“’Tis a ewe, laddie.”
“Nay, we cannae do that; we cannae take a sheep in. Ye were prepared to butcher it,” she added, lowering her voice so that Benet could not overhear her words.
“Truth is, I wasnae looking forward to that. My own fault. It was cast aside by its dam and none of the others wanted it so I got it for a pittance. Fattened it up a bit but the cursed thing is too friendly. Kept telling it it was for the pot but kept telling myself it needed just a wee bit more fattening up before I killed it.”
“Roberta! Maman! I am going to call her Roberta.”
She silently echoed the butcher’s mild curse. “How much is it worth?” she asked the man and he named a price so low, she frowned suspiciously at him. “I mean to pay ye the fair value.”
“I ken it, m’lady, but I am nay sure that ewe will be a good breeder for ye as the one it came from wasnae, but it will eat a lot and will need care, aye? Unless ye have a starving time at the keep, that ewe will be with ye until she dies of old age and I dinnae ken exactly how long that will be.”
Annys did not even want to think about that. She promised to send him the coin. Then she told him that he should make a list of his losses and damages and send her that information. While the butcher tied a rope around the lamb’s neck so that Benet could lead the animal back to the keep, Annys took one last look at the village. Due to the efforts of Harcourt and his men, no one had died or been seriously injured and the damage was far less than it could have been had they not been there to warn everyone and lend them aid. There was still a lot of work to be done now to get the village looking better and return homes to the ones waiting to get inside them again.
Harcourt slowly rode by as she and Benet walked back to the keep. Annys looked up at him, idly considering how handsome he looked astride his mount, and caught him grinning at her. He looked at Benet and then the lamb, then looked back at her and cocked one dark eyebrow. She thought wistfully on shaving it off his face while he slept.
“Look, Sir Harcourt,” Benet said, dragging his lamb forward so Harcourt could see it better. “The butcher gave me this lamb. ’Tis a girl lamb, ye ken. I am calling her Roberta.”
“A good name for a ewe. Dinnae ye think so, Lady MacQueen?”
“Dinnae ye have some hunting to do?”
He laughed, nodded, and rode away to join his men. Annys glared at his broad back and saw his shoulders shaking with laughter. She ached to throw something hard at that back but a quick glance to the side showed her that Benet was watching her. Sighing at the lost chance, she started walking again and had to smile at the way he walked and talked with his lamb.
Once in the bailey, Annys turned coward. She did not want to face Dunnie so she sent Benet and his lamb off to the man without her. A quick look around revealed there were plenty of men within the walls of the keep and they all took a moment to notice where the child was going.
By the time Annys got to her room, she had lost the humor of Benet’s wanting the lamb and the annoyance caused by Harcourt’s amusement over that. She shed her gown and washed away the stink of burning buildings. All the while her spirits sank lower and lower until she knew she was very close to sitting on the bed and wailing like a bairn.
Tugging on a clean gown, she poured herself a tankard of cider and went to sit on the bench in front of the window. It overlooked her gardens and could often lift her spirits. Annys was not sure they would this time as gardens were pretty to look at but they offered one no advice on how to save people or land. Seeing the destruction in the village, knowing how easily there could have been many people killed or scared by burns, she felt helpless.
She had to wonder if it was all worth it. It was just land, just a building, yet she was fighting for it as if she had no choice. There was a choice. She could hand it all over to Sir Adam, pack up her things, and find another place to live, something small but comfortable, something that would never draw the greedy eye of a man.
“Nay, Mary Two, ye must nay touch the flowers. They are Lady Annys’s and they are to look at and smell, nay to pick or play with.”
“They are verra bonnie. And they do smell verra nice. Like ye do, Mother.”
“Thank ye, love. Come let us sit here for a moment.”
Annys struggled to hear the words and leaned closer to the window. Below in her garden a young, large with-child woman walked with a little girl. The child looked to be about Benet’s age. She thought a moment and then realized she knew who these people were. Mary Two was what Dougal the weaver called his little girl because his wife was also named Mary. They had all come to the keep because their home had been badly damaged.