Aileana just looked at her, surprised at her intervention. With a tentative nod, she said, “Thank you for what you did just now. I won’t forget it.”
“What I said wasn’t for your sake, missy, believe you me,” Bridgid snapped, angry red mottling her cheeks. “Work needs to be done, and that was the quickest way of getting Nora back to it. I’ll not be defending the likes of you with my breath.” She tilted her head with a sharp gesture to the door. “Now get moving and take this in before it gets cold.”
Cheeks burning, Aileana turned away without another word and strode from the kitchen. She reached the MacRae’s table almost without looking, but as she prepared to set the pot of oatmeal on the broad wooden surface, she heard a hissed conversation right next to her that stopped her cold.
“The MacDonell lass has a nice twitch to her arse when she walks, eh, Dougal?”
“Aye, and a fine lap for resting in as well, if you ken my meaning,” the other said, chortling. “Do you think the MacRae’ll be sharing her anytime soon?”
Aileana’s gaze snapped up. The two men sat an arm’s length away from her at Duncan’s table, one as broad as the other was lean. They stared, the lanky one grinning. Her stomach sank to her toes. When she set the pot down, her hands trembled so badly that some of the oatmeal sloshed onto the table in front of them.
“Ach, watch it there!” the portly man hooted. Then he winked. “But clumsy or not, you’re a fine piece with that red hair. The MacRae’s a lucky man.”
“Not bad,” the second one admitted, smacking his lips. He reached out to pinch Aileana’s hip. She gasped and backed away. “Though I think she needs a lesson in the manners of a serving wench. Spilling half the oatmeal is no way to feed a man!”
Aileana’s gaze flew to Duncan; she expected him to at least upbraid his men for their rudeness. But he simply returned a look of level contemplation before leaning back in his chair.
Heat crept from her neck to the roots of her hair. How dare he sit there and let these ruffians abuse her without speaking nay against it? Impotent fury wound through her, so strong that her throat felt squeezed shut with it. But the rage was quickly followed by a swell of desolation. She’d gain no help from Duncan MacRae; she was foolish to have even hoped for it.
Duncan watched Aileana’s reaction, seeing her emotions clear in the depths of her eyes. An odd ache unfurled in his belly at the fierce color in her cheeks and the sight of her hands twisting in her skirt. The surge of satisfaction he’d expected to feel when his plans for her humiliation began to bear fruit failed to surface. And it annoyed him. She was supposed to take the place of Gavin MacDonell in his revenge, and yet how could she, when he wouldn’t allow himself the pleasure of her discomfort?
Disgusted with himself, he averted his gaze and broke a piece from the chunk of bread that had served as his trencher. He popped it in his mouth and concentrated on chewing, pretending not to notice when Aileana slipped from the hall, as soundless as a ghost. The conversation around him continued at low pitch, though the two men who had insulted her had finally gone quiet in favor of nudging each other and grinning. Duncan felt someone’s stare boring into him, and he turned to see Kinnon; his cousin’s head was tilted, his brow raised in a condemning expression reminiscent of that moment when he’d first noticed Aileana’s nakedness in the glen.
The bread lodged in Duncan’s throat, and he stopped chewing. Kinnon’s accusing stare grew more intense.
Duncan muttered a curse, throwing down the last bit of trencher. “What did you want me to do, then? Cleave them in half for speaking to her?”
Kinnon only looked at him, reproach heavy in his eyes. Then he shook his head with a snort and went back to his food.
Duncan tried to shrug off the gloom and concentrate on his meal, but he found that the crude conversation that had begun again between the men at the end of the table suddenly irritated him to the point of distraction. Throwing a baleful glare at Kinnon, he lurched to his feet and growled, “Enough! You two—” he pointed at the plump Dougal and his wiry companion. “Get out to the courtyard and polish the rusty swords. Now!”
The men leaped to their feet, bits of bannock cake and oat broth dribbling from their beards. They had the temerity to look ill-used, blinking and mumbling in feigned innocence, until Duncan followed his command with a wordless bellow that sent them tripping and scuffling out of the great hall.
Sitting back in his chair, Duncan picked up his bread again. He paused with it halfway to his mouth, then threw it down again. Tilting his mug to his lips, he drank deep before slamming it to the table.
Kinnon brushed a few crumbs from his fingers, taking time to sop up the last of his broth before tilting his gaze to Duncan. “A bit testy today, are we?”
Duncan made a scoffing sound. “Eating tasteless food tends to have that affect on a man.” He cut him a glare. “Of course you’re an exception to that.”
Kinnon skirted the gibe. “It’s not Bridgid’s fault that the larders hold little more than oats and kale. The men have become lazy for the hunt. And the MacLeods have not been properly intimidated by your return. They keep stealing our livestock, to test us. We must take action against them soon.” Kinnon swung his leg over the bench and stood up. “And yet much as those clans be thorns in our sides, it is not they, nor the poor food that be chafing at you this morning, Duncan.”
Duncan contested Kinnon’s cool gaze with a lift of his brow. “Nay? Then pray sit back down, cousin, and give me the true reason.”
“I do not need to sit to tell you what any eyes but your own can see. MacDonell or no, you took in yon girl as your leman, and you’re not in the habit of allowing anyone in your service to suffer mistreatment—unless you be the one offering it, of course. You didn’t help her when she might have used your influence just now, and that’s what’s sticking in your craw, cousin.”
With that, Kinnon nodded and started toward the door, but as he strode away, he called over his shoulder in challenge, “Then again, you’re the laird. Think on it as you wish.”
Duncan scowled and stared back into his empty cup as Kinnon left the hall.Laird. Aye, he was the leader of the wild MacRaes. But his men were more apt to carouse than fight, and as added insult he’d been cursed with a slip of a woman who looked the picture of her depraved sister while behaving like either a shrewish magpie or a timid mousie.
Just then Bridgid charged by with a platter of steaming oat pudding. Before he would let himself think too much more about what he wanted to do, he pulled her aside.
“Get the MacDonell woman back here. I need to tell her something.”
“Ach, don’t we all! But I don’t know where she’s taken herself off to.” Her voice thick with sarcasm, Bridgid added, “One of her kind, perhaps she’s taking abeautyrest—or could be that she’s out wandering the edge of the loch to let the sea breeze flow through her hair.”
Duncan sighed and pushed himself away from the table. It was clear that he’d not be getting much assistance from hisbailie. He tried to look stern. “When you see her, tell her I need to speak with her tonight.”
Bridgid nodded and started away to her tasks, but Duncan stopped her again. “And keep her occupied in the kitchens today. Somewhere away from the men.”
