by Mary Morgan
John shifted slightly. “May I inquire how long ye will be gone?”
“Depends on the weather. I am now forced to leave today.” His voice grated harshly. “I pray to make the journey in two days.”
“God’s blood! Only two days?” asked Gordon upon entering Cormac’s chambers. “Ye do ken the path is thick with snow?”
Cormac approached his friend and smacked him hard on the back. “Aye, and ye shall be traveling with me.”
Gordon let out a curse.
“I knew ye would be pleased.” Cormac laughed. “Go make ready the horses, and inform Tiernan to prepare another horse. I dinnae ken if the woman owns one.”
“Aye,” grumbled Gordon strolling out of the chamber.
“Is there anything else?” inquired John.
Cormac waved him off. “Only a prayer for our safe return.”
John smiled. “Done, my laird.”
No sooner did John leave than Wallace entered. “The lass has stopped wailing, and is settled on the kitchen bench with furs.”
Cormac poured ale into two cups, and handed one to Wallace. “No doubt ordering all within hearing.”
“Between fits of sobbing,” the guard replied. “Is there no way we can persuade Moira to return to the kitchens?”
“Her injuries are more severe.” Cormac pointed a finger at the man. “And not one word of this latest skirmish to her.”
Wallace gazed at him over the rim of his mug. “Too late.”
“The woman has ears everywhere,” snapped Cormac. He drank deeply, regret heavy at leaving the warmth and comfort of his home. “Make ready. We leave within the hour. Ye will be coming, as well.”
Wallace choked on his ale. “Aye.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he handed the mug back to Cormac.
Setting both mugs down, he gathered his items off the chair, gave Fergus one last ruffle across his head, and walked out of his chambers.
Making his way along the corridor, he paused outside Moira’s chamber. The woman was issuing orders in a loud, demanding voice to one of his guards. Cormac shoved a fist against his mouth when he heard the guard let out a groan, which resulted in another barb from the woman. Good, he mused. His men had better learn to heed her demands, or lest she would leave and never return.
“Gods and Goddesses help us on that day,” he whispered. Shaking his head, he crept silently down the stairs.
Upon stepping into the kitchens, he saw Ina sobbing quietly as John held her quaking body. The man lifted his head at Cormac’s approach.
Cormac raised an eyebrow. Have ye gone soft for the lass? He fought the smile forming on his lips.
John shrugged and stepped away.
“If ye are in pain, Ina, ye may retire to your chamber. I have nae wish to make ye suffer,” said Cormac.
The lass dabbed at her face with her shawl. “Och, nae, sir. If Sir John can aid with the meals, I am sure I will make do.”
Cormac nodded. “Good. Dinnae forget to heed Moira’s counsel, too.”
“Aye. Of course.”
“If I may have a word with ye, Sir John.” Cormac motioned to the corridor outside the kitchens.
John coughed into his hand to hide his embarrassment and quickly followed. “Before ye say anything, I never told the lass to call me thus.”
Chuckling, Cormac handed his satchel to the man. “I can tell the lass will be well tended to. Since ye are now part of the kitchen staff, fill this with dried meat, cheese, bread, and anything else ye deem we require on our journey. Enough for three. I will await ye in the stables.”
“Aye.”
When Cormac stepped outside, the cold, brittle air slapped at his face. Refusing to let the elements hinder him, he trudged onward to the stables. When he entered, Wallace and Gordon were standing to the side, each ready to depart.
Tiernan, his stable master, approached. “Ye tempt the Gods by making this journey in foul weather.”
“And what would ye suggest?” demanded Cormac taking the reins of his horse.
“Learn to cook.”
Hearing the laughter from his two men, Cormac glared at them. Turning his attention back to his stable master, he placed his fists on his hips. “Humph! Ye are always uttering foolish babble.”
“The men would surely starve,” stated Gordon.
“Or ye would set fire to the kitchens,” added Wallace.
“Exactly my point,” agreed Cormac. “Offer your prayers for our safe return.”
Tiernan smacked Cormac’s horse on the rump. “I shall make ones for the animals, since the weather is a hardship on their bodies.”
“Ye wound me,” teased Cormac. “I have always been good to Fingal.” However, he expected nothing less from the man who loved his horses more than his laird.
“And it won’t be the last of my prayers to the animals,” protested Tiernan and ambled to the back of the stables.
John soon approached with the satchel. “I added some apples and meat pies.”
“Save the apples for the horses,” shouted Tiernan.
Cormac secured the satchel on his horse. “Nae fear. I will tend to them myself.”
“Safe journey,” replied John.
As the men mounted their horses, they slowly made their way through the bailey and gatehouse. The guards nodded at their passing and a settling of unease slipped within Cormac. Crossing the bridge, he glanced over his shoulder at his home.
Gordon approached by his side. “What is it?”
He frowned, unable to account for the man’s question. How many times had he ridden out of his home? From battles to visiting friends—it was always the same. He left and returned. Naught changed. Now, Cormac deemed he was standing on the edge of something he could nae fathom and this bothered him. Not prone to visions or such like his good friends, the Dragon Knights, he almost wished for their counsel. Were the Fae speaking to him? If so, why would they?
Nae. Foolish thoughts. Ye are the one getting soft with age. Aye, that’s what Angus MacKay would tell him.
Turning back around, Cormac gave a reassuring smile to Gordon, and waved the man onward.
Yet, with each stride taking them further away from Creag, Cormac could not rid himself of the feeling that something waited for him.
Casting his gaze upward, he sighed. “Watch over our journey, Gods and Goddesses.” Touching the silver torc around his neck, he added, “As the Yule draws near, I have always honored the light ye bring. Let ye bring forth a new one, as well.”
When a shaft of sunlight pierced through the thick gray clouds, Cormac smiled, knowing the Fae had heard his prayer.
Chapter Four
“Always make sure to leave the Good Folk cookies and milk for the seeds of love they spread on your path.”
Climbing the stairs to her apartment building, Eve fumbled for her keys. Though the hour was late, she needed to check in on her neighbor, Mrs. Wilson. The long bus ride home took a toll on her nerves—ones that were already a wreck. She wanted nothing more than to climb into her bed and sleep for days.
Grumbling a curse, she got inside and slammed the door shut on the wet fog. As she made her way to the stairs, she noticed the sign on the elevator. “It’s fixed,” she uttered in astonishment. No matter how many times she placed a call to the property owner, the blasted thing had remained broken for over a year.
Opening the gate, she slipped inside and pulled it shut. “This better not be a joke.” Pushing the button to the fifth floor, Eve held her breath.
In one smooth move, the elevator rose.
“Hallelujah!” she shrieked gleefully. “I will never take you for granted again.”
The doors opened silently, and Eve blew a kiss at the contraption before making her way down the hallway. Halting in front of Mrs. Wilson’s door, she could hear music playing inside. “Are you listening to Irish music again?” she uttered softly. Smiling, she knocked on the door.
A beaming Mrs. Wilson greeted Eve. “Come on inside. It’s good to see
you this evening, but you shouldn’t have bothered. I know you had a long day.” The older lady led her to one of the oversized chairs. “Let me turn down the music.”
Eve slumped down on the soft cushions and dropped her purse. The room smelled of lemon, spices, and yeast, infusing her tired soul.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?” Mrs. Wilson wandered away without giving Eve a chance to reply. “I’ve been baking all afternoon—from cookies to bread. You’ll never guess what happened today.”
Suddenly, Eve bolted upright from the chair. “It’s warm in your apartment.”
“Lovely, isn’t it?” shouted Mrs. Wilson from the kitchen.
Eve removed her scarf and went to the radiator. Glorious heat poured out, and she warmed her hands in the warm air. “About bloody time the owner took care of you,” she said.
“You mean new owners,” corrected Mrs. Wilson bringing a tray loaded with plates and goodies. Setting it down on the trunk, she returned to the kitchen.
“Yes! Woohoo!” Eve fist pumped the air, happy with the good news.
Mrs. Wilson strolled back into the room with a steaming pot of tea. “My sentiments, as well.”
Eve waited until her friend was settled, then she picked up a lemon cookie. “These are my favorite.” Taking a bite, she savored the sugary treat. “I can’t believe this all happened today. You must tell me everything.”
Pouring tea into their cups, the woman laughed. “Not until you tell me what happened at the contest.”
Wiping the crumbs from her face, Eve picked up her cup. “Well…”
“Eve Brannigan, don’t keep an old woman waiting.”
“I won,” she said, smiling over the rim of her cup.
“Bless my soul,” gasped Mrs. Wilson. “What a day for wonderful gifts.”
“I believe it was my bread, though they really loved the eggnog scones.”
“You soaked the pecans like I suggested?”
“Sure did. Enough to coat and then dipped them in sugar.” Eve sipped her tea and reached for another cookie.
“They should put your bread on the menu at the bakery,” added Mrs. Wilson.
“I’m sure Helen will have something to say about any additional food items.”
Mrs. Wilson removed her apron. “That woman doesn’t know she has a gem right before her eyes.”
“Gem?” asked Eve between bites of her cookie.
“You. The bakery has doubled its business since she hired you.”
Eve waved off her praise. “That woman purely sees dollars not the people. Now tell me all about the new owners.”
Chuckling, Mrs. Wilson refilled Eve’s teacup. She settled back in her chair. “Took me by surprise when I heard the knock on my door this morning. There stood the sweetest looking young couple I had ever seen. They made their apologies for intruding so early and announced they were the new owners—Mr. and Mrs. MacNeill. They wanted a list of everything that required fixing. Of course, once I invited them in, you should have heard Ailsa’s gasp.” Mrs. Wilson reached for a cookie. “She was horrified at the dampness and cold air in my room. The young woman promptly pulled forth a pad and paper and jotted down some notes.”
Eve frowned. “And they—Ailsa, and Mr. MacNeill—”
“His name is Kenan.” Her neighbor shook her head. “Such a sweet couple.”
“How could they manage to get someone out on a Saturday? We were often told repairs could not be done on these older buildings on the weekends.”
Mrs. Wilson snickered. “Sounds like lies to me.”
“That penny-pinching weasel.” Eve pointed a finger at her friend. “I wonder what changed his mind on selling this place. It’s prime location.”
“Does it matter anymore?” Mrs. Wilson reached for a napkin. “Our days of dealing with Mr. Rogers are done.”
“You’re right. Good riddance.” Eve rubbed a hand over her forehead. “It’s amazing what Kenan and Ailsa did in one day. Anything else new?”
“Not from me, but they did say they would greet each tenant,” replied Mrs. Wilson. “I’m sure we’ll be hearing the praises from others here in the building.”
Eve stretched her legs out. “I can hardly wait. I’m thrilled the elevator is working.”
“A blessed relief, too! I dreaded climbing those stairs.” Her friend put a hand on the teapot. “More?”
“No thanks.” Eve leaned forward. “If I stay any longer, I’ll curl up on your sofa and go to sleep. It’s so cozy in here.”
Mrs. Wilson laughed. “Feel free to do so. There’s a blanket to your left.”
Standing, Eve grabbed another cookie. “What I need is a hot shower and no alarms on my clock. Simple, blissful sleep.” Stuffing her scarf into her purse, she pulled out her keys.
“I’m so proud and happy for you, Eve. Onward and upward to more exciting things. A challenge to seek something else.”
Eve smiled. “Thanks. Now that I’ve won, maybe something will come out of this—say a newspaper article. Nothing grand, but a wee bit of recognition would be nice.”
Standing abruptly, Mrs. Wilson grasped Eve’s arm. “I completely forgot.” Dashing out of the room, she added, “Wait a moment. I have something for you.”
“What? Did someone leave me a million dollars?” Eve snatched a gingersnap from the plate, not caring how many she had eaten. It was going to be a wonderful evening with no plans for tomorrow.
Mrs. Wilson rushed back into the room and held up a large envelope. “This arrived shortly before you.”
Eve dumped everything back on the sofa and shoved the cookie into her mouth. Taking the item from her, she moaned. “Great cookies.”
“I’ll pack some up for you.”
“Not too many. I’ll devour them in one sitting.”
“Piff.” Her friend waved her off.
As soon as Mrs. Wilson departed, Eve turned the envelope over. Beautifully scripted writing detailed her name on the front. Curious, she broke the wax seal and pulled out an elegant sheet of parchment paper. Her hands trembled as she read the letter.
Congratulations, Eve Brannigan!
As part of our esteemed respect for your success in winning the Sweet and Savory Contest at the Blushing Rose Bakery, we would like to extend the invitation to have you prepare desserts at our annual Winter Solstice Feast at Castle Creag in Scotland. Your transportation will be provided for through Tara Fae Tours. In addition, accommodations will be arranged for you to stay at the Castle located near Inverness.
Enclosed you will find your airline ticket. A limousine shall escort you to the airport in the morning. Please be ready to depart by 5:00am. We hope you will grant us the pleasure of your company, and that you will consider staying until Hogmanay.
Sincerely,
The Clan Murray
“Me? They want me?” she mumbled, as the room spun.
“Goodness, child. Are you all right?” Mrs. Wilson rushed to her side, dropping the container of cookies on the table.
Eve’s lip trembled. “They want me to bake at a castle in Scotland. Miss Eve Brannigan,” she choked out, while pointing a finger at herself. Handing the woman the letter, Eve sank down into the chair.
Mrs. Wilson grinned as she silently read. Afterwards, she embraced Eve. “What an opportunity. And only moments ago we were discussing your future.”
“I can’t believe it. There must be some mistake,” whispered Eve.
“Humph!” Mrs. Wilson retrieved the package and pulled out the ticket voucher. “Here’s your ticket, so you’d better get packing.”
“But what about work on Monday? I don’t expect Helen to give me two weeks off, no matter who these people—”
“Clan Murray,” corrected Mrs. Wilson.
Eve raised an eyebrow. “I believe Helen would have harsh words even if it was the Queen of England who sent me the request. She’ll never let me go, especially during the holidays.”
“What’s on the floor?” asked her friend.
Eve bent and p
icked up another sheet of parchment, though this one was folded. As she opened the note, she burst out laughing. She handed Mrs. Wilson the paper. “It seems everything, including my job, has all been arranged.”
“This is wonderful. Now stop fretting and go pack.” She gathered Eve’s belongings and dumped them into her arms. Placing the container of cookies on top, she literally propelled Eve toward the door.
“But this is all so sudden. I don’t have any cash on me. My best clothes are too tight, as you well know at this time of year—holidays and indulging,” spouted Eve over her shoulder.
“Stop! You’re a stunning lady, and I’m sure there are ATM’s at the airport.” Opening the door, Mrs. Wilson reached inside Eve’s purse and pulled out her keys. Moving her across the hall, she opened Eve’s door.
“You’re sure a bossy lady,” teased Eve.
Mrs. Wilson tossed the keys on a table inside the door. Taking Eve’s face in her hands, she said, “Enjoy your trip to Scotland, my friend. I love you. Who knows, you may fall in love with a Highlander.”
Eve burst out laughing. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels.”
“They’re good for the soul and heart.” Giving her a kiss on both cheeks, she strolled back to her door.
“Yeah, right.” Eve dropped her purse and hung her coat on the rack to the left of the table.
“I’ll leave a book at your door. It’s a long flight, so you’ll need something to pass the time. Any preference for time period? Modern, Regency, Medieval?”
Eve tried not to roll her eyes at the woman. “You choose one.”
Mrs. Wilson blew her a kiss and closed the door.
Shaking her head, Eve closed her own door and leaned against the wood. Of all the dreams she had dreamt, taking a trip to Scotland and baking for a gathering was one she never believed possible.
“Sweet Christmas!” She smacked her palm on her forehead. “Who cares what I’m going to wear. What am I going to bake? And for how many? This is a dream come true, but I smell a potential disaster.”
Glancing up at the clock, she moaned. It was nine o’clock and all she wanted was to soak in a tub and forget the world existed for a while.