Lennon nodded, his shoulders sagging. “Aye, Maclean.”
Conversation rose and fell in the kitchen, the rumble of voices punctuated with laughter. Supper had arrived, and Dounarwyse’s servants sat at the long table, crowded shoulder to shoulder.
Heat from the hearth pressed against Fiona’s back, and she inhaled the aroma of broth, bread, and singed onions. The warmth was a little stifling, yet she barely noticed. Instead, she felt light—almost buoyant.
Every time she shifted on the bench, memories heated her skin: Ailean’s voice low in her ear the day before, his fingers inside her, and the dangerous sweetness of it. Excitement flickered low in her belly at the memory. She hid a smile in her cup.
Tay, the rat-catcher, sat at her side, elbows planted wide, already halfway through a second helping of onion broth. Beneath the table, Midge sat glued to Fiona’s skirts, the terrier’s bright eyes fixed on her hand. Fiona tore off a crumb of bread and let it fall. The dog snapped it up.
“Ye spoil her,” Tay muttered, though his grin gave him away.
“She’s skin and bone,” Fiona whispered back.
He snorted a laugh. “Thanks to ye … she’ll soon be as round as a barrel.”
“There’ll be wrestling tomorrow.” Across the table, wee Stu nearly vibrated with excitement. “And footraces. Jory says men are coming from three villages away!” It was the third time he’d brought the games up since supper began.
“Aye, but mind ye don’t get underfoot,” one of Essie’s assistants teased. “Or ye’ll find yerself trampled.”
Laughter rolled through the space. Fiona joined in, surprised by how natural it felt. Voices overlapped, bowls were passed into her hands without asking, and someone nudged her shoulder to share a story. The kitchen no longer felt full of strangers.
She belonged here. Even blade-tongued Essie had warmed to her. Indeed, the cook almost wore a smile this evening. Everyone was looking forward to the games.
Almosteveryone.
Fiona’s gaze drifted to the far end of the table.
Carrie sat stiff and silent, barely touching her broth. No one spoke to her. Or perhaps they had tried and given up. When the maid glanced up and caught Fiona looking, her expression pinched. Guilt twisted in Fiona’s chest. She should cross the table. Say something. Fix this.
Instead, Tay launched into a retelling of the morning’s audience, drawing her attention. “I thought the trapper would kill Keith,” he said with relish. “Never seen a nose burst like that … blood everywhere.”
Stu’s mouth fell open. “Did the laird roar?”
“Aye, he did, lad,” Tay assured him. “Felt it in me bones.”
“The cooper’s lucky he’s only banished,” someone added. “Another laird might’ve flogged him first.”
“Aye,” Tay said, sobering. “But Maclean saves such punishment for more serious crimes.”
A murmur of agreement followed.
“Innes was beside herself afterward,” one of the maids added then, her brow furrowed. “Weeping so hard, she nearly walked into the door on the way out.”
“Aye, well … she knew what she was doing when she let Keith swive her,” Essie sniffed. “She cuckolded her husband. The woman got off lightly, if ye ask me.”
Fiona pictured the humiliated trapper’s wife, and a chill threaded through her warmth. How quickly a woman’s life could tilt. How thin the line between safety and ruin.
Her secret pulsed quietly inside her.
Midge nudged her ankle again, and Fiona slipped the terrier another scrap. Tay caught the motion this time and rolled his eyes. “Ye’ve done it now,” he said. “She’ll follow ye everywhere.”
16: BRING ME LUCK
A WARM BREEZE feathered across Fiona’s face, bringing with it the smell of trampled grass, the briny scent of the sea, the smell of horse, and the aroma of meat searing on a griddle.
A smile stretched her lips. Summer games. What a treat.
She’d never attended any like these before. At harvest time in Craignure, after all the work had been done, the locals did put on contests of sorts—but not like this. An entire field east of the run rigs had been festooned with bunting and set up for a day of entertainment.
