Iliana glanced around at her maid’s attempt to cheer her. The old rushes had been removed and the floor swept; then the women had set to work scrubbing the stone slabs clean of the years of filth they bore, while she and Ebba saw to the removal of the tapestries and wall hangings so that the walls could be washed. She was almost sorry now that she had set her sights on whitewashing. ’Twas not that the walls did not need it, but one glance at the family shield and all the tapestries on the walls was enough to tell her that every single item in the room needed a good scrubbing.

Including the trestle tables and benches, she thought with a grimace as she shifted on her seat and her skirt showed some reluctance to move with her. No doubt she’d sat in a puddle of something or other, she thought with disgust and was grateful she had worn a plain, old, and frayed gown today. Still, she made a mental note to herself that, no matter whether the floor was finished today or not, she must attend to scrubbing the benches at least. She was unwilling to see another of her fine gowns ruined here.

Sighing and glancing around the room again, she considered all that must still be done. By the looks of it, the floor beneath the rushes had not been cleaned since Lady Muireall’s death, some twenty years ago. Once the rushes had been cleared away it was to reveal a multitude of clumps of various descriptions on the floor. Iliana did not even wish to guess at the source of the majority of them, but they were hard—almost petrified. They were also difficult to remove. That much had been obvious as she had watched the women work. There had been three of them scrubbing the floor for the better part of the morning. There would have been four had Giorsal seen her way clear to lending her own effort, but apparently her position here was merely to direct others. Not wishing to start a row on her first day at Dunbar, Iliana had said nothing about the woman’s lack of labor. But she intended to talk to Lord Angus and find out the woman’s exact position. She would also ask if it was possible to attain some more help. With only the three women working, even after the better part of the morning, not even a quarter of the floor had managed to get scrubbed. And the nooning meal was fast approaching.

“Come,” Ebba murmured, when her mistress sighed yet again. “’Tis not so bad. This room is starting to smell better at least.”