“McKinnons?”
“It was very dark.”
“Terrible,” Lachlan said.
Mairead thought it worse than that, but ‘twas no wonder he had no sword or carriage or matched set of white horses to pull that carriage. It said much about his resourcefulness, she supposed, to carry on without the trappings of his rank.
“And now that you’ve reached our beautiful land?”
Oliver stopped, then made Lachlan a small bow. “I will gladly carry back to those I know a fine report about the condition of a proud and noble people.”
“Well,” Lachlan said, puffing up a little, “not too long a report, eh? Don’t want to be overrun by a flood of Englishmen.”
“Nay,” Oliver said seriously, “you wouldn’t want that.”
Lachlan clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s have a meal. Come inside the hall and we’ll find you a proper seat by the fire.”
Mairead realized the Duke had paused by the front door. He looked at her, then gestured for her to go inside first. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, the man had perfect manners when it came to kitchen maids.
She ignored Kenneth’s snorts and walked inside, passing so close to Lord Oliver that she could have reached out and touched his arm if she’d cared to. She looked up at him on her way by and had the most ridiculous thought occur to her.
Had she seen him earlier that morning on her way back from secreting her book in its tree?
She put her head down and hurried into the hall. She hadn’t slept enough, that was it. If she’d passed by a man that handsome, she surely would have remembered it.
Then again, perhaps he’d taken shelter in the healer’s wee croft after having been chased by McKinnons. None of their ilk would dare set foot on MacLeod soil, though she had to admit the Camerons had more trouble with them than her family did. Lord Oliver was fortunate to have survived being hunted, if that were the case.
She stopped a few paces in and looked behind her. Her uncle still had Lord Oliver’s ear, though he was soon swarmed by the rest of her clan. He was polite and grave and, she had to admit, fearless. She wasn’t sure she would have walked into a strange hall without at least having a guard, but perhaps he had more confidence in his knives than she did in hers.
Her uncle shepherded him inside the hall and introduced him to her father. He obviously noticed her father’s lack of response, but he did him the courtesy of a low bow and a freely profferedcompliment on the sturdiness of the hall. He was equally polite to the endless number of people who wanted to make his acquaintance.
She noticed, though, that he marked where everyone was. Perhaps she wouldn’t have realized what he was doing if she didn’t do the same thing herself every time she came inside. And why not? Her brother and several of her cousins were unpredictable. Her sisters, on the other hand, were not, and she was half surprised they didn’t immediately begin brawling with each other to determine which of them would sit next to their guest at table.
She rolled her eyes and turned to make her way to the kitchens. There were simply some things a woman shouldn’t have to watch.
An hour later, she was waiting on the edge of the hall, watching as the tables were set up for supper. Lord Oliver was still standing by the fire, looking as if he might have preferred to blend into the wall. If the reports held true, he wasn’t opposed to conversation, but preferred it to be short and to the point. That he was enduring it said much about his good manners.
She found herself pushed out of the way and realized that it had only been her brother’s bairns to do the like. Ambrose threw her a smile over his shoulder, then ran after his siblings, though he arrived too late to save Lord Oliver from their attentions. She shook her head. The bairns were behaving as if they’d never seen a man before. Fiona actually threw herself into his arms and he picked her up with all the gentleness of a man who valued children.
He smiled.
Women—and a few men—swooned.
Mairead was tempted to tell them all to make another grab for their senses, but that was obviously a lost cause. That also mighthave been because she was close to swooning herself. The man had perfect teeth, not missing a one, and that quick, charming little smile he’d given to the bairns?
“Mistress Mairead, will you not serve the young gentleman?”
She looked over her shoulder to find one of the swooning kitchen maids there. She supposed it might be the only way the man would have anything land in his bowl, so perhaps she would do well to take on the task herself. She nodded, then waited until the company had taken places around the tables before she made her way over to where Lord Oliver sat to the right of her uncle, with Tasgall on his right.
She would have been fine, she supposed, if he hadn’t looked up at her when she was attempting to ladle something into his bowl.
She imagined he would later think it a stroke of good fortune that she hadn’t upended the entire pail of soup she’d been carrying onto his leg. For herself, she felt very fortunate that her uncle had jumped to his feet and taken her bucket out of her hands before her brother had leapt out of his chair, swearing, and turned to strike her. She turned away to save what she could of her visage and steeled herself for Tasgall’s usual response to any mistake she made.
The sound of a slap echoed in the great hall, but she felt nothing.
She turned around and realized that Lord Oliver had stood, put himself directly behind her, and taken the blow himself.
She ducked out of the way and pushed herself back against the wall, fully prepared to watch bloodshed happen before the rest of the clan had managed to get their suppers pushed away from themselves and their swords into their hands.
