“Each day?” She shook her head. “Takes weeks and weeks, laird.”
Disappointment brought a sigh from him. He'd hoped the issue was one of productivity, but perhaps it was simply a lack of resources. Yet, he needed to be sure.
The woman began counting on her fingers, her lips moving silently as she counseled with the ceiling, ending with a nod. “Akin to a hundred yards a month, then.” She put her hands on her hips and swung them back and forth as if very proud of that number. A hundred yards of cloth was nothing to scoff at, after all. And with just twelve or so women doing the work. Maybe a yard couldn't be completed in a week, but it was the end result that counted.
Flanders nodded in appreciation. “Ye work hard, all of ye.”
Her flush deepened, but this time with pride. “We do, laird.”
“Now, I’d like ye to look around the hall here and point out to me some samples of yer work. Some recent samples.”
She shook her head, her gaze sweeping the room. “Recent? Nay. Ye’ll not find our work here, other than hers.” She jerked a thumb toward Ailis.
“And why not?”
The old woman tilted her head in the chatelaine’s direction, her eyes suddenly hard. “That one trades it away.”
“Trades it, when we so clearly need it here?” He tried to hide his frustration and motioned for Ailis to approach. “Ye have a plausible reason for this?”
The woman fidgeted with the keys dangling from her hip. “I can get twice as much fabric if I trade it.”
“Twice as cheap, ye mean?”
“Aye. As ye say, everyoneworks, laird. No need for finery.”
“So ye trade for the coarser stuff.”
“Aye, but?—”
“Half as warm.”
“Aye, but?—”
“I notice ye don’t go lackin’.” Flanders’ gaze fell to the fine wool cote and over gown the woman wore, garments that would keep her warm through any Highland winter.
Ailis looked down at her attire, then back up at Flanders, horrified. “Aye, sir. But I do not wish to disgrace ye. Ye wouldn’t wish me greetin’ the King of Scotland in rags…”
“Not a soul that lives within Todlaw should wear rags!” He found himself on his feet again, wishing he could grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she repented. But that would invite the memory of James to whisper "barbarian" in his ear, and Flanders hated that. “We shall take everything we have on hand and trade it at Stirling, and purchase more besides." To the older woman he said, "As soon as we have the new cloth in hand, I will require ye and yer talented army to pause yer labors for a while to help cover the backs of every one of us before winter. And from this day forward, Todlaw wool will remain in Todlaw.”
Cheers erupted. Tears spilled down the woman's cheeks, and she straightened her back, standing taller than before.
“Mistress of the Loom, will a thousand yards do to start?”
A careful gasp escaped her. “A years' worth of work? Aye.”
“My thanks. Ye may be seated.” He pointed to a man on a front bench to give up his seat for her. Then he turned his attention to Dunstan, the Master of Beasts, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “I presume there is an equally lucrative arrangement for the animals?”
Dunstan’s brow furrowed. “Lucrative? I dinna ken what that means,” he said, glancing at the red-faced steward before nodding. “Laird Stephan pays handsomely for what we can part with.”
“Only the finest, no doubt.”
“Aye, he’s a picky man, to be sure.”
“Cattle?”
“Aye.”
“Sheep?”
