A sharp intake of breath sounded behind him. Gray forced himself not to chuckle. There would be hell to pay with Trulie later, and he looked forward to the battle.
Cook’s eyes bulged and her jaw went slack. “Tha’s less than three months’ time.” She threw both hands in the air and looked toward the ceiling as though searching for divine guidance. “Lore a’mighty, just three short cycles o’the moon t’prepare for a great feasting. For the entire clan? Three months’ time?” Cook’s tone bordered on hysteria as she pressed both hands against her pudgy jowls. Her gaze darted about the kitchen in rapid glances that lit here and there among every shelf in the kitchen.
Poor woman. Gray supposed three months was barely enough time for Cook to plan a proper fortnight of feasting for the entire clan and even more visitors. But what better excuse for them all to be in the kitchen? “Aye. Barely three months. Of course, ye have my complete approval to take on more servants if need be.” Gray paused and glanced around the kitchen as though counting heads. “How many do ye have right now? Are there any new servants that might no’ be properly trained for such preparations?”
Cook looked at Gray as though he had lost his mind. Perspiration dotted her brow as it knotted into a frown. “New servants?” she repeated as she tapped a pudgy finger against her double chin. Her eyes widened with recollection as she turned and wagged a finger toward an open doorway leading to the separate room where all the herbs and spices were prepared and dried. “There is Dullas.” Cook’s voice took on a strained, uncomfortable tone. She leaned forward as her voice lowered. “She’s an odd one, that one is.”
Aye. No doubt. Gray looked across the room with interest. After all, the strange woman intended to commit murder and then return to her home unscathed. Gray nodded toward the door Cook had indicated. “I would see this Dullas.”
“Aye, m’chief.” Cook bobbed her head as she turned and waddled a few steps across the massive kitchen. “Dullas!” she bellowed, loud enough to shake the massive smoke-stained beams stretched across the ceiling.
The door slowly creaked open and a good-sized woman shuffled forward. Her worn overdress strained across rounded shoulders, while an apron stained with patches of green hung loose about her neck. She kept her head bent and the brim of the white cap tied about her head flopped well over her face. Her hands fluttered in front of her waist as though she carried on an animated conversation with someone only she could see. “Aye, Cook?” she mumbled, loud enough to be heard above the clatter of pots and pans.
“Dullas, come forward. The MacKenna would ha’ a look at ye.” Cook hurried the reluctant woman with a quick wave of her meaty hand. “Come now. Make haste. There’s much t’be done and no time t’be wasted.”
The wide, limp brim of Dullas’s cap bobbed up and down with the woman’s odd jerking movements as she trundled forward.
Aye. Gray studied her closer. The woman moved as though already condemned to the gallows. His gaze lit upon the braided chain of hair barely visible just inside her collar. It looked to be the braided chain Trulie had described from Granny’s vision.
Dullas didn’t lift her face as she halted a few feet in front of Gray. She twisted one of her apron ties so tight around her short, stubby fingers they puffed red and looked about to burst.
Gray didn’t say a word. Sometimes the best way to get a person to admit guilt was by giving them enough rope to tie their own noose. Gray folded his arms across his chest and walked a slow circle around the still-murmuring woman.
“Stand up straight, Dullas,” Cook hissed with a clap of her hands. “I beg yer forgiveness, m’chief. I had no doings in the choice of this one for the kitchen, and she’s been with us a verra short time.”
“In truth?” Gray circled even closer around the eerily animated maid. It didn’t escape him that each time he leaned in to see her face, Dullas shied the other way. The bits of her whispered conversation he did catch reminded him of Tamhas’s ramblings as he read aloud from one of his journals. Snatches of phrases referring to exact amounts of measure, weight, and color. What the hell was the woman saying? “Ye ha’ run these kitchens for many a year, Cook. Who would dare usurp yer authority and force a servant on ye?”
Cook’s already-flushed cheeks reddened to an even deeper shade. “Yer stepmother,” she said with disgust, while making a hurried sign of the cross over her chest. “During her last…visit…she bade us take her.”
So Aileas herself had sent Dullas to his kitchens? That revelation confirmed what Gray already suspected. Disturbed Beala had not acted alone out of some twisted attempt to win Fearghal and Aileas’s favor. Aileas had used Beala as a pawn in her game to win complete power. And it appeared one of her other game pieces continued playing well after her mistress had gone.
An impatient huff and a cleared throat prodded Gray forward. Trulie’s patience was wearing thin. Time to end the game.
“What sort of charm do ye wear about yer neck?” Gray ignored Cook’s sharp intake of breath as he yanked back Dullas’ cap and revealed her sullen face. Lore ha’ mercy. Gray forced himself not to recoil. Dullas was the mirror image of Aileas, except the poor woman had an angry puckered scar running down the side of her face, then zigzagging down across her throat.
Dullas kept her gaze trained on the floor, her lips moved rapidly with barely whispered conversation. She bowed over her gesturing hands, ducking her chin to her chest like a turtle retreating into its shell. “No charm, great one. Bit o’ keepsake from sister. Would ne’er mean t’displease ye. Will burn it if I must.” When Dullas spoke louder, her voice rasped and broke like the croaking of a bullfrog.
A keepsake indeed. Gray turned to Cook. “Did it no’ occur to ye to question why the sister to the old chieftain’s widow would be told to work in the kitchens?”
Cook avoided looking Gray in the eye as she spoke. “The Lady Aileas said ’twas better for her sister to work in the kitchens than be sent back to be set upon by their father and his men.”
Gray’s sense of honor wanted to believe that reason, but his good sense knew better. Aileas had ne’er given a damn about anyone but herself. He had no doubt she would use her sister to clear the path to ultimate power.
“I would see the keepsake yer sister left ye.” Gray held out his hand and waited. It was Dullas’s move. If the maid could see through the evil Aileas had planted in her mind and choose the right path, she could remain a servant in MacKenna keep for as long as she wished. But if she could no’ break free of Aileas’s grip, her tenure in the kitchen was over.
Dullas stared at Gray’s open hand as though she just realized her chieftain stood before her. Her thin brows arched higher as her hands gestured faster. “Ye must be careful, great one. The measure must be true or will cause ye great harm.” Her thick hands opened and closed with an excited frenzy. “Aileas telled me of the weak heart in yer great chest. Ye best allow me t’mix the herb lest it cause ye harm.” Dullas tugged at the drawstring bag about her neck and nodded to herself. “I telled Aileas I would speak t’the chief. I telled Aileas I would make ye whole.” Dullas sadly shook her head. “Aileas ne’er believe a thing I say about me lovely plants.”
From the way Dullas squinted up at him, Gray wondered if the poor woman could see at all. A mixture of pity and anger rushed through him. He hoped Aileas was currently toasting in the hottest part of hell. He couldna fathom how Dullas could possibly undertake something as complicated or wicked as poisoning. He frowned over at Cook. “What tasks have ye this woman doing?”
Cook made a face as though she understood exactly what Gray was wondering. “Dullas knows every herb there is, m’chieftain. She knows their every use. None here have e’er found an herb or plant in existence that Dullas canna identify and nurture into growing. I swear I ne’er seen anything like it. The woman can barely figure out how to tie her apron, but put her in an herb garden and ye’ll find none better.”
That wasn’t exactly what he wished to hear. Gray turned back to Dullas. “Are
ye loyal to yer chief, or are ye bound to the wishes of yer sister and yer father?” Dullas’s future depended on the answer she gave and what Trulie discovered when she studied Dullas’s intentions.
As if she already knew Gray’s plan, Trulie eased up beside Gray and looped her arm through his. He smoothed his hand over hers and pressed Trulie’s arm against his side. Her touch steadied him, soothed him, and assured him he was on the right path.
“Dullas.” Gray waited until the woman finally turned her head toward him. “I would ken where yer loyalties lie. MacKenna keep can be yer home or ye can be sent back to yer father.”
Dullas frowned and tilted her shaking head to one side like a dog listening to its master. The tip of her tongue darted across her lower lip as her gaze shifted to Trulie’s face. Without a word, she fumbled about her neck until her stubby fingers closed around the hair necklace. She yanked it off over her head in a series of awkward, jerking movements. “Here,” she croaked as she held out the stained drawstring bag to Trulie. “Take care and measure well or ye will do the chieftain harm.” Then she pointed a shaking finger at Trulie’s stomach. “I ken the herbals ye need to help the bairn grow strong and healthy. If Herself will tarry just a bit, Dullas will gather the best leaves for a fine tea.”
Dullas turned to Gray and shook her head as she ran a shaking finger along the scar across her face. “Father hurt Dullas.” Her gravelly voice trembled as two big tears squeezed out and rolled down her face. “Beg ye, Master. Beg yer leave t’stay here and serve ye.”
Gray closed his hand around the bag Trulie held and nodded his approval. A glance down at Trulie’s face told him without a doubt that Dullas had passed the scan of her intentions. Dullas had ne’er been a true threat.
“What did she say?” Cook waddled closer, straining to see Dullas’s face as the shaking woman shied away.
“She fears I will send her away because Aileas was her sister,” Gray lied.
Dullas ducked back into her cap and pulled the brim well over her face.
Cook’s mouth pressed into a frowning line. “Shall I have her packed up and sent back to her father?”
“No,” Trulie chimed in at the same time as Gray.
Gray patted Trulie’s hand as he repeated, “No. Dullas is welcome to stay in the MacKenna kitchens as long as she likes. This is now her home.”
“Ye best be thankin’ yer chieftain,” Cook urged her with a jerking nod in Gray’s direction.
Dullas’s limp bonnet flopped as her head bobbed up and down. “Verra grateful, m’fine chief. I thank ye kindly,” she croaked out strong and loud as she turned and shuffled back to her room filled with racks of drying herbs.
Chapter 25
A pleading whine escaped Karma as he propped his wet muzzle atop Trulie’s shoulder. Trulie rolled back on her heels and swallowed hard. The combined aroma of wet dog and whatever rotted thing Karma had rolled in pushed her stomach dangerously close to reversing gears and tossing up her breakfast.
Trulie pressed her lips tighter together and rubbed her mouth against her shoulder. Maybe she would feel better if she did puke. Nausea was torture. Trulie pushed herself to her feet and rubbed her fists against the small of her back. What a way to feel on her wedding day—an ever-present urge to gag and a dull throbbing ache in her lower back, as though her body was about to snap in two. What a lovely day this was going to be.
Karma looked up at her with sad, brown eyes. His tail swished back and forth in the tub with a please don’t be mad at me wag. Trulie clamped her mouth shut tight as she poured another bucket of water over Karma’s back. Her lungs burned for want of air as she tried to speak without inhaling Karma’s aroma. “You know you’re going to get a bath whenever you roll in something dead. If you don’t want a bath, stop rolling in stuff that stinks.” Trulie held on to the side of the wooden tub as a violent gag nearly knocked her off balance.
This is ridiculous. Wedding or no wedding, she was done. She felt like crap and would be better off if she just went back to bed. Trulie stood and pointed toward the far side of the garden. “Go lay down under those shade trees. You’re just going to have to stay in the garden until some of your eau de stink wears off. No wedding feast for you.”
Karma immediately leaped out of the tub and shook what appeared to be a gallon of water free from his fur.
“Karma!” Trulie shied away from the curtain of water a second too late.
“Trulie Elizabeth Sinclair, I cannot believe you’re out here washing the dog on the morning of your wedding day.” Granny appeared in the doorway, one fist on her hip while she jabbed the other hand toward the inside of the keep. “Get in here right now. Your own bath is ready and time’s a wastin’.”
Trulie silently wished she could just stretch out in the shade with Karma and take a nap. Karma might stink, but he was a lot quieter than Granny. That patch of cushiony moss beneath the oak looked extremely inviting.
“Trulie—now.”
Trulie massaged the back of her neck as she obediently turned and followed Granny. Maybe a nice, long bath would make her feel better. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck from side to side. She must’ve slept crooked or something. Every muscle was stiff. Visions of porcelain tubs and pulsating showerheads with steaming-hot jets of water flitted through her mind. A wistful sigh escaped Trulie as she rounded the corner and faced an oversized wooden tub. For some odd reason, the niceties of the future had been foremost in her mind the past few days. “Not exactly a spa with jet sprays is it?”
“What has gotten into you today?” Granny scowled back over one shoulder as she added another bucket of steaming water to the tub. “You’ve been in a foul mood ever since you raised your head off your pillow. This is your wedding day. You should be happy.”
Trulie wasn’t about to complain to Granny about not feeling well. Heaven forbid the woman brewed up another nasty remedy from ingredients Trulie probably didn’t want to know about. She best blame her mood on the latest gossip from the keep. At least that reason wouldn’t trigger some sort of noxious tea. “Colum told Coira the priest doesn’t approve of us.” There. That should give Granny something to chew on. Unfortunately, Trulie had no doubt it was true. The old familiar weight of being the odd one out blackened her mood even further. She thought she had escaped that crap when she had decided to leave the future.
Trulie shrugged her léine down off her shoulders and shucked it into a pile on the floor. She smoothed her hands down across the barely noticeable bump of her belly. A baby. A shiver of excitement tingled through her. The newest MacKenna hadn’t been planned, but Trulie had to admit, life now seemed much brighter with Gray at her side and a baby on the way. She would never let on to Granny, but coming back to the past was the best thing they had ever done.
Trulie dipped a toe in the steaming water. Perfect. The temperature was just below scalding. She eased into the tub, leaned back against the towel padding one side of the elongated barrel, and exhaled as she closed her eyes. “Coira also told me she doesn’t like the priest. Called him a beady-eyed little hypocrite…or something to that effect. I think she said part of it in Gaelic.”
“About that…” Granny uncorked a dark bottle on the stool beside the tub and poured a thin stream of fragrant oil into the bathwater. Lavender-scented steam rose from the iridescent shimmers of the perfumed liquid spreading across the surface.
“Spit it out, Granny.” Trulie cracked open an eyelid. She didn’t like the look on Granny’s face. Unpleasant news was logjammed behind Granny’s tight-lipped expression. Trulie would bet her favorite pair of jeans on it.
“There’ll be no priest,” Granny announced with an exasperated flip of both hands. She trailed her fingers atop the water and shook her head. “Gray wasn’t comfortable with all the questions the pompous little man was asking, so…” Granny’s voice trailed off and she turned back to the stool and grabbed a chunk of rose-colored soap and a folded rag.
“So…what?” Trulie straightened in th
e tub. No priest meant no wedding. Now what were they going to do?
“So…Gray told him to leave.” Granny soused the rag and soap in the water, then rubbed the two together until a sweet-smelling lather flowed over her hands and dripped down into the tub.
“Gray couldn’t just put up with the man for one more day? He couldn’t wait until after the ceremony to tell the guy to leave?” Trulie slid back down in the tub, held her breath, then completely submerged beneath the surface. It really wasn’t necessary for Granny to answer those questions. Trulie knew the answers well enough without even talking to Gray. Once the man set his mind to something, the devil himself couldn’t force him to change. But that didn’t change the fact that they now had no one to perform the marriage ceremony. It could take forever to get another priest this far up into the Highlands—especially this late in the summer. What about all the food? What about all those people who had come from miles away? What in blue blazes were they going to do now?
Trulie broke up through the surface of the water with a sputtering breath. “So what are we going to do now? Just have a big party?” If it was up to her, she’d sneak out the back gate, find a place to hide, and once everyone left, she and Gray could just live together. They’d already signed the marriage contract. Who needed a wedding? An involuntary twitch shook her. Lordy, she hated crowds.
“Tamhas is going to perform the ceremony.” Pride brightened Granny’s face like a ray of sunshine. “The dais has already been prepared at the front of the hall. The maids and I covered it with heather and ivy. It looks lovely, if I do say so myself.”
“Tamhas is not a priest.” Trulie plucked the soapy rag from Granny’s extended hand and scrubbed it down one arm. Her stomach did a nervous somersault at the very notion of standing up in front of the largest number of people she had seen since coming to Scotland. Great hall with Gray had been nothing compared to the teeming mass of curious villagers who had descended upon the keep.
My Highland Lover (Highland Hearts) Page 27