Page 50 of The Eagle

Not about to stand between three women and whatever they had planned, Stuart and Ewan motioned to the kitchen. “See about whatever is needed.”

The women bustled past them.

“Strange,” Stuart said when they’d returned to the largest room at the front of the house. “The women do not seem affected by the constable.”

“It could be they do not live in the village or have no reason to fear him.”

“The men did seem to fear him,” Stuart said.

His brother nodded.

They went outside to find men clearing brush from around the house, and one sat on a fallen tree forming makeshift brooms.

Ewan looked around and smiled. “I do believe ye will have a good place to live. I almost envy ye.”

Two men came through the trees with buckets of water and headed into the house. Ewan went to a wagon and returned with hammers. He motioned to the man making brooms. “See about cleaning out the hearths.”

Stuart decided his first task would be to build a ladder so he could make repairs to the roof.

And so, the work that would take them many weeks to complete had begun.

One morning Stuart woke ready to face the long list of tasks to be completed that day and realized with so many things requiring his attention every day he’d lost track of exactly what day it was.

Walking out of the bedchamber—he’d only moved into the day before—he went to the kitchen. There he found the sisters, Maisie and Grace, busily cooking a simple fare of eggs and porridge.

“The hens laid plenty of eggs,” Maisie said with excitement. “They have finally settled. We only took half of the eggs and put the others in a separate pen. Soon we’ll have plenty of chickens.”

Stuart settled into a small table that had been set up just outside the kitchen. The clearing of land to build corrals for the livestock had taken priority over the building of furniture, so the house still remained mostly bare.

First and last meal were the only time he sat and rested, the remainder of the time he had too many tasks to take breaks. This day however, he didn’t feel a need to hurry.

“Why are ye not scared of the constable? Some of the villagers seem to fear him?” Stuart asked the women.

The women exchanged looks, seeming to gauge what to say. Finally, Grace met his gaze as she slid him a bowl of porridge with a fried egg on top. “Torridon is a cruel sort, who takes glee in making people’s lives miserable. Since we’ve always lived away from the village, he hasn’t bothered us much.”

“Why do the people obey his every command then?” Stuart said taking a spoonful of food, blowing on it, and then eating it. It was quite delicious.

Maisie was first to reply. “Because the man has been smart about how he controls everyone. If he can’t get them through loans that require higher payments in return, he gets information about ’em they don’t want gettin’ out. And he also has himself a group of evil doers that follow his orders and threaten people who don’t obey him.”

“Those were the ones who came here the first day ye arrived,” Grace added.

Stuart nodded. “Aye, they seemed to obey his every command.”

It would be easy enough to rectify the situation. He had to get rid of the constable. Since Ewan was to depart the next day, he’d ask his brother to ride with him into the village to get a better idea of what the situation was.

The seaside village consisted of a scattering of cottages on hilly land. Most of the thatched roof homes faced the sea, a true testament to the people’s regard for where their livelihood came from. There were a few shops that had been lined up on a road that curved around an inlet. The rest were small homes. Several people milled about, some on foot, others urging slow mules to pull their wagons. In the water was a smattering of boats from which Stuart guessed men fished.

Altogether, he had to admit, it was a beautiful place. The salty air reminded him of home, and he wondered if he should have moved into the house closer to the village. Perhaps he would in the future. For now, he would have to ride the hour or so it took to see about the villagers.

When he rode past a small home, two barefoot children ran out and stared at him. Lifting tiny hands to block the sun from their eyes, their rounded eyes took in his horse.

“Are ye a warrior?” the lad asked his eyes moving from his face to the horse.

“I am Stuart Ross, I live near here,” he replied and smiled down at the child.

“I think ye is a warrior,” a young girl standing next to the boy insisted.

Stuart reached into his purse and pulled out a pair of coins tossing them to the delighted children, who picked them up and raced into the house.