Despite his mother’s initial show of exasperation over the horde of Sassenachs that would be descending on the castle, her beaming smile suggested she actually was pleased. The former lord of Aldmist Fell—Helena’s first husband—rarely entertained, unlike his parents before him.
It had been many years since the castle had housed guests, which might account for everyone’s high spirits. The staff was more jovial than he’d ever seen them. Without much excitement to be had in their small corner of northern Scotland, houseguests broke the monotony of winter.
His mother looked up from her task. “What brings you to the kitchen? Supper will no’ be served for a while yet.”
“I’ve a favor to ask,” Fergus said. “Tomorrow afternoon I am taking Miss Gracie and Mistress Gallagher around the countryside, and I wondered if you would make your fruited nut cake and pack some warm chocolate for the outing.”
His mother snorted, grabbed the large mixing bowl sitting on the counter to hug it close to her body, and wrestle the wooden spoon through the thick mixture of suet and currants.
“Can you no’ sneak away with Miss Gracie before the shrew comes below stairs?”
“Och.”
Fergus pinched the bridge of his nose. The womenfolk were giving him more trouble than he deserved today.
“Mistress Gallagher is a decent sort,” he said.
He felt the need to defend the lass since she had no one to take her side. Whereas Fergus had been born into a large family of ready allies, Mistress Gallagher had none.
“And no, I cannae sneak away. I invited her to join us.”
His mother stopped stirring to stare at him as if he was off his head. He held up his hand before he received an earful from his opinionated mother.
“I’ve said my piece. I will no’ hear anymore on the matter.”
She pursed her lips and slammed the bowl onto the counter. Wiping her hands on her apron, she shot a look toward her kitchen staff.
“If it would please his Laird High-and-Mighty,” she snipped, “I would beg a word with you outside.”
He sighed, already regretting speaking to her in such a way in front of her subordinates. Even though he held a higher rank at Aldmist Fell as the land steward, she was his mother and deserved a different level of respect a cook without familial ties would be given.
With a sharp nod, he granted her request and followed her into the corridor. She led him away from the kitchen.
“Mother, I want to make Christmas special for Helena—Lady Thorne. All those years separated from her family. It was no’ right of her first husband to keep her a prisoner.”
His mother turned on him to shake a finger in his direction. “Now you listen to me, Fergus McTaggart. I have been as patient with you as any mother should be expected, but I cannae hold my tongue any longer. A man of five and thirty should have many a bairn by now.”
She punched her fists to her hips, giving her scolding finger a rest.
“Ye have a family line to carry on, and you cannae do your duty as long as you run circles for Lady Thorne and her wee sister. God knows I love them both, but their wishes cannae come above your responsibilities to your family.”
“Nothing is interfering with my duties.”
Fergus raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled. His mother hadn’t opposed him traveling to London with Helena to search for her sisters, but she’d been badgering him to find a nice lass and settle down ever since he’d come home.
He had nothing against marriage or bairns, but he wouldn’t marry just any lass to make his mother happy. He had to find the right one, and his choices were limited in a small village where more than half the unmarried lasses were relatives.
His luck might be improved in Inverness, but he was needed at Aldmist Fell until Lord and Lady Thorne returned to England after the new year.
“Can we no’ make it through Christmas first?” he asked. “Mistress Gallagher and I have called a truce. Perhaps you and I can do the same. Once the Thornes leave, I’ll set my sights on courting a lass, I promise.”
His mother scowled. “I will hold you to your word. I expect you to make me a grandma before Christmas next year.”
She jostled past him and stalked back toward the kitchen.
He cursed softly. Glancing up, he discovered Mistress Gallagher standing at the end of the corridor. She was gripping her hands in front of her as if in prayer and looking any place but at him.
“Forgive me,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
