Margaret climbed into the wagon and knelt beside Ian. "You look terrible," she told him bluntly. "I can see it's time you came home." She gave him a quick kiss and continued briskly. "But no matter, I'll set everything straight."
"Margaret . . ." Ian's finger reached out and touched her cheek. "Bonnie Margaret."
"Your illness must have affected your eyesight as well as your limbs," she said tartly. "For bonnie I certainly am not." She turned to Jane and demanded, "Who are you?"
"Jane Barnaby." She gestured to the two men on the front seat of the wagon. "Li Sung and John Kartauk."
"And why are you here?"
"Ruel sent—"
"Never mind, that explains everything," Margaret interrupted. "Ruel was ever cavorting around with the most peculiar people." Her gaze raked appraisingly over Li Sung before dismissing him and fastening on Kartauk. "How strong are you?"
Kartauk blinked. "Strong as a bull. Mighty as Hercules."
"One can usually discount three quarters of what braggarts say, but that may still be sufficient." She turned and called, "Jock!"
A small, burly man with a shock of red hair hurried down the steps.
She ordered Kartauk, "Get down from that seat and help Jock carry Ian up to his chamber." She scooted out of the wagon. "Jock, put him to bed while I go to the scullery and see what I can find for him to eat." She turned to Jane. "Come with me to the scullery and make yourself useful. We have only three servants to run this vast place, and now with four more mouths to feed I don't—"
Jane interjected quickly, "We won't be a burden to you."
"Speak for yourself," Kartauk said as he and Jock carefully eased Ian's stretcher from the wagon. "An artist is always the most precious of burdens, and it is the privilege of all to nurture and care for them."
"You dabble in paints?" Margaret asked.
Kartauk looked pained. "I do not dabble. I create for the ages. I'm a great goldsmith."
"Just so you're a strong goldsmith. I won't have you dropping Ian on the stairs." She turned to Li Sung. "Take the wagon to the stable and unharness those horses. Then come back to the scullery and I'll find something else for you to do."
"You're treating them like servants," Ian protested. "These are our guests, Margaret."
"Glenclaren can afford no guests who will not work for their bread." The gentleness with which she smoothed back his hair belied the harshness of her words. "Now hush, and let me have my way in this. I'll be up as soon as Jock gets you to bed and you've had a short rest." She turned and strode across the courtyard, demanding over her shoulder of Jane, "Coming?"
Jane hurried after her. "Coming."
"Wait." Margaret's gaze fastened on Sam, who was gamboling at Jane's heels. "The dog is yours?"
"Sam will be no trouble."
Margaret's stare shifted to Bedelia, who was following the wagon into the stable. "And the horse?"
"I couldn't leave her in Kasanpore."
"You'll have to get rid of both. We can't afford them," Margaret said flatly.
Jane drew a deep breath and said clearly, "No."
Margaret blinked. "No?"
"They stay. They belong to me and I'll take care of them."
"I see." Grudging respect flickered briefly across Margaret's face before she turned and entered the castle. "See that you do."
The scullery to which Margaret led her was drafty, as crumbling as the courtyard, and could have used a thorough cleaning.
Margaret intercepted Jane's critical glance and said, "I arrived only two days ago and cannot do everything. If it doesn't please you, clean it yourself."
"I didn't mean to—"
"Of course you did. Be honest with me. I have no time for polite mouthings."
Jane found herself smiling. "Then I'll give you none. Since you gave me no quarrel about Sam and Bedelia, I decided to hold my tongue, but the place is a pigsty. Li Sung and I will set to cleaning it as soon as he gets back from the stable."
"That's better." Margaret indicated a small gray-haired woman seated by a huge open fireplace peeling potatoes. "This is Mary Rhodes. Mary, this is Jane Barnaby. She came with Ian."
"Another mouth to feed," the woman said sourly. "It's not as if you didn't have enough to worry about."
"She'll earn her keep." Margaret strolled across the kitchen toward the fire. "And I'm not worried. It's foolish to worry about things you cannot help. Is the stew done?"
"After I add these potatoes."
"I'll finish here. You go and ready three more chambers."
"Three?"
"Three," Margaret repeated firmly. "And no grumbling. The Lord will provide."
"It's usually you who does the providing," Mary muttered as she handed Margaret her bowl of potatoes and knife and rose to her feet. "I've noticed he leaves you pretty much on your own." She moved toward the door. "Since I'll be nearby, I'll look in on your father too."
"You needn't bother." A sudden smile lit Margaret's face. "But thank you, Mary." Her smile faded as she turned back to Jane. "Dear God, Ian looked ill," she whispered. "Ruel wrote me, but I didn't expect . . ." She sat down in the chair Mary had vacated and quickly started peeling potatoes. "Is there no hope he will walk again?"
"The doctor thought not," Jane said gently.
"A doctor can be as much a fool as any other man. We will ignore him and do our best." She shifted her shoulders as if throwing off a burden, her gaze raking over Jane. "Why do you wear trousers? You look most strange."
Jane stiffened warily. No soft hands or fashionable bustle, but perhaps Margaret was not as different from those other women as Jane had thought. "These are the only clothes I possess. I'm sorry you don't find them appropriate."
Margaret scowled. "A woman should look like a woman. Men think too well of themselves as it is without our flattering them by trying to imitate them."
Jane gazed at her, stunned, then started to laugh. "I had no thought of imitating them. I worked beside men on the railroad and I found it practical to wear these clothes."
"Indeed? Perhaps you do have reason for those outlandish garments, but you should have sought a compromise." Sudden interest flared in Margaret's expression. "Railroad? I approve of women who do things. How did you come to work on a rail—" She stopped and shook her head. "You can tell me later. I must concentrate on what is important now. How long do you plan on staying here?"
"I promised Ruel I'd stay as long as Ian needs me."
Margaret's expression clouded. "And God knows how long that will be. He seems to need a great deal of help, and Glenclaren can use all the hands it can muster."
"That's what Ruel said."
"Really? I find that surprising. Glenclaren could crumble into dust for all Ruel cares."
"I understand most people care something for the place where they grew up."
Margaret looked at her in astonishment. "But he didn't grow up here. Annie had a small cottage on the other side of the glen."
"Annie?"
"Annie Cameron, Ruel's mother. Didn't you know Ruel was born on the wrong side of the blanket?"