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Gwyn walked into the kitchens in the predawn darkness looking for an occupation.

In her heart, she knew she urgently needed any task keeping her mind engaged and off all of the dreadful happenings of the recent times.

It had been nearly six months since they had laid her youngest brother to rest and still to this day, the air within the keep was stifling.

Sadly, this had nothing at all to do with the fact it was summertime.

"We be needing some bread on this morn, Alphina?"

Gwyn spoke of the chore she absently chose as she looked into the kindly, yet tired eyes of the kitchen maid.

She knew in her heart she had little eagerness to tend to the larder nor plan out the next day's meals as would have been expected of her.

Instead, she needed a chore that would strain her body and not test her mind overly much. At least for a time.

"Aye, my lady. Bread does need a'makin."

Gwyn understood it had not mattered whether she asked to make the bread or soup or to drop a load of cow dung right in the middle of the chamber.

Alphina would not dispute any task she would request. The elderly servant knew it was not for her to dictate the activities the laird's daughter chose to execute.

"The mutton is fresh, my lady, though it be from an aged beast and promised to be not nearly as tender as the veal from last eve. Shall I skewer it up for cooking over the fire or boil it in a stew?"

Gwyn really cared so very little, but answered her yet the same.

"If it is as you say, then a stew would be the wise choice."

As Gwyn mindlessly measured the flour into a large wooden bowl, she reflected upon how each day as of late much was the same.

Ever since that unspeakable moment of her brother's passing, life seemed to be stuck in this mournful state.

Instead, she wished for the prior times where family and clan reigned resiliently.

And happily. What seemed to be plaguing them now was this never ending pool of devastating grief and the whole of the holdings were reeling from it.

"Did ye hear it in the night, my lady?"

Gwyn looked up sharply fearing she had slept through her mother's mournful cries.

The memory of the Lady Morwenna's recent distinct wailings echoed throughout her mind.

They were so recognizable and so frequent as of late.

Oftentimes and throughout the night since her brother had been taken from them, she had heard her for endless hours.

Sadly, she had to admit she had not heard anything on that previous eve.

When Gwyn did not reply and looked at her with awkwardness, Alphina spoke.

"Last eve, it was our dear Anna. She give birth to twins an' one o' each.

While the wee lass appears to be doing well, the tiny lad…

he was just too small. Poor Anna! When she 'eard she had given her 'usband a son she was so relieved and very proud, that one.

But in that same breath when he was taken from her-"

When Alphina looked up into the stricken face of Gwyn, she continued hurriedly.

"Well, never you mind, my dear. Both she and her little lassie are resting peacefully now, and we must be thankful to God for that small concession."

While the successful news of any child being brought into their clan would normally extract great joy, Gwyn found it was a bitter reminder of yet another of life's harsh realities.

She closed her eyes as she roughly kneaded the dough and spoke up once again, hoping for a way to move her thoughts elsewhere.

"Has the Laird MacLaren come down yet to break his fast?"

"No, I 'ave not yet seen yer father on this morn, my lady. I think he was quite occupied late into the night and t'would not surprise me if he sleeps late."

Gwyn understood the Laird MacLaren spent every day tending to his clan and every other moment with his wife. His duty never ceased and when he was within the keep, he refused to leave his wife's care to another.

The laird had also pledged to keep her as calm as possible.

And safe. He had even taken the drastic measure when he was not near and when she was at her worse, to lock her into one of the windowless chamber rooms on the third floor.

That chamber had been cleared of all its furnishings and left with nothing more than a small pallet in the corner and a tiny table next to it.

And nothing in which she could harm herself.

While her father had never spoken of any such fears to Gwyn, it was obvious with his actions he would not discount her despondent state.

Nor what she may do to herself, given the chance.

Gwyn understood he was quite concerned she would do herself harm and was determined to not allow her any such chance.

It was not that anyone would blame her if she did, understanding all she had to bear was astounding. However, the church was very strict in its teachings and no one dared take the chance. So they resolved to do everything within their power to protect her. Even from herself.

Oftentimes Gwyn wondered how her mother had the strength to continue on each day and how she time and again put herself through another pregnancy.

The grief she held within herself for these last several years would tear the strongest of men apart.

Even still, her mother continued to profess her duty to produce a son and heir.

Gwyn heard an echo of laughter approaching from the hallway as two of the kitchen maids breached the doorway.

When they spied her, the one named Elspeth stopped abruptly and her shocked face was then replaced with a distraught stare.

She found this was nothing new and it had been this way for every day of these last several months.

"Oh, my lady! I did not know you were here! You are up early on this morn. I had not known-"

Gwyn despised those pitiful stares as if the death had come to them only the previous day. This, more than anything, pained her. She wondered why they could not move on and attempt to put the sadness behind them.

'Did the sun not usually shine once again even after the most devastating of storms?'

"Tis time, my lady."

Gwyn turned and looked up quickly and into the deliberate eyes of Lachlan who had unknowingly entered the kitchens behind her. She was the clan's healer and one she deemed as a treasured member of their household.

"The tea has been brewed and steeped and it is now ready for your mother. I have placed it upon the tray with the rest of the foodstuffs."

As Gwyn looked into the kindly eyes of Lachlan, she felt a warmth spread through her heart.

This one had been with the family since her father had been a young lad and was always a comforting sight.

She had devotedly tended their sicknesses and brought healing wherever she went.

She was wise and was loved for not only her skills, but for her compassion.

"Thank you, Lachlan. I will take this to mother."

Now, and as much as she would have liked to avoid it, she knew the hour was upon her and she would undertake the most difficult of all her daily duties.

While she would never refuse this obligation, this was the one responsibility that tugged the most at her heart.

It was time help prepare her mother for the day.

That was, of course, if the lady of the keep would allow it.

When Gwyn arrived with the offering on most morns, she would be greeted with more anger than she ever thought any one person could possess.

On any one of the days over these last few months, the Lady Morwenna would scream about everything from the dampness of the room to the blue of the sky, even though she could not see it from her windowless chamber.

On other days, her mother was meek and silent as a wee babe.

She would say little and even react less to her presence.

It was as if she were a lost and frightened child, unknowing of any of those around her.

These were the days Gwyn dreaded the most. During these times, she just seemed so forlorn and was so unreachable.

Gwyn could understand the outward anger, but her heart had no idea how to handle her silence.

As Gwyn carried the tray up the stairs and looked down the long darkened hallway of the third floor, she captured the gaze of Ennis.

He was the sentry who was always posted outside of the Lady Morwenna's door.

He was a devoted one who also was her mother's brother.

He was steadfast and loyal, and each day he stood as such for the entirety of the time until her father returned.

It was obvious his feelings ran deep for his laird and his sister and would entrust no one else with her care and protection.

"Good morn, Ennis. How are you on this fine day?"

The tall warrior smiled wryly back at Gwyn, understanding her question had nothing at all to do with him. This was her secret way to easily inquire regarding the mood of the lady of the keep without anyone near understanding the motive behind the asking.

"I have been quite peaceful, my lady. It has been a very tranquil morn, indeed."

Gwyn pierced her lips now dreading gaining access because it was sure to be a difficult day. With a resolute sigh, she pressed her shoulders backwards and moved confidently forward.

"Thank you, Ennis."