hour is too late to go fetch peat, my lady, and I’m an old man who needs his sleep,” he wheedled.

“Or to sleep it off,” she countered. “Do you treat Lord Tiebauld this way?”

The servant almost lost his teeth over the audacity of such a question. “I serve the laird well.”

“Does he have a fire in his grate?”

“Every night. There’s a bath waiting, too.” He lowered his voice, “The laird’s a bit queer that way. He likes to bathe every day, even on the coldest.”

Anne made a face to give the impression she shared Norval’s concerns, but inside, she was deeply reassured about