Watching them go, Iliana moved dispiritedly to the trestle table and dropped onto its bench with a sigh. She was definitely not having a good day.

The great hall had been empty when she had made her way down that morning. Determined to begin work on setting the castle to rights, Iliana had not bothered with breaking her fast, but had sent Ebba in search of servants. The maid had returned with Giorsal and three other women older than her own grandmother would have been were she still alive. Despite their elevated ages, they had gotten a great deal done that morning, but Iliana began to think that setting Dunbar keep to rights might very well kill her. ’Twas not the work so much. While she could not say she was used to the hard labor she had been performing that morning, she had certainly worked before. The real problem was the women, or at least their attitudes.

Iliana thought if she had to hear Lady Muireall’s name and how she used to run this keep one more time, she might very well kill herself. She had heard a great deal on Lady Agnes as well. Lady Muireall was apparently Lord Angus’s deceased wife. Lady Agnes was his mother. It seemed both women had been paragons of perfection. All she had heard the morning through was Lady Muireall this and Lady Agnes; or Black Agnes, as they tended to call her, that.

Lady Muireall had insisted the rushes be changed regularly in the future. Lady Muireall had whitewashed the walls every spring. Lady Muireall had thrown herself before her husband, taking an arrow and saving Laird Dunbar’s life by sacrificing her own. Black Agnes had kept the keep arights, raised seven children, and held off the English for six months while her husband was away.

It was pretty obvious to Iliana that her new people did not think she lived up to her predecessors’ standards. Not that anyone had refused any orders she had given. Not openly, at least. They had simply listened to what she had to say, then told her how Lady Muireall had done it and set about doing it that way. A couple of times she had nearly spat that if they were so versed on how the manor should be kept, why had they let it go to such ruin? But she had managed to restrain herself. So far.

“’Tis starting to shape up.”