Colum chuckled as he led her to the far end of the hall to the wide stone dais and the main table. “The clan has anxiously awaited this verra special day. A healthy child born to the chief is cause for great celebration. All have come to wish him and the Lady Trulie well. Many were here the last time when nothing could be done but console their chieftain and his wife as they mourned the loss of their son.”
Kenna shuddered with a heavy sigh. “I understand. I wish I could’ve been here to help Trulie. I am sure it was a terrible time.”
He reluctantly released her as he gallantly pulled free one of the cushioned, high-backed chairs closest to the center of the table. “Here, my lady.” He gently held her hand until she was seated, then settled the chair closer to the table. “The MacKenna will be down soon to join ye. I shall have the lads fill yer cup whilst ye wait.”
As he moved to step to his usual place along the wall beside the MacKenna colors, Kenna looked up at him with such panic that his heart lurched.
She caught hold of his arm before he could take another step. “You’re not leaving me? Here—alone?”
Something within him stirred like an ancient river strengthening after a storm. Emotions never felt before washed across him strong and hard like the crash of the incoming tide. “I shall be right over there—standing guard. I canna sit at the chieftain’s table. It is not my place.”
“Bullshi—” Kenna clamped her mouth shut, then quickly glanced about the room. “I mean . . . can’t you sit here at least until Gray arrives?” A plotting look creased her brow as she sat a bit taller in her chair and patted the table in front of the empty seat beside her. “Since I am a guest, aren’t you supposed to make me feel at ease?”
She was a crafty lass. He would give her that.Trying not to smile, he politely bowed, then obediently took the seat beside her. He snapped his fingers once at a servant across the room, then nodded toward Kenna. The lad responded with a quick bob of his head, then bolted away.
The red-cheeked boy quickly reappeared, bearing an enormous round tray filled with overflowing trenchers, a pair of metal goblets, and a pitcher. He artfully wove his way through the sea of plaids and skirts, then slid the tray onto the table. Without a word, he efficiently set the contents of the tray in front of Colum and Kenna then bobbed his head and tucked the tray under his arm. His glance flitted across the contents of the table one last time, then he spun about and scurried back out of the room.
Colum filled one of the goblets with the golden liquid from the pitcher. Mead.He handed the glass to Kenna, then filled his own. Personally, he preferred ale, but the sweet, honeyed wine better suited the lady.
Kenna sat with her mouth clamped tightly shut. A bleak expression seemed to pale her as she stared down at the array of meats piled on the trencher. Cook had selected the best cuts of roasted boar, mutton, and venison and tucked them among steaming mounds of onions and garlic.
Looking as though she held her breath, she reached across the bounty of food and picked up her goblet. “I am really not that hungry.” After a quick sip, she swallowed hard while eying the pile of food then turned to him and quickly added, “But everything looks . . . delicious.” She chewed on her bottom lip and leaned back in her chair.
“But it is not of yer liking.” He downed his mead, then set the goblet back on the table. “Do ye not eat such things where ye are from?” He pinched free a succulent morsel of meat and held it out to her.
Kenna stared at it as though it were poison. “No, thank you. Really. I’m . . . I am not hungry.”
He popped the bite into his mouth instead, chewing slowly as he studied her. The woman had to be hungry. Coira had told the kitchen maids the lass had barely finished half a bannock before collapsing into her bed and sleeping for nearly two days. Then the answer came to him as though a spirit whispered it in his year. “Ye dinna eat meat.” It was not a question. He felt certain of the discovery, especially when a hungry growl rumbled up from the fair Lady Kenna’s middle.
Wide-eyed, her cheeks rosier by the minute, Kenna covered her stomach with her hands. “Sorry,” she whispered. She stole a look toward the kitchen, then leaned closer to him. As she spoke, her warm breath tickled across his skin, hardening him to an almost painful rising. “You’re right. I am a vegetarian, but I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”
“Ye are a what?” Colum did his best to pay attention to her words but damn, the very scent of her made it a chore to think, much less speak with the slightest bit of sense.
She opened her mouth, then just as quickly closed it. With a trembling hand, she took up her goblet and sipped, her eyes widening with alarm as her stomach growled again—loudly.
Colum motioned for the kitchen lad and waved him forward. The boy scampered across the room, concern written across his face as he glanced down at Lady Kenna’s untouched plate of food. “Aye, master?”
“Bread for the lady.” Colum cleared his throat to drown out the sound of another of Lady Kenna’s belly rumbles. “Cheese and honey, as well,” he hurried to add.
“Aye, master.” The boy took off at a run.
Kenna folded her arms across her middle and ducked her head. “Sorry,” she whispered—then tittered with a soft giggle.
She peeked up at him with mischief in her eyes, and he thought his heart would surely burst, then melt into a steaming puddle like a poorly fashioned candle. Lore a’mighty. She was like no other.
When the boy returned with a platter of bannocks and cheese, Colum removed the meaty trencher from Kenna’s place and nodded at the table in front of her. “Set that before the lady and take this away.”
“But tell Cook I am sure it’s all delicious. I am just eating light right now.” Kenna leaned forward and smiled, triggering an immediate flush of an even deeper red across the lad’s face.
“Aye, mistress.” The blushing young one stared down at the floor as he backed away from the table, the trencher of meat clutched to his chest. As soon as he had gotten a few feet away, he turned and bolted for the kitchen.
“Poor lad. He shall dream of ye tonight.” Colum proffered the pitcher of mead and waited.
Kenna shook her head and held her hand over the top of her cup. “No more mead, thanks. But I would love a glass of water.”
“Water it is.” He stretched to reach one of the jugs of water sitting in the center of the table. “The Lady Trulie prefers water with her meals, so ye will always find a fresh urn of Scotland’s sweetest on the table.”
“These are . . . ” Kenna licked her lip as she chewed, then shivered in her seat.
