by Wine, Mary
He was a stranger to her. And yet, as Cora stood there in the bright light of day, she felt a connection with him. It grew out of the memory of the moments when she had been in his embrace in the middle of the darkest hours of the night.
Control yerself.
At last, she did feel the stirrings of shame but only because it seemed very poor of her to be thinking about Faolan as anything but the man who had saved her.
“I’m sorry to say, ye will no’ be going anywhere today,” Faolan informed her.
“The snow is early,” Cora agreed. “It shouldn’t last.”
“All the way up here, there is no way to tell,” Gainor said. “Damn poor luck it is, for our kitchen women went down to the McKay castle a day past. The women split the duty here. The ones who were assigned the winter would have turned back when the storm began to brew.”
The two newcomers grunted, clearly less than pleased with the circumstances.
“We’ll manage,” Faolan stated firmly. “The lot of ye sound like newly weaned babes. We’ve work to finish before the sunlight fades. What fare is set on the supper table will mean very little if our enemies arrive to slit our throats because we did nae attend to building the walls.”
Whoever Faolan was, he turned, and the men followed him. Cora watched them as they moved off toward the second tower. A wall was being built alongside it. His rolled-up sleeves made sense as Faolan began to join his men in hefting large stones into position. Several other men were engaged in making mortar. There were over three dozen McKay Retainers working.
They were racing against the seasons. Snow covered the rocks piled near the building site. Two huge caldrons sat on top of pits where fires were built. The scent of lime was heavy on the wind. All of it must have been transported to the remote site at no small expense. Somewhere, there were more workmen splitting and shaping the stones.
She looked over the two towers. Someday, there would be a full fortification there. She could see the wisdom of it. The McKays were guarding against invasion from the Irish, the Northmen, and England.
So, who was Faolan to be given such a remote command?
It’s none of yer concern….
It wasn’t, and yet, she was here. The men were doing hard labor. She might jump in beside them, but the facts as Gainor had laid them out made it plain there was another essential task that needed to be seen to.
It seems ye can nae escape the role of a woman after all.
Cora grinned at her own thoughts. There was something different about the way she felt in that moment as she went searching for the kitchens. When her brother’s Head-of-House had demanded she learn how to turn bread, the task had struck her as unfair because she was being assigned it for being a woman. Today, though, the men of the McKay made her feel far more appreciated. Essential even. She wasn’t just another woman. Now, she was the only woman.
And they all needed to eat.
Of course, food didn’t have to be a pleasant experience. Riding with the Mackenzie Retainers, she’d learned to be thankful for rabbit cooked over the open flames of a peat fire. Returning home was a bright moment that included the scent of fresh-baked bread with creamy butter. There was nothing quite like the first taste of it or the way sitting down to a meal inside the great hall made her feel truly at home in a way she hadn’t appreciated until she’d been living rough on the road for a week. Filling her belly was a necessity, but sharing supper with friends and family was a treat.
Many thought her unfeminine for riding out. But Cora wouldn’t trade the experience for any amount of praise. No, she’d learned a lesson about being appreciative of what her home offered. It was a deeply personal one that she understood the value of. To be sure, many would lecture her on the fact that she’d not have been fighting for her life if she’d stayed in her place. Aye, once more, she acknowledged the truth of the matter, and yet, she wouldn’t trade her experiences for less pain. It was the truth that she felt as though she was fully awake now.
The second tower was much wider, clearly intended to be the main residence. The presence of the kitchen was announced with the scent of cooking stew. Yet even as starving as she was, the smell permeating the air wasn’t pleasing.
Gainor’s grumbling suddenly made far more sense.
Cora’s belly rumbled again. She made it to the back of the first floor of the tower. It served as a great hall, although it was modest in comparison to the one at the Mackenzie stronghold. Still, there was a sense of achievement in the place. Everything had been carved out of the desolate spot. The men who had built it were here out of duty to their kin.
The kitchen had one table, and the hearth, an ample size. There was a large iron hook arm that could be swung in and out on one side.
The unpleasant smell had grown much stronger.
Cora wrinkled her nose as she looked at the table. The top was scored from knife cuts, and it appeared that no one cleaned it. Instead, whatever liquids were deposited on it were left to dry.
Filthy was sufficient enough to describe the scene.
A pot was hanging over the coals in the hearth. Cora pulled it out and peered into it. There was a thick layer of blackened food coating it.
“Peas, porridge, in the pot…nine days old,” Cora muttered disapprovingly. The men of the McKay had simply dumped in the new day’s food without cleaning out the pot. The coating around the edges was everything they’d consumed, and it was souring the current meal.
“Aye,” Gainor spoke from behind her. “We’re no’ much in the way of keeping the kitchen the way it should be…”
His voice trailed off as he appeared to be trying to decide just what was off in the kitchen. His expression told her he knew something was not right, but he didn’t have the knowledge to say just what.
“Well, now…” The McKay Retainer flashed her a grin. “There is a well-stocked storeroom. That is one thing we do no’ suffer from, a lack of ingredients. We’ve the chickens now, and two good milk cows. But the women were to be heading up here soon. With the snow, we’ll no’ be setting eyes on them. ’Course sometimes, they do nae come at all, for this is a lonely outpost and rough. No one is going to allow their unmarried daughters up here, and most husbands are no’ happy to see their wives gone through the season either. But sometimes, there is a widow or two.”
His disappointment was clear. For a moment, he appeared to be about six years old, looking to her for deliverance from soot-filled stew.
“Ye’re a laird’s sister?” the McKay Retainer muttered with disappointment. “It’s the truth that I wish ye were more common-born lass.”
Grainer placed an earthenware pitcher on the table; it was full of fresh milk, but he shook his head after looking Cora over again before he turned and left. Cora discovered herself alone in the place she’d spent the better part of the last few years attempting to escape from. She ventured closer to the milk. Grainer didn’t think she knew a thing about what to do with it.
Women’s work.
Well, Fate wouldn’t have the last laugh. For she was stubborn, and it would seem the kitchen needed someone with a spine of iron. And her brother’s Head-of-House had been insistent that Cora know everything about running a house.
And so, she did have the skills Grainer thought she lacked.
‘A noblewoman will find herself cheated by her staff if she does nae know how to turn the bread with her own hands… Only then will ye know if the maid is lazy or overworked… An overworked staff can sell ye out to yer enemies and hide poison so that no one will question yer death…”
Her brother’s Head-of-House, Fenella, had many pearls of wisdom that Cora discovered herself truly grateful for now that circumstances had delivered her to a place where she was on her own to prove her worth.
Aye, indeed, she was more grateful than she’d ever imagined.
She pulled a rough-looking apron off a hook and secured it around herself. The kitchen was warm, so there was no need to go looking for her overdress. Lifting th
e cauldron up, she carried it out the back door to empty and clean it.
Women’s work?
Aye.
But the state of the kitchen demanded a Valkyrie, for there was a battle to be fought.
Cora found that idea one she was quite willing to be labeled with.
*
The daylight waned too quickly.
Cora raced each hour, trying to bring the kitchen into order. Or at least to clean away enough working space to produce a respectable meal. The men didn’t seem to expect much. She could hear them working with the stone. An endless clunking and groaning of ropes as they labored to build what would become a formidable defense for their clan.
It all came at the expense of their personal comfort.
The sun never really broke through the clouds. Instead, the dark mass swirled around above their heads. Every now and then, sleet would blow in the wind. But the men never stopped. They endured it, knowing their time to build the walls was short, and their enemies would thank them for not completing the job.
They wouldn’t be mad at her if she failed to produce supper. No, they would be disappointed and make do.
Cora decided that was far worse. It was one thing to resist being pressed into a mold, yet it was entirely another matter to realize she might be part of making the process of life possible and digging her heels in because she didn’t care for the duty which needed doing. To be certain, some of the men outside would have enjoyed being out of the cutting wind.
She’d disappointed more than one person with her lack of dedication to the skills of home and hearth, but today, she committed herself to the process, determined to succeed. Maybe it was on account of the example the McKay men were setting with their steely resolve. Perhaps it was gratitude for the life-saving shelter she’d received.
Whatever the case might be, she smiled as she peeked into the ovens and saw the bread turning brown. With a sturdy poker in hand, she made sure the coals below it were spread out evenly to provide the perfect baking temperature. A small poof of hot air blew out into her face. It carried ash with it. The linen cap all the maids of the household wore back on Mackenzie land suddenly became something she wished for earnestly, for it would keep her hair clean. But there was no such item to be found. So, she took a strip from a piece of fabric and wound it around her head to keep the soot out of her hair.
“So, ye can turn bread.” Faolan drew in a deep breath.
Cora turned around to find him behind her. The ache in her hands was suddenly worth it for the look which crossed his face. An expression of appreciation that sent a warm spike of victory through her.
“The kitchens were never my favorite place, but I spent enough time there to gain the skills necessary for running a modest home.” Cora pushed a strand of her hair back from her forehead.
His lips twitched. “Aye, what we find pleasing is rarely the sort of tasks life demands of us.”
There was a hard edge to his tone. Cora discovered it touching a common thread inside herself.
How often had she raged against what was expected of her, in spite of knowing the necessity of doing it? Suddenly, it seemed she was not so alone in her thinking.
“’Tis the truth that the very scent ye have managed to fill this kitchen with is going to see me men tripping over themselves to try and win yer hand. Sister to a laird or not.”
“’Tis fair enough for me to do something kind for ye all,” Cora replied as she watched him reach for the bread.
“Should ye not wait for yer men to gather?” she asked. “That ye might bless the bread and the meal, Laird McKay?”
Gainor was in the doorway, his lips split in a grin, and his eyes were glittering like a boy’s. But her words stopped him. He shifted his attention to Faolan, his forehead wrinkling.
“I am no laird,” Faolan corrected her. He turned his head and pointed to the side of his cap. There was a single feather there, not the three which would have proclaimed him a laird. He turned his gaze back toward her. “Ye know these things, lass. Flattery has no place here.”
Cora felt something shift inside her. Bucking against the saddle was something she held a great deal of experience with.
“Nor do dirty hands and feet,” Cora began. She pointed behind him. “The lot of ye can wash up before supper. Ye will no’ be tracking that mud into the kitchen. Took me half the day to shovel the mess out of here so I might cook ye a decent meal.”
As far as authority went, she had none. What she did have was fresh bread and a decent meal. Gainor and the men behind him looked at the work table in the kitchen, their eyes shining as they contemplated the fare she’d spent the better part of the day preparing, and at last, they looked toward their leader.
Faolan’s eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t make a move to bend to her will.
“Mind me, or I shall let ye go back to eating swill tomorrow,” she warned.
She’d faced off with him, for some reason feeling the need to meet the man head-on. It was a strangely intense flare of emotion. One which had her heart thumping hard.
Faolan stepped toward her. “I make the rules here, lass.”
“Not the ones in the kitchen when I am cooking,” Cora shot back. “I loathe kitchen work the most, so ye will be minding me.”
Their gazes had fused in some insane contest of wills. Cora could feel an awareness of him flowing through her veins like the finest French wines. She was hot and flustered, and her grip on her common sense was eroding.
“Washing up…” Gainor spoke up from behind Faolan. “A fine idea.”
There was a scuffle of booted feet behind Faolan.
Faolan didn’t miss it either. “Isn’t it just like a woman to enjoy upsetting a man’s house?”
“Isn’t it just like a man to think he does nae need any opinion except for his own?” she countered.
He grunted. It might have been a chuckle, but she wasn’t sure. His eyes flashed with temper, though, sparking a flare of enjoyment that raced through her.
“Wash up,” she pressed him, unconcerned with just how thin she was spreading her luck.
He suddenly grinned. Faolan showed off his teeth as he backed up. He even reached up and tugged on the corner of his knitted cap. “Aye, Mistress. I will do as ye say.”
He turned, giving her a look at his wide back, but he paused before leaving the kitchen, looking over his shoulder at her. “I conceded authority to ye over the kitchens.” There was a glint in his eye as he delivered his last words. “And will be right happy to have ye serve me supper in front of me men.”
*
It had been a stupid argument to pick.
Ye’re thinking the matter through far too late…
That little voice inside her head was correct. Cora reached up and rubbed her forehead.
What the devil was the matter with her? It was one thing to run a bit wild on Mackenzie land, but baiting the McKay in his own tower was something entirely different. She should have worried that he’d harm her, for she was in his domain.
Somehow, though, she’d only been focused on meeting the challenge he represented.
What the devil does that mean?
Cora truly wished she had a good answer to that question, but the truth was, she had no idea what had taken hold of her. And the honest truth was, she was itching to take him on again.
Ye lost your wits in that river…
Perhaps she had. There really wasn’t another explanation she could come up with besides thinking her head must have collided with a rock hard enough to jar her mental capacities loose.
At least there was work to throw herself into. She gathered up the fare for supper and filled a tray before leaving the kitchens. The McKay men were sitting at the three tables in the middle of the floor of the keep. Her agitation dissipated as she looked at the way they smiled at her.
Or there was likely not a more disreputable-looking group anywhere in the Highlands. For they were all rough, not a shaved face
among them. Their jerkins were coarse and ragged. But most of them had faces shining with the remains of the water they’d used to wash up. Hair was swept back from their faces, and they watched her with giddiness. It was the truth that they appeared like a bunch of lads, all anticipating a treat.
Their efforts warmed her heart. They hadn’t bent to her demands out of fear of her wrath but from the desire to enjoy the simple joy of hearth and family. Something their duty kept them from enjoying. Cora discovered herself appreciating the way they waited for her to deliver their meal. They seemed to be holding themselves on a tight leash. That self-discipline ended the moment she touched the tray onto the tabletop. They reached for the dishes, handing them down the table in a flash.
But it was Gainor who stopped them from digging into the fare.
“Ye’ll wait, ye bastards…lads,” he corrected himself.
“For what?” A younger Retainer asked.
“The blessing,” Gainor informed him. “Tonight, we’ll be having a proper supper, which will begin with the breaking of the bread. We should have begun the tradition when the keep was finished. The lassie is good to bring it to our attention. We’re no’ heathens, and this is to be a proper McKay holding. A standard should be set. Elsewise, no decent women folk will ever want to call it home.”
There was a ripple of understanding up and down the tables. But Cora was caught in Faolon’s gaze once more. He sat at the head of a table, waiting for her to bring him the bread. Gainor picked up a round and offered it to her.
“Go on with ye, lassie,” Gainor flattened his hand on her lower back and gave her a push.
Cora discovered her feet felt like they were nailed to the floor. There was something symbolic about carrying the bread to the man who had spent the day ensuring the tower was a safe place to live. The bread in her hands had taken hours of labor on her part to produce. As though they were two parts which, when placed together, made something that was whole.
Ye’re mad.
Truly she was losing her grip on her sanity.
But her breath still caught in her throat when she passed the bread to Faolan. There was a feeling of ceremony in the moment.