“It is nay surprise that people are turning against him. Traitors are often the worst form of cowards.”
“And what about ye, Laird MacGee?” Erica asked, meeting his gaze. “Will ye turn against us?”
The room stilled to the scrape of a log settling in the fire. MacGee took his time, then smiled as if they shared a private joke.
“Nay,” he replied. “Nae yet.”
The words sat between them like a blade laid on the table, not drawn but not sheathed either.
He rose with his cup and came closer under the shape of courtesy. His men watched without watching. He reached and hooked a finger under her chin, lifting her face by a fraction.
“Keep yer eyes high, lass,” he said, soft as a prayer. “The hall needs to see ye steady.”
Erica swallowed, feeling her skin burn from inside at his touch. She knew better than to think the old man was flirting with her.
No, this was not flirtation. It was possession dressed as care. The heat ran even harder through her, sharp and clean. She stepped back before she broke something.
“I will see to the kitchens,” she said. “We have a meal to serve.”
“Of course,” he said, all ease again. “I wouldnae keep ye from yer duties.”
He watched her go with the patience of a man who expected her return.
The passageway gave her the chance to properly exhale. The kitchen was a different world, with its steam and clatter, and the smell of onions and barley.
Erica’s maid, Hilda, knelt at the big pot, sleeves rolled to the elbows, hair in a cloth. She looked up once and stopped scrubbing.
“Me Lady, I heard Laird McGee is here.”
Erica nodded, swallowing as hard as she could.
“What did he say?” Hilda asked, voice low.
“Nothing we didnae fear,” Erica said. “Only he enjoys it more than he cares to admit.”
Hilda wiped her hands and poured tea from a dented tin pot into a wooden cup. “Drink,” she urged. “Ye’re shaking.”
Erica drank and felt the heat steady her hands. “I kent this would happen,” she said. “I didnae expect word today.”
“Then keep the shutters closed,” Hilda said. “And yer face smooth. He is only hunting panic.”
“I can managesmooth,” Erica said, and almost smiled. “I daenae have the luxury of panic.”
“Just listen to him calmly and let him speak. Ye cannae react to men like that.”
Erica nodded, drank the rest of her tea, and made to return to the Great Hall. “That is what I intend to do: nae react.”
“Good,” Hilda said. “And daenae try to bite his hand off or something.”
Erica let out a breath that surprised her as a laugh. “Now, why would I ever do that, Hilda?”
“I ken ye very well, me Lady. Do ye remember when ye tried to bite yer aunt Morag and uncle Duncan when ye were a bairn?”
Erica shrugged. “They were pulling me cheeks. What else was I supposed to do?” A low laugh escaped her lips.
The hall had already shifted toward the meal by the time Erica returned. Trenchers lined the long tables as the steward snapped at a boy to mind the salt.
Laird MacGee took the high chair as if he had been born to the wood. He rose when she approached, and for a moment, the hall pretended nothing was wrong in the slightest.
