Cook had nodded her consent absent-mindedly, and Emer went to the workbench and poured wine and spices into a bowl. She added honey to make the basting sauce richer and thicker and handed the bowl to the spit boy with instructions to brush the meat with it every hour.
That night, the Laird himself had sent word to the kitchen to congratulate Cook for the excellent way she had dressed the venison. From then on, Emer had been placed in charge of administering spices, herbs, and savories to every recipe. The fashion for pouring sugar and spices into every dish to show a host’s wealth was over, now that these commodities were common and cheaper. Emer had a natural gift for choosing the perfect amount of flavorings to set a dish apart from the ordinary.
On the day of the feast, she was kept busy well into the night running from one side of the huge kitchen to the other, tasting and sprinkling condiments every dish. Her progress was only hampered by her frequent trips and falls.
“It’s these dratted flagstones,” Emer would say as an apology, “they are so uneven and full of ridges!” but everyone knew it was Emer’s clumsy, hurried style of running and walking.
“Be a dear, lass,” Cook said after Emer had drawn attention to herself once again by dropping a pewter jug on the floor, “run upstairs to the east wing turret for me and fetch the ball of twine ye’ll find in the writing desk there in the south-facing chamber. I need it to truss more chickens.”
The first course of the feast was about to be served once the auld Laird took his place at the banqueting hall dais, and now it was time to start on the smaller dishes; roast fowl, pies with surprises baked inside them, jellies, and syllabubs. If Emer had had hopes of the hectic pace of work in the kitchen dying down by the time the moon had risen in the nighttime sky, she was to be disappointed.
Emer thought about asking Cook to send someone else because she did not know the layout of the castle well yet, but when she looked around the kitchen, she saw there was no one else available to do it. So she bobbed a curtsey, replying, “Aye, Mistress Drummond,” and left to locate the east wing turret as best she could.
She was in a panic to find the room and return to the feast preparations as fast as she could, but the twisting passages in the dark were even more confusing than when they had weak daylight showing the way. For one moment, Emer was tempted to return to the kitchen quarters and demand a torch to light her progress but did want to make selfish requests after the castle folk had shown her such kindness since her arrival. Instead, she placed one hand on the wall and used the moonlight streaming in through the open doors to show her the way.
After opening two doors and finding no writing desk, Emer hoped the room with a twisted bronze handle would be the one she needed. She had found a candlestick in the first bedchamber she searched, and the little stubbed wick burned well enough to show her the furniture. She gave the handle a twist and stepped inside the dark room.
She gasped and dropped the candlestick as a man’s strong hands grabbed her by the waist, and spun her around. The next thing Emer knew, she was being kissed so passionately her heart pounded in her chest, beating as fast as a bird’s wings in flight.
Emer had never been kissed before, and the sensation of her hidden ravisher’s mouth hungrily devouring her lips made the hair and skin all over her body tingle in the most delightful way. She felt the soft roughness of his beard scratch against her cheeks and her back arched in a curve, pressing her hips against his sporran belt. She could feel the leather pouch digging in between her legs through the thin fabric of her workday gown.
For the first few seconds, Emer’s arms hung limply down at her sides, as she was too shocked and intrigued to do anything except ride this entrancing experience to the end. The dark seemed to enhance every one of her senses. She heard the uneven breath of her assailant as he moved his kisses from her mouth down to her neck. Her skin shuddered and jumped wherever his lips touched her.
But it was the smell that brought Emer back down to earth abruptly.
I smell lavender! The strongest smell of lavender I ever ken! If it wasnae for the soft prickling of his beard and touch of his sporran and his strength, that lavender scent would be enough to make me think it a woman.
These strange thoughts brought Emer back to reality. She brought her arms up and pushed away from the amorous stranger with all her strength. He loosened his grip and stood back from her, his tall, wide-shouldered shape just an outline against the moonlight coming in the window.
Fumbling for the handle behind her, Emer wrenched the door open and ran up the passage, fleeing into a small sewing room set at the very top of the turret. Running her fingers across tables until she found another candle and flint, she spied a writing desk, discovered a ball of twine within, and made her way back to the kitchens.
She still had a vague trace of lavender perfume on her clothes.
Chapter Four
Caillen did not know what to think when the woman he supposed was Mairi ran out the door.
One minute she’s soft and loving in me arms, and the next thing, she’s bolting as though I were a boggart! Mairi will most definitely have some explaining to do during the feast.
He left the lady’s bedchamber, half hoping she would be waiting for him in the passage, but when he found it deserted, Caillen had nothing else to do except make his way back to the feast hall. He knew every corridor and corner of the castle like the back of his hand and did not need to look for moonlighted windows to show him the way. As he approached the hall, the sounds of feasting and merrymaking could be heard. Caillen, aware that his clan and father would be on the lookout for him, broke into a trot and went through one of the many back entrances, underneath the minstrels’ gallery.
As he mounted the dais where auld Laird Maclachlan was seated with Gawain, Chieftain MacIntosh, and other important visitors, Caillen tried to keep his entrance discrete. This was not hard as the feast had already begun, and everyone was concentrating on their food.
“It looks like ye got lucky in yer sweetheart’s bedchamber, brither,” Gawain said with a smirk as Caillen sat down beside him, “she came in a few minutes ago,” Gawain indicated where Mairi sat at the dais table a few yards away, “and ye follow hot on her heels. If ye are to make a regular thing of this, I advise both o’ ye to be more inconspicuous. The maiden does indeed look flushed with desire. Or is she just excited by the prospect of the brocade?”
Caillen inclined his head forward and looked sideways down the table to where his future betrothed sat. Mairi looked the same as when he had seen her over two years before, but her appearance did nothing to inspire the feelings he had felt in the bedchamber half an hour ago. Her forehead was slightly furrowed from many hours of embroidering in poor light, and tiny wrinkles around her mouth and eyes that had not been there before showed the passing of time. But it was Mairi’s essence, Caillen could find no other word to describe it, that left him unmoved.
Other than the small alterations time had stamped on her skin, he had to agree with his brother-Mairi looked rosy and blushing, as if she had spent the last half an hour in some man’s arms and then run back to the feast with the impression of the kisses still fresh in her mind. But Caillen had doubts the woman he had kissed upstairs had been Mairi.
Dissatisfied, Caillen poured a goblet of mead, pushed back his chair, and approached his lady friend.
“Well met, Mairi,” he said in a jovial voice, his eyes reading her body keenly for signs of blushing or maidenly coyness. To meet the man she had recently been kissing so deeply would have made any girl lower her eyes, “it seems ages since we last spoke. How goes it with ye?”
“Well met, and thank ye for this lavish feast, Caillen. ‘Tis sad to say farewell to yer faither as Laird, but we have confidence ye will take his place with aplomb.”
Mairi took the proffered goblet out of Caillen’s hand with a practical grip and then turned back to eating her meal.
It was nae her! Of that, I’m sure. The maiden I kissed had a touch-a feel-so intoxicating I cannae describe it. Her breath tasted of fresh meadows in summertime, and her skin tasted like violets. If I were to inhale the scent of her hair again, I would ken the woman from the dark room anywhere in the world!
