The Trouble with Highlanders (14 page)

Asgree
is
loyal
to
me
father…

Of course she was. Daphne should have considered that sooner. If the earl didn't think she was fit for his son, it would be a simple matter to have his head of house deliver something to ensure she began to bleed.

Ye
had
the
same
idea…

A chill raced down her back as she acknowledged the hard truth. It had been her plan to drink a bitter brew to ensure she did not ripen with child. How strange to discover herself grateful to Norris for providing Isla to protect her.

Ye
do
nae
make
sense… Decide what ye want.

She wished she knew, but what had seemed so logical a week ago at MacLeod Tower was somehow twisting into a terrible deed. It was the tender way Norris had just apologized to her. She—the disgraced daughter of a defeated clan laird. A penniless one at that. He had everything she did not, and yet she realized he did not have everything. He was still bound by duty and honor.

No… He chooses those things…

That thought made her smile. He was an honorable man, and such a virtue had nothing to do with station.

It had to do with the man.

***

“I am nae certain the laird would wish ye to go to the kitchen,” Isla warned.

Daphne reached for the linen cap dangling from the younger girl's hand and placed it on her head herself.

“I can nae simply eat and sleep.” Daphne turned to make sure her hair was all tucked beneath the cap. “There must be chores aplenty.”

“Oh, there are,” Isla assured her. “The earl keeps over a hundred servants on his pay.”

“A hundred?” The cost must be outrageous.

Isla nodded. “The earl does love to entertain. Me mother used to say it was a jest with his old friend Laird Mackenzie, whose land is below Sutherland, that his table fare was grander and would draw more visitors than Mackenzie might.”

Daphne left the chamber, and Isla followed her.

“Was it very different where ye were raised? To have a fortune for dowry, yer father must have enjoyed a fine table.”

“Aye, he did,” Daphne admitted. “But that was before Sauchieburn and the raids that followed. Nae much was left, and what was had to be shared with the villagers who lost all.”

Many of those villagers staffed MacLeod Tower in exchange for their meals and shelter. Their homes had been burned, and with so many of her father's retainers dead, there were not enough men to rebuild them.

“No one has ever breached Dunrobin.”

“I doubt they ever shall, unless they can learn to fly,” Daphne muttered. The walls were too high, and the sea was at their back.

Daphne and Isla descended to the ground floor and began making their way back toward the great hall. The few people they passed looked at Daphne curiously.

The kitchens were massive. There were several long buildings, each with their own specialty. The butchery was at the farthest edge. An angler was bringing in his catch of the day, the fish no doubt intended for the next day's pies. The scent of bread was heavy and rich. Daphne smiled, enjoying the way it was almost overwhelming, because it had been too long since she'd smelled the scent of plenty.

“I can nae grind another,” someone groused from the stillroom. Dunrobin was large enough to have a separate stillroom where the precious spices and sugar were worked with. In many castles, such ingredients were so costly, only the lady of the house was allowed to handle them.

“May I help?” Daphne asked.

A middle-aged maid looked up from the table she was working at. Her expression brightened as she recognized Daphne.

“Ye're heaven-sent, miss.” She waved Daphne forward eagerly. “The earl has himself a taste for marzipan. I've been at it most of the day, yet there is more to do, and I can nae ask just any simple-headed miss in here to help me. But ye are a laird's daughter. Ye've worked sugar, no doubt.”

The woman had already judged her fit for the task, but Daphne nodded anyway. “I recall well the amount of work it takes to make a marzipan centerpiece.”

The woman smiled gratefully and happily watched Daphne pick up one of the mortars and a pestle. Inside were thinly sliced almonds that would need to be pounded into flour. A bowl already held two batches, but that would not make a tart large enough for the size of the laird's table at Dunrobin. Isla began to work on the sugar as she hummed. The amount of sugar was worth a small fortune, and when added to the almonds, the cost was unimaginable.

The tart began to come together as the three of them worked on it. Once the ingredients were pounded and mixed with rosewater for a paste, the first servant began to form it into the tart, and Isla worked on tiny petals to form roses for the top.

“There's still the nutmeg to be ground, and the cloves and cinnamon for the pies.”

Daphne picked up one of the nutmegs, taking a moment to marvel at it.

“Are ye mad?”

All three women jumped, startled by the head cook. He was a plump man, who clearly enjoyed tasting his work.

“Ye're a simpleminded fool to let this harlot near the spices,” he scolded the servant. “She might already have stuffed some of those nutmegs down her bodice!”

“I am no thief,” Daphne insisted. “Ye have no reason to accuse me of such.”

The cook wasn't accustomed to being challenged. His eyes bulged, and his cheeks turned ruby as he sputtered, trying to speak through his anger. “No one challenges me in me own kitchens! I am the head cook here, by order of his lairdship!”

He reached out and slapped her, the sound popping loudly throughout the stillroom. Daphne hadn't even raised her hand to cover the stinging spot before Cam grabbed the cook and yanked him backward. Pandemonium erupted in the kitchen beyond the door of the stillroom. Maids screamed as plates and other things went crashing to the floor. Retainers from the great hall rushed in to investigate the cause of the commotion.

The cook stood his ground. “No one touches the laird's food without me say so. Do ye think I allow just anyone near his supper? It's me duty to make sure no one poisons him!” He reached out and delivered a slap to the woman Daphne had helped. “Ye should know better. That sugar costs more than gold and is meant for the laird himself. I judged ye more careful than to let a stranger near it. It will be both of us ended up hung if something befalls the laird through our carelessness.”

The woman's eyes bulged as she rubbed her cheek. “I… I… I did nae think…”

“What is all of this?” the Earl of Sutherland demanded. His retainers cleared the space around him, making sure no one ventured too close.

The pudgy cook opened his mouth and bellowed, “Her!” He pointed at Daphne. “She was in the stillroom with her hands on the nutmeg and cinnamon! No doubt she has a few down her bodice to remedy her lack of dowry. She snuck in there, never asked me permission. Sure as the blessed Mother was virgin, she's a scheming harlot. She did nae ask me permission… me laird…”

The rest of the kitchen staff cast her disapproving looks. Daphne could see them condemning her, and the retainers were no different. They shook their heads, disgust clear on their faces.

Daphne stepped forward. “I am no thief, and the fact that I came down to do an honest day's work does nae make me a schemer.”

“Then what were ye doing in the stillroom with the sugar? It's more expensive than gold. I am in charge of the kitchens. If it was honest work ye were seeking, why did ye nae ask me for a task?” the cook demanded. He puffed up his chest and pointed at her. “She needs to be stripped.”

“Hold.” Norris's voice shook some of the pans hanging on the walls. “Touch her again, and I will have ye lashed.”

His hair was wet and his doublet open, indicating he'd come straight from the training yard. Gahan was at his back, his shirt collar dark with sweat.

“Well now…” the cook sputtered and drew his hand back toward his chest. “It's me duty to account for the spices.”

“Enough!” Norris barked and shot his father a hard look. It was clear to one and all he was not pleased with his father's silence.

“Aye, enough,” Lytge agreed. “The lass is nae some English noblewoman, raised to think herself above doing her share. Unless someone is willing to speak against her? A witness?”

“Mildred was in the stillroom. It was her duty,” the cook insisted.

“I was there as well,” Isla offered.

“But ye will only back yer mistress,” the cook accused her, “for ye have no place here at Dunrobin.”

Cam stepped forward to defend his sister. “Mind yer accusations, man.”

“For Christ's sake!” the earl roared. “Have the lot of ye gone mad? I need a cook who can keep order in these kitchens.”

“I was keeping order.” The cook was quick to defend himself. “The spices ye trust me with are handled only by the most trusted. She”—he pointed at Daphne—“did nae have my permission to be in the stillroom. Such actions are suspicious. I'm right to be so cautious with my duty. It is an easy task to slip a nutmeg down a dress. I do nae allow just any lass into the stillroom, ye understand, me laird. Why, a couple of nutmegs are worth a fortune, and though there are plenty of rumors about her dowry, no one seems to know if she has one or not. Why wouldn't I be suspicious to find her in the stillroom without permission?”

It was a valid point, one that drew dark looks from those watching. Daphne had to admit she would have questioned the matter if their roles were reversed, for nutmeg was rare and terribly expensive when it could be purchased. Yet the facts failed to keep her temper from rising.

“Shall I strip here, in order to appease ye? I have naught to hide and will prove it.” Her temper was boiling, else she never would have suggested such a thing. Shock appeared on Norris's face, and his father's, right before the earl choked with amusement. He bent over and slapped his thighs.

“Och now, well, little lass. I wager there are a few men hoping I'll take ye up on that offer, and if me son is half the man I believe him to be, he'll toss ye over his shoulder and take ye off to a chamber to ensure me the deed is done, since ye have so boldly offered.”

The old man's brogue grew thicker with his amusement. Norris shook his head, fury dancing in his green eyes. Then he cursed in Gaelic and did exactly as his father suggested.

Daphne shrieked as she went over his shoulder, her skirts threatening to flip all the way over her head. Norris clamped an arm around her thighs and strode out of the kitchen to the sound of muffled laughter.

She was furious.

No
ye
aren't; ye're relieved to be free of the kitchen…

She wasn't.

Ye're being stubborn…

Fine. She was, and she wasn't going to change her mind.

***

“Ye've got a nerve,” Daphne groused.

Norris grinned like a moonlight raider as he stood between her and the doorway.

“Do ye never tire of making a public display of me?” She discovered herself looking away because of the flare of excitement that went through her. She shouldn't enjoy it.

Really… she shouldn't.

“Nae when it comes to making sure everyone knows ye're under me protection.” He aimed an unwavering look at her, one she was beginning to recognize and might even have called possessive—if she were foolish enough to think he cared so deeply about her, that is.

Yet
ye
do
hope… That's why it excites ye…

She cast a look about and realized he hadn't taken her to the chamber she'd slept in. This one was twice the size and furnished with a bed worthy of the laird of the castle. The bed was hung with scarlet and purple velvet. She almost gaped like a simpleton and unconsciously chewed on her lower lip as she stared at the thing. It was huge, with heavy wooden posts carved with vines and leaves. Beneath it was a true Persian carpet. Or at least she thought it was, having only heard descriptions from her relations at court. Five swords hung on the wall, each one gleaming from recent polish.

“It's as comfortable as it looks, but I would nae want ye to say I was telling ye what to think, lass. Ye're very welcome to test it for yerself.” When she looked back at him, he was smirking. “But of course, ye did offer to shed yer clothing to prove yer innocence first.”

Her jaw did drop open. “Ye are a marauder.”

He shook his head. “Nae. I'm conducting meself as a true laird of the castle. Making me judgments based on fact, nae me personal feelings.”

He shrugged out of his doublet and tossed it onto a large, ornately carved chair with a padded seat. “But I will be happy to play the blackguard with ye—too happy.”

A curl of heat unfurled inside her belly. It was intoxicating, dulling her wisdom and allowing boldness to rise up.

“Oh no, ye shall nae.” She propped her hands onto her hips and stood her ground against the slow advance he'd begun. “Since ye are determined to behave so very correctly, I would nae dream of distracting ye from such a noble purpose.”

He pushed out his lower lip, looking ridiculous and utterly adorable at the same time. “Ye would nae?” he asked, sounding pitifully disappointed.

“Nae,” she assured him firmly.

He grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Where's the fun in that?”

“Well…” Daphne reached up and tugged the linen cap off her head. She dropped it onto the table near the fireplace. “I do believe this was more of a duty…”

His eyebrows lowered as he tried to understand her meaning. Daphne removed the few pins holding her shoulder-length hair up so the blond strands cascaded down.