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“By reputation. But if I wore a maid’s dress and apron…”
Brenna’s eyes lit up. “Oh, aye. But if I tell her you’re a new girl, she’ll have you scrubbing pots. There’s only one way to get you into the kitchens without a fuss, and that’s if she wants to prove to you that she’s a better cook.”
And so Brenna carried the rumor back to the kitchen that I’d boasted I could bake a better pie and by afternoon, the huffy cook was ready to meet my challenge. Side by side we chopped root vegetables and stew meat and spices; I marveled at how many spices the kitchen had in its pantry that I didn’t have at my father’s cottage and began to worry my boast was in vain. But my secret ingredient wasn’t a spice, but a splash of milk and flour that made the gravy creamy inside the pastry. And I knew now to make a crust with lard that would flake tenderly off the fork.
I kneaded dough. I crimped it. I brushed it with egg-white. I stood sentinel at the hearth to watch the dough rise. And just as mine turned golden—perfectly puffed, and I pulled it out of the oven, we heard news from a herald in the courtyard.
“It’s your sister!” Brenna breathed.
“She’s here?” I asked, hastily wiping flour onto my apron.
“No, but they have her. Davy and Malcom captured her back. They’re holed up somewhere until the danger is passed, but they sent back a lad to let us know that she’s safe.”
Arabella is safe, I thought, nearly wilting at the knees. Not that I trusted Davy or Malcolm to treat her with anything like respect, but they wouldn’t let her come to real harm. Of that much, I was sure.
The laird burst into the kitchen, and servants scattered in surprise and fear. All but the cook, who stood there by her pie, hands on her hips. “My laird.”
His eyes were only for me. “You’ve heard the news?”
“Oh, aye!” I said, wanting to throw my arms about his neck, but not sure if I could. He relieved me of the need to do so by wrapping his arms around my waist, and kissing me full on the mouth as if I were his woman. As if I were more than that…
The cook cleared her throat.
The laird looked up, spotted both pies cooling on the rack, and gave a feral smile. “Ah, now which one is Heather’s?”
“No, you don’t,” groused the cook, with astonishing insolence. Brenna must have been right about her power here in the castle. “You can taste ‘em both and then tell us which one you like best. Then we’ll see that it’s mine you have a taste for.”
The laird took a fork, prodded the shell of the cook’s pie, and made an approving noise. Then, digging into it, he brought a piping hot bite to his mouth. “Tasty,” he said, closing his eyes with pleasure. And I began to worry he’d prefer hers to mine. “Very very tasty.”
Then he turned to my pie, and I noted the way it flaked on his fork. Noted too that it didn’t drip when he raised it to his lips, for my filling was thick and velvety, with savory stew meat and a hint of berry. One bite and he nearly sang. “Och, aye. This is a pie.”
Brenna excitedly clapped her hands for me, earning her a scowl from the cook. But I beamed, delighted. “It’s mine.”
“Is it now?” the laird said, taking another bite. “Now it’s mine.”
We all laughed as he wolfed half of
it down.
When he was finished, the cook slapped down her wooden spoon. “Let me taste that.” And when she did, her eyes fluttered closed as she savored the taste and texture. “Hmph,” she said. But when she opened her eyes again, she raised a brow at me. “It’s good. Very good. Might be the best meat pie I’ve ever tasted, which means you’ve missed your calling, girl.”
“My calling,” I said, defiantly, “Is to please the laird.”
“And please me, you did, Heather.”
With that, he placed a smooch on my cheek, then strode out of the kitchens to help prepare for battle. It was remarkable that he could maintain his cheerful confidence when a war might be coming. He projected the notion that he would defend us all, that there was no need for any of us to fear, and though I believed in his quiet confidence, I wished Davy and Malcolm had returned.
First, because I wanted my sister near.
But second, because I felt as if he needed his best and most loyal warriors near him. Even Ian wouldn’t be as strong at his side, having taken a wound to defend me. And I wished there was something—anything—that I could do to help.
Dressed in a simple shift, fastened with a blue bow, I found him before supper in his library, which he had turned into war room, with writings of defense strategies strewn across the tables. But he was sitting there alone, simply staring at nothing, so I dared to interrupt. “I want to give myself to you tonight,” I said.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Now isn’t the time.”
“It is. I remember what you said about how it makes you feel to take a woman the way you please You said it gives you strength. It makes you feel as if you have the power you need to protect this castle and this clan. That it gives you the confidence to fend off rivals and be the laird. It feeds something in you that’s always hungry without it. I think that’s why you asked me to cook for you. I think you are hungry. But it isn’t food that is going to sate you.”
“Heather!” he said, harshly. “We’ve discussed this.”
