Page 349 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“’Tis a busy night,” Victoria muttered. “Maude would be glad of my help in the kitchen.”

“Now, lassie,” Johannas laughed good-naturedly in response to the scowl Iain dispatched in her direction, “why would you want to trouble yourself in the kitchen with fine lads like us here in the hall?” “Fine lads.” She snorted.

“What did you say?” Johannas asked before making an exaggerated show of understanding her words. “See there, Iain,” he lounged sideways in his chair, “’tis a fine lass who can appreciate a good Highland man, even if she is Sassenach.” He gave Victoria a broad wink.

Victoria felt a rush of blood to her face and cursed the knowledge that it was more the curious regard of her keeper that flustered her, rather than the actions of his foolhardy guest.

At last, it seemed the men had forgotten her. They had left the table and were standing at the hearth where a modest fire burned. Iain leaned against the mantle, his expression lending the appearance of being engrossed in conversation with his companion. Johannas laughed at something Iain said, and Victoria glanced in the direction of freedom. Up and out of her chair before circumstances could go against her, she cast a quick look over her shoulder as she entered the kitchen. Johannas’s attention flickered onto her, but thankfully, another round of laughter kept Iain from realizing her flight.

Greetings were made around the kitchen. “Where are you going?” Maude asked when Victoria didn’t linger.

“I want to look in on Jillian before I retire.”

Maude made a clicking sound with her tongue.

“How does the lass fare?”

A warmth softened Victoria’s weary heart. Say what one might, Highland women couldn’t be accused of being inhospitable. So long as the guests weren’t English, she reminded herself. “She will need time to recover. Rachel has been seeing to her.”

“She is a healer, that one.” Maude nodded. “Just like her mother. No need to worry with Rachel

looking after her.”

“I know, but she asked me to say good night. Though I wager she sleeps so soundly she will never know I was there.”

Maude gave a knowing, ‘ah,’ and Victoria turned to leave.

“Why leave by the back door?” Maude asked to her back.

Victoria turned. Her excuse died at sight of the shrewd look on the housekeeper’s face.

“It is safer to go up the stairs in the great hall,” Maude said.

Victoria laughed. To her way of thinking, going around was safer, but to admit that was treachery in itself. Instead, she said, “The fresh air will do me good.”

“Have you noticed the band of rowdy men prowling the castle tonight?” Maude asked, going back to carving the roasted pig laying on the large chopping block in front of her. “The fresh air is not all you are likely to get.”

Victoria plucked a piece of chicken off a passing tray. “I have had no trouble in the past.”

“I would imagine not,” Maude agreed. “MacPherson men know Iain does not hold with force.”

Victoria choked on the chicken she had just swallowed.

Maude bustled over and gave her a couple of hearty slaps on the back. “Are you all right?”

Victoria nodded while motioning for water from the pitcher sitting on the counter. Maude poured it and shoved the cup into her hand. Victoria drank it in large gulps, then cleared her throat.

“Thank you,” she said in a cracked voice.

“You should be careful,” Maude admonished.

“Talking and eating do not always mix.”

Further comment on Victoria’s part was forestalled by another fit of coughing. When she regained her composure she said good night.

“Barry,” Maude called through the kitchen door to one of the men passing by. Sticking his head through the door, the giant of a man ducked in order to miss the doorframe.

“See V—er, the lassie here to the castle door.”