Chapter Fifteen
The morning after the feast was a slow one throughout the whole of McGowan castle. Birds flew about, hogs snorted in their pens, roosters let fly their morning announcements, yet the peasants moved about like slugs after a heavy rain. There was a hangover over the entire population, and everyone felt each other’s pain as they passed through the worn paths of the castle yard.
They had gotten lucky with the weather, and most of the rain had moved south, so the yard was drier than usual, and the hungover peasants didn’t cake as much mud upon their boots as they trudged about their routes.
The kitchens were no exception. It was a commonly held secret that the servants would take a bit to drink for themselves during such a festival, and when Laila woke early, for she had not taken a drop the night before, she found the usual bustling environment of the servant’s quarters quiet and still.
It was strange to see all these fast-talking, slur-spilling girls who were always in motion laying still, breathing steadily through their alcohol-induced slumbers, and Laila went about her business getting ready as quietly as she could. She took a quick stroll through the kitchen but saw nobody stirring. The sun had only just begun to rise, and so she would have expected to see the bakers, but the place was still.
“Is there truly no food?” Lady McGown’s voice took Laila by surprise, and she spun around to see the Lady resting against the kitchen door frame.
“Milady,” Laila said, startled.
“A woman in my condition needs to eat,” Lady McGowan went on, walking into the center of the kitchen and looking about for something prepared.
“There is the stew,” Laila said, looking toward the hanging cauldron of stew that the servants shared throughout each day. The pot was never empty. At the end of each day, what scraps remained from all the service throughout the castle would be tossed into the forever boiling stock, and the feast being the night before, some particularly nice pieces of meat and bread had been dissolving overnight.
“Oh, thank God,” Lady McGowan said. “Bring me a bowl.”
“Of course,” Laila said, hurrying to brush the sleep from her eyes as she fished out a wooden bowl and filled it with the servant’s stew for Lady McGowan. “It’s terribly hot,” she said as she passed the bowl along the counter.
“Better than cold,” Lady McGowan replied as she lifted the bowl up to her face and began to blow delicately across the surface. “Come, sit with me.”
“Yes, Milady,” Laila said, moving nervously over to the edge of the counter.
“I saw you dancing last night,” Lady McGowan went on, blowing again across the soup’s surface.
“Oh?” Laila said, trying to hold her composure. Her mind was traveling through the events of the night before, and she was trying to make sense of it all. None of it fit, and she didn’t know what to do about any of it.
“An orphan girl who dances well, reads and writes, owns a horse, and finds poverty shocking,” Lady McGowan said, and Laila felt her heart sink. She knew it was only a matter of time before she was found out. She had never been a good liar. She was quick with her wit, but she was a poor liar.
“Milady?” Laila asked, trying to avoid answering any sort of question.
“Come now, deary,” Lady McGowan said, giving her bowl of soup a final slow blow, rippling it out to the edges of the wood. “I would love it if you told me who you were, truly.”
“Who I am?” Laila repeated, still trying to avoid the questions.
“Must it be such a secret?” Lady McGowan asked, taking a slow sip of the stew. “Mm! Absolutely delicious.”
“I—” Laila faltered. She had never had a plan for being caught in the center of her lie. A large part of her just wanted to turn around and run.
“Lass,” Lady McGowan said, “You’re in Scotland. Whatever ye did down south, unless of course it’s truly foul, but you don’t strike me as the type for that, it doesn’t matter here. England holds no sway.” Laila hesitated, just staring at her. She was frozen, caught between two worlds. “Fine,” Lady McGowan said dismissively, taking another sip of her soup, “have it your way. Doesn’t bother me. But something else is.”
“What?” was all that Laila could manage. She had completely lost control of the situation, and now Lady McGowan completely commanded the room.
“Last night, at the feast,” the Lady went on, still sipping intermediately from the bowl in her hands.
“Yes?” Laila asked, still stuck like a deer in the headlights. Her body was immobilized with anxiety.
“Why did you run off? What did Kyle do? I swear I’ll knock him about something proper.”
“No, no, you misunderstand,” Laila said, shaking her head, finally brought back around to the moment. “It wasn’t like that at all.”
“Then what was it?”
“I, I just really can’t say.”
“You make me ever so curious, you know,” Lady McGowan said with a sigh, finishing off her bowl of stew. “Give me another.”
