Disbelief threatened to still Duncan’s heart. But then the numbness faded under an onslaught of blistering rage.
“Bridgid!”
He roared hisbailie’s name, and twenty pairs of eyes turned on him. If he hadn’t been convinced that he’d lost his mind, he might have believed he saw a gleam of desperate hope in more than one of the gazes his kinsmen fixed on him. Wordlessly, several of the men lifted their arms to point toward the kitchens, and Duncan stalked in that direction.
There was no one in the kitchen itself, but as he rounded the corner to the kitchen yard, he heard voices raised in anger. One was Bridgid’s, another was definitely male, and the third was unrecognizable, letting loose a string of commands that virtually drowned out the other two.
As his gaze took in the sight before him, his steps slowed before stopping all together. He’d not have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Old Callum was squeezed into one of the wooden kitchen tubs, his bony arms and knees poking out the top, flailing and cursing as Aileana stood over him, trying to unwrap the plaid from his torso. Bridgid stood nearby, hands on her hips, managing to evade the water and soap that sprayed up in glistening droplets every time Aileana tugged the fighting Callum’s plaid.
“You’re going to let me take this from you and wash it, Callum Menzie,” Aileana grated, “or you’re not going to be allowed in the hall any more. You’ll be taking your meals in the stable with the rest of the animals!”
“That’s eno’ now!” Callum roared. “I got into a tub for ye—and I even let you take shears to me beard, but that’s as far as I go! Me plaid stays with me!”
“Has everyone lost their blessed minds?”
At Duncan’s exasperated bellow, all activity ceased; Aileana took two steps back, Bridgid whirled to face him, and Callum blinked up at him like a soapy, wet owl. They all stared, dumbfounded, and Duncan charged forward. “Someone had better answer me. I’m in no mood to be making guesses.”
“What is it you want to know, then?”
It was Bridgid who’d spoken, somewhat timidly, he noted, but facing her, he growled nonetheless, “Why don’t we start with something simple—like telling me why the dogs are combed like cats, why there are flowers in my hall, and why my men are sitting at the table, looking like they’re waiting for a sermon!”
At that, Bridgid’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Aileana stepped forward, chin upraised. “Don’t be badgering Bridgid, Duncan MacRae. It was none of her doing, but mine. I’ll be taking responsibility for it if you’ve anything to say.”
“You’re blasted right, I’ve got something to say. I cannot believe—” Duncan’s throat seized up as comprehension of Aileana’s admission hit home. His brows furrowed and he directed a hot glare at her. “You?You’re trying to tell me thatyou’reat the root of all this nonsense?”
Did the woman think him daft? Not only was she a leman in the eyes of his clan, but she was a MacDonell besides; she could no more order his men to bathe and shave and be obeyed in it than she could breathe under water. They’d throw her in the loch if she tried. Barking a laugh, he rounded on her, standing between her and the others. “It is my experience that wee mousies squeak, Aileana MacDonell, they do not roar. Now I’ll be knowing the truth of all this before I step a foot from this yard.”
“Then you can grow roots and plant yourself if it pleases you, but the truth is staring you in the face. I ordered the changes you see, and if you do not like them, then you can address your complaints to me.” Aileana dug her fists into her hips and looked him square in the eye.
Nonplussed, Duncan swung his gaze to Bridgid. Hisbailiegazed back at him with a level expression that bespoke agreement with Aileana. Doubt fell beneath the hooves of swiftly rising anger. It seemed his meek, timid leman hid more than one surprise for him behind that face of angelic innocence; perhaps shehadcreated these disturbances. How and why remained a mystery. But it wouldn’t be for long.
“You,” he said, pointing at Aileana, “will meet me in my chamber in exactly one hour.”
She quirked one dainty brow, and her voice lilted to his ears, as sweet now as it had been shrill before. “If I’m free, aye, I’ll come. Otherwise I’ll be there when I can make the time.” He saw a glimpse of pearly teeth before she swept past him and back toward the kitchens.
So great was his surprise at her answer that he felt like he had indeed grown roots, fixing him to the spot. But when Old Callum coughed, he started from the spell Aileana had cast on him. Callum shivered in the tub, his lips tinged blue and his teeth beginning to chatter. “Are you through, MacRae? I’m thinking I’ll be needing a glass of spirits afore I catch my death of cold.”
At Duncan’s nod, Callum surged from the water and grabbed at the length of dry plaid that Bridgid held for him. With a sniff of tattered dignity, he dried his arms and legs and then draped the plaid round himself; but as he wobbled toward the kitchen, Duncan heard him muttering and cursing under his breath.
Callum was right. They’d all been bested by a wee MacDonell lass. And as chieftain of the clan, Duncan decided, it was his duty to put a stop to it.
Gritting his teeth, he trudged through the yard to the kitchen, and from there across the hall and up the steps to his chamber; he looked neither right nor left, uttering not a word in response to the wide-eyed gazes his people gave him. His mind twisted with thoughts, alternating between bafflement at the apparent change Aileana had made in both her demeanor and his castle, and anger that she’d done either without asking his permission.
When he finally reached his room, it was with grim resolution. He needed to prepare for his bath—and for the reckoning his unpredictable, red-haired leman had earned this day.
Exactly an hour and a quarter later, Aileana stood at the portal to Duncan’s bedchamber. Clenching her fingers, she breathed a prayer for strength. Duncan would be her greatest challenge yet, and she knew that she’d be fortunate to escape this meeting unscathed. Still, these past days of practice gave her confidence. She’d learned many things in the process of overcoming his clan, not the least of which was that to get a desired result, she had to interpret each individual she faced with careful scrutiny.
Where some of Duncan’s kin responded to her snapping and blustering, she sensed the chieftain himself needed a more subtle approach. Mild antagonism—such as her deliberate lateness—would serve to show her independence. And though she was certain that he would shout and attempt to cow her into submission as Father had done when she was disobedient, she vowed to remain firm once she stood face-to-face with him.
Aileana looked down at her green overskirt, examining it with a critical eye; it still bore a smudge from the rasher of bacon that Nora had tipped into her this morning as they served breakfast. She rubbed the spot to no avail. It would have to do. Her hand trembled as she smoothed her unruly hair back one last time. Then, pushing open the door, she strode into the bedchamber.
Duncan stood with his hands linked behind his back, gazing out at the sun setting over the loch below. Clearing her throat lightly, Aileana waited for him to acknowledge her presence; she knew he was aware of her by the way he’d stiffened when she came into the room. But he remained silent.
“I’m here as you bid,” she murmured. “And I’m waiting to hear what you have to say to me.”
“Aye, you are waiting,” he answered quietly. He swung around to look at her, adding, “And if I wanted to be true to the point, I’d be making you do so for the full quarter hour as you did me.”
Aileana felt herself flush; his controlled dignity made her almost ashamed that she’d used such a ploy against him. Almost, but not quite.
