“These oatcakes are Cook’s specialty,”Erica said, taking one eagerly. “She’ll only make them on clear days when the honey flows freely from the hives on the south hill.”
Gabriella set down her fabric,accepting a cup of tea gratefully. The taste was unfamiliar but pleasant, laced with herbs she couldn’t name.
“Tell me about yer life, lass,”Andrea asked, settling back with her cup of tea. “Before ye went to work at the tavern.”
Gabriella set down her cup,her fingers tightening involuntarily around the fabric in her lap. “There was nothin’ special about it.”
“Oh,lass. Surely there must have been some fond memories?” Andrea’s weathered face softened with genuine regret.
Gabriella returned to her stitching,not meeting their eyes. “Me faither was a good man. He was a stonemason by trade. He taught me a lot about hard work and being strong, but apart from his trade, he didnae have a lot of other skills.”
“He does sound like a good man,”Erica agreed with a smile. “Did ye travel with him for his work?”
Gabriella nodded,her expression warming at the memories. “Aye, until I was twelve. Then, his joints began to pain him too much for regular work, so we settled in one place.”
As she spoke,her stitches grew more confident. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly as she recalled happier times.
“One thingme faither did was insist that I read every day. Said a lass who kenned her letters would never be taken advantage of.”
“A learned man,”Andrea commented, refilling Gabriella’s cup. “That explains yer eloquence. Ye’re more educated than most lasses in these parts.”
“He believedknowledge was the only inheritance he could give me that couldnae be stolen away,” Gabriella said softly.
“And ye’ve been alonesince he passed?” Erica asked, her usual mischievous expression replaced by genuine concern.
Gabriella nodded,resuming her stitching with renewed focus. “I found work at the tavern. The owner before Lewis was a fair man who needed someone who could keep accounts as well as serve. It was honest work until…” she trailed off, unwilling to revisit those darker memories.
Andrea reachedover to adjust the thread. “Ye’ve had a hard road for one so young. But ye’re here now, and the McCullochs look after their own.”
The words stirredan unexpected warmth in Gabriella’s chest, though she reminded herself that this wasn’t truly her home. In less than a month, she would leave for France, to build a new life far from Scottish shores.
Still,as she sat in the companionable silence that followed, sharing tea and oatcakes with these women who asked nothing of her but her company, Gabriella felt something she hadn’t experienced in years—a tentative sense of belonging.
“McCulloch women areas skilled with needles as our men are with swords,” Erica declared, setting aside her embroidery to stretch her arms above her head. “Though I confess, I’d rather be out practicin’ with me bow than sittin’ here all day.”
Andrea clicked her tongue disapprovingly.“A proper lady should?—”
“Be accomplished in all things,”Erica finished with a grin. “Including how to defend herself. Ye cannae deny, Maither, that Hector himself insisted I learn.”
“Aye,after ye nearly drowned yerself tryin’ to follow the men on their hunt,” Andrea reminded her, but there was fondness beneath her stern tone.
Gabriella watchedtheir exchange with interest. “Ye ken how to use weapons, then?”
“Bow,dirk, and I’m passable with a sword,” Erica answered proudly. “Though Hector would say I’m still too slow on the parry. He drills me twice as hard as any of his men—says an enemy willnae go easy just because I’m a lass.”
Distractedby the mention of Hector, Gabriella’s needle slipped, pricking her finger. A bright drop of blood beaded on her skin. “Blast,” she muttered, then flushed at her coarse language.
“Here now.”Andrea moved swiftly, producing a small pot of salve from a nearby chest. “This will prevent infection.”
She dabbedthe herbal mixture on Gabriella’s finger with surprising tenderness for one so formidable.
“Doesthe mention of me braither disturb ye so?” Erica asked with shrewd perception, her eyes dancing with mischief.
“Nae at all,”Gabriella replied too quickly. “I just lost me concentration.”
Andrea mercifully changed the subject.“What was yer job at the tavern like, lass?” She left the darker time unspoken.
Gabriella relaxed slightly,wrapping a small strip of linen around her finger. “There’s little to tell. I served ale, kept accounts, and swept floors. The patrons were mostly farmers and tradesmen—decent folk who worked hard and wanted a warm place to share stories at the day’s end.”
