by Laura Landon
She picked up a piece of meat with her fingers and lifted it to her mouth, then tasted the peas and the leeks and the pears cooked in a sweet sauce, showing as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Each mouthful lodged in her throat and refused to move. She shoved the food around on her platter, making a show of eating without actually doing so.
She did take a bite of the warm bread placed before her, and ate a piece of cheese. She sipped the ale while she listened to the talk of the men around her, but she did not look at them. She didn’t want to see the expressions on their faces.
“When you’ve finished eating, Morgana will show you your chambers.” His voice startled her. Duncan reached for another hunk of warm bread then smiled at the girl who refilled his cup with ale. But the smile faded from his face when he looked down at her.
“There is much that needs my attention here and will keep me busy for the rest of the day. Morgana will answer any questions you may have.”
“As you wish, my lord.” She shoved her platter away from her and started to rise. Duncan covered her hand on the table. His massive palm warmed her flesh and the possessiveness of his touch sent a disturbing wave of hot liquid surging through her.
He’d not touched her often in the past two days. It was obvious having her as his wife was not as easy as he thought it would be. She could not imagine him experiencing the warmth of hot honey swirling deep in his belly when she touched him. She could not imagine her Scot wanting to hold her in his arms, or press his lips against hers. She could not imagine him wanting to… No, she could not. The way he reacted when she came close told her he did not. Her touch was obviously not such a pleasant experience.
“Come to me if you need anything, wife.”
She met his determined stare. “I will not need you, husband.” Katherine turned her attention toward Angus, sitting near. “Angus?”
“Yes, mistress?”
“Perhaps after I have seen my chambers, you will show me where you gather your herbs and potions. There is much you know that I would like to—”
“Nay.”
Duncan’s flat voice startled Katherine and everyone else surrounding them. All eyes turned toward him.
“There is na need for you to learn the potions, wife.”
A wide chasm of silence separated Katherine from her Scot. The meaning behind his words a bed of contention. She bristled at his order.
“Is there someone else who knows your potions, Angus?” she asked, her question tinged with a hint of defiance. Every man at the table looked at their laird, then turned their gazes toward Angus.
“Nay, milady.”
“Someone should. The day may come when knowing Angus’ secret could be of benefit even to you, my lord.” She glared at Duncan. He lifted his eyebrows and leveled her with a warning glare that cautioned her to give up. She didn’t. “You never know when someone may need to save your bonny hide from the English.”
Duncan leaned forward in his chair, grasping a cup of ale in his hand as if it were the hilt of his sword. “You will na bother Angus with your foolishness, Kate. That is all.”
“But there is much I can learn from Angus, my lord.”
“Enough!” Duncan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, showing the picture of rigid calmness and serenity. “There is na need, wife. If Angus feels he must pass on his mixtures and potions to someone younger, he will pick someone of his own choosing.”
“Someone Scot?”
The air sparked with anger. She didn’t want his warriors to see her rebellious nature, but she could not meekly submit. Not when no one knew the strength of Angus’ healing powers.
For an eternity, she and Duncan locked gazes, neither willing to back down. Katherine slid her chair back from the table and rose. “Morgana,” she said without lifting her gaze from Duncan’s hostile glare. “I would see my laird’s chambers now.” She lifted the corners of her mouth in a cryptic grin. “Would that be to your liking, my lord?”
“Tread easy, Kate,” he whispered in a voice she doubted anyone save Angus and Malcolm could hear.
The air left Katherine’s breast. Why couldn’t she be meek and docile? Why couldn’t she have a temperament like Elizabeth’s?
She suddenly feared she could never be the wife her Scot wanted.
With a proud lift to her chin, Katherine walked the length of the great hall, ignoring the deafening silence that surrounded her. She took each of the five stone steps leading to the exit with deliberate pomp, and stepped into the large entryway where Duncan and his men could no longer see her, then breathed a sigh of relief. There was a door on her right that led to the outdoors — to freedom. The stairs leading to the laird’s private chambers on her left. She fought the urge to go right.
Morgana appeared at her side and Katherine looked to read the expression in her eyes. She saw nothing. Only the nondescript openness she’d seen when they’d first met. Morgana, at least, would not be judgmental.
Would that her Scot could be the same.
Chapter 7
For her entire lifetime, Katherine had struggled with her rebellious nature. Her father had punished her again and again so she would learn to curb her wayward tongue and keep her thoughts inside, but she had not learned. All the times he had locked her in the small, dark closet where she couldn’t breathe, had done no good. He would have been disappointed again today.
She knew her Scot was disappointed in her. She didn’t doubt that Duncan wasn’t finished with his censure of her outspokenness.
But couldn’t he see she was right?
Angus was no longer a young man, and no other Ferguson knew his remedies. There was a wealth of knowledge to be learned that could prevent the wounded from dying and the ill from suffering. Someone should know his secrets. It hurt that Duncan didn’t want it to be her.
Katherine followed Morgana to the second level where the laird’s chambers were. She could not dismiss Duncan’s attitude. What did he expect her to do with her time? Stay in her chambers every day? Never be a part of life at Lochmore castle?
No doubt he wished he could lock her away to keep from being reminded he’d taken an English wife. No doubt he preferred to keep her prisoner until she gave him the crown. No doubt he wished he’d never brought her here. Katherine fisted her hands at her side and wished his handsome face was close enough to hit. Well, he could wish for the moon before—
“Did you enjoy your meal, milady?”
Morgana’s voice interrupted her thoughts and brought her back to the present. “Very much. I would like to thank the women who prepared the excellent food.”
“They would like that,” Morgana said, continuing down the long hall, past three closed doors, then to one that stood open. “This is the laird’s chambers. It’s where you will sleep.”
Katherine stopped in front of the open door. “Is the chapel near?”
“Yes. The laird’s mother wanted the chapel near her room. She was very devout and spent much time there.”
“I will see the chapel first.”
Morgana did not enter the laird’s chamber, but instead went back to one of the closed doors at the end of the hall. From this point, Katherine could stand at the railing overlooking the great hall to see Duncan sitting at the table below. Angus and Malcolm sat beside him, and one by one, warriors and farmers and tradesmen came to him with their problems and concerns. A dispute over payment for a cow. A boundary disagreement between two farmers. An argument between two women over a rooster. Katherine watched as her husband listened to each petition, then issued a decision.
Next, a father with his sobbing daughter, demanding that the man responsible for the babe in his daughter’s belly be required to give her his name.
Duncan listened carefully, then led the young warrior accused of fathering the child to the side of the great hall. She watched with great interest while her husband conferred with the lad. In the end, Duncan clasped his hand on the warrior’s shoulder and spoke softly. She
wondered what words he gave to the lad.
When they returned, the laird wore a resigned look. The lad kept his eyes lowered and walked to stand beside the girl. There would be a wedding tomorrow.
The judgment must have met with Angus’s approval, for a slight smile covered his face, and he smoothed his weathered hand over his bushy white beard before he crossed his arms over his chest.
Katherine stepped back into the shadows. The man she’d married was not just any Scottish warrior. He was a Scottish laird. Born to make decisions. Born to take his rightful place as leader of clan Ferguson and rule with integrity and fairness.
A warm feeling swirled deep in her stomach. There were many facets to the man she’d married. Each revelation became yet another example of his quiet strength and gentle understanding. A reminder of her weaknesses. She was neither quiet, nor subservient. She remembered the argument she’d had with Duncan last night, and their argument just now in front of his men. Her cheeks grew warm as she silently reproached herself.
She turned away from the railing and followed Morgana to the chapel. She already knew she would spend much time on her knees here.
Morgana held the door open and Katherine entered. Although the chapel was not huge, there was a comforting feel about the chamber. The dancing light from dozens of glowing candles cast moving shadows in a strangely welcoming array upon the wall. Katherine made her way down the center aisle, past the six or eight rows of wooden benches. Each had a hand-sewn cushion on it, an unheard of comfort in many chapels.
The statue that stood on the altar at Lochmore was similar to the statue at Kilgern, only it wasn’t Jesus the Shepherd, but Jesus the Crucified, with his nail-marked hands outstretched. The workmanship was beautiful, the spiritual ambiance all-consuming in the small chamber. Strong, serene emotions engulfed her.
She knelt at the railing in front of the altar and bowed her head. She had much for which to be thankful. She had much for which to ask guidance. She had much for which to ask forgiveness. She began by asking for forgiveness. That she needed the most right now.
After a long time, she stood and turned to leave. Morgana sat on one of the benches waiting for her.
“The mistress came here often every day,” Morgana said, a faraway look in her eyes. “The laird came with her each evening. It was their habit.”
“I pray it will be our habit, too,” Katherine said. “It’s one I will work to establish.”
Katherine followed Morgana out of the room and past the three closed doors. “What are in these rooms, Morgana?”
“Everything that belonged to the laird’s parents. The laird has na taken care of their belongings yet and does na want anything disturbed. The room next to it,” she said, pointing to the end room, “is Lady Brenna’s. It’s ready and waiting for her to return.”
Katherine looked at the closed door. “It will not be long.”
Morgana gave a curt nod, then walked into Duncan’s chamber. Their chamber. It was just as she expected. Large and spacious, with a boldly masculine feel about it. The room emitted a masterful dominance she had sensed nowhere else in the keep. Duncan belonged here.
She prayed she belonged here with him.
“I would like to meet the cooks now and thank them for the wonderful meal. Please, take me to them.”
“You would go to the kitchens?”
“Yes.”
“It’s very hot there, milady. Perhaps you should just send a message.”
“I have been warm before. Even we English have kitchens in which we cook our food.”
Morgana gave Katherine a closed look, then led her out of the keep to a separate building next door. The long, wooden hut where they cooked the meat and prepared the food was enormous. But the first thing Katherine noticed was the bilious smoke rolling from the wide door at the front. “Is there a fire?” she asked, looking for flames.
“Nay, milady. Anna and Margaret are roasting the meat for tomorrow. It always smokes this much.”
Katherine took a deep breath, and walked through the thick haze. Even though some of the smoke made an escape through the one opening, it was so dense she had to search to find the workers. There were about fifteen women scattered throughout the room, and it didn’t take long for them to realize she was there. They all stood in stony silence and glared at her. Waiting. Evaluating.
Morgana hollered through the smoke. “Anna. Margaret. Your mistress has come to greet you.”
Two women turned around from a table laden with vegetables to be chopped. They were two of the largest, tallest women Katherine had ever seen, with arms as thick as small trees and shoulders nearly as broad as a man’s. They’d rolled their sleeves up past their elbows, and opened the necklines of their shirts almost to the point of being indecent, yet still looked as if the heat was about to suffocate them. Their look made them appear even more menacing.
Katherine swallowed hard, a little unnerved by their size, then walked confidently toward them.
Both women shifted the surprised looks on their faces to a guarded expression void of any signs of friendliness. Their exchanged glances said they were being forced to face a mistress they obviously hoped never to set eyes upon. They rubbed their hands on their skirts, then wiped away the sweat trickling down their flushed faces while they waited for her to come closer.
Margaret stepped forward first, obviously the chief spokesman for the women.
Katherine lifted her chin. She would not let the Scot’s size or the black glare in her eyes intimidate her. The woman must be all of six feet and more. A giant. A hostile giant. “Morgana tells me you are in charge of the Ferguson kitchens,” she said, facing Margaret.
“Aye,” Margaret answered, puffing out her chest with a deep breath. She propped her fists on her hips, and issued Katherine a challenging look that was as fiery as the oppressive heat in the room. “I have been in charge of this kitchen for more than twenty summers.”
Katherine met the woman’s gaze and smiled in greeting. The smile was not returned. ”It’s obvious you hold your position proudly. Your meals display your talents.”
“You can save your compliments and your sweet talk, milady. We have talked among us, and decided there will be no English dishes prepared in this kitchen. Our laird may not mind your English ways, but you’ll not be bringing the way you eat to Lochmore keep. Not while Anna, and I, and the rest, have breath in our body to stop you.”
Her statement was blunt, direct, and said with purpose. Katherine held her ground, ignoring the heat she could feel roll off Margaret’s body and the hatred she could hear in her voice. “That is as it should be, Margaret. If the food you prepared this midday is an example of your Scottish dishes, I will be well satisfied.”
The women stared at her in gaping silence, the doubting expressions on their faces evident. Katherine waited for a sign that they accepted her compliment, but could find none. There were no smiles. No softening of their looks. Not even a glimmer in an eye of the other women crowding around.
An uncomfortable silence stretched into an even greater chasm of cold mistrust. Katherine wanted nothing more than to turn her back on the women and run back to England. Instead, she ignored a trickle of perspiration that burned her eye and lifted her shoulders. “I came because I wanted you to know how much I enjoyed your splendid fare. Since I do not know my husband’s likes or dislikes yet, I will rely solely on your knowledge and good judgment to prepare the dishes for which he has a particular fondness.”
“That would be our meat pies,” Anna said, the words almost bursting from her mouth. “The laird has a special weakness for our meat pies with carrots and peas and Margaret’s crust on top.”
Margaret cast her coworker a disapproving glare and Anna shrank back as if realizing her blunder too late.
“Then I will especially look forward to your meat pies,” Katherine said, ignoring the dark look Margaret still wore.
The chief cook lifted the hem of her dress and wiped the sweat from her fo
rehead, then looked at the other red-faced women. “The laird has never complained.”
They all nodded in unison as if Margaret’s statement deserved validation. “I’m sure he has not.” Katherine steadied her gaze on the smug look on Margaret’s face. “As long as we are being so frank with each other, there is also another concern with which I would ask your help.” Margaret narrowed her gaze. “Malcolm informed your laird that supplies are not in overabundance this year, but just enough to see us through the winter if we take proper care. Perhaps there is something you can do to increase what we have, or make what is here last a little longer.”
Margaret straightened her shoulders as if there was nothing she enjoyed more than a good challenge. “Aye. The men will na go hungry with Anna and me and the rest to see to them.”
Katherine nodded confidently. “Your laird will be grateful for your help.” She turned to leave, glad to be out of such a hostile place. She took a few steps away from them, thankful there were not real daggers in their looks, or she would be dead. Because she couldn’t leave with them thinking their hostility had affected her, she turned around to give them a final look. Smoke billowed from the far end of the room where half a cow roasted in the mammoth hearth. Open ovens on the sides radiated even more heat. Each woman before her took turns wiping the sweat from her face, while the color of their cheeks turn even more flushed.
Katherine looked around the room. Their kitchen in England had whole sections of the walls that were windows, and could be opened and closed to let in air, and take out the smoke. It didn’t seem nearly so stifling there as here. She marched back to where Margaret still stared at her. “Is there a reason there are no more openings other than this one door?” She pointed to the small opening at the far end of the room.
All the women looked at each other as if they were sure there was an answer to her question but they didn’t know what it was. Margaret finally answered for them. “It’s the way it has always been. There’s nothing wrong with it,” she defended.