“Let me move you closer tae the table, Maggie.”
He’d strode over to her faster than she could blink as if to prevent her from protesting, and picked up the chair with her in it and deposited it at the end of the table. Meanwhile, Grania, Keira, and Rhona settled themselves on the bench to one side and Gabriel sat down on the other side. At once it seemed that they were surrounded by servants bearing steaming bowls of what smelled to Magdalene like venison stew, her stomach growling so noisily that Rhona burst into fresh giggles.
“Did you hear her, Papa? Her tummy sounds just like mine!”
The child was so sweet and grinned at Magdalene with such guileless affection that she couldn’t help throwing her a quick smile. Yet she sobered when she saw again that Gabriel was staring at her.
And not just staring, but studying her…closely. Too closely.
Magdalene felt a nervous shiver as a fragrant bowl of stew, studded with chunks of turnips and carrots, was placed in front of her. The food smelled wonderful and she was ravenous, but now she felt almost too anxious to eat.
What had she done to warrant such scrutiny from him? Her howling should have alarmed him, angered him, embarrassed him even in front of his clansmen, and she was certain that her wild spectacle had earned the desired effect.
Everything had been going perfectly until Rhona had chimed in, and then Gabriel had begun to howl, which Magdalene still couldn’t believe though she had seen it with her own eyes—
“Fool,” she whispered vehemently to herself as everyone else at the table dug with gusto into their food.
Her eyes. Gabriel had seen her tears and no doubt wondered at them, but did lunatics not cry? Mayhap it had simply been the timing of her tears that had startled him—och, it wasn’t for her to wonder what the man might be thinking! Let him stare at her until the cows came home, she was hungry. She picked up her spoon and dug into her stew as well, and so big a mouthful that she began to choke.
“Papa, look!” cried Keira, who all along had appeared as wary of Magdalene as Rhona was entranced by her.
“Just a wee bit of coughing, nothing tae fear,” came Gabriel’s response as he leaned over and gave Magdalene a sharp whack between her shoulder blades.
Out from her throat flew a chunk of turnip that landed right in the middle of the table, Keira crying out in horrified surprise while Rhona pointed, her eyes as round as her mouth.
“Laird Gabriel is your uncle, Keira, not your papa,” chided Grania, who seemed as unperturbed by Magdalene’s near choking as if she had merely sneezed. “The same goes for you, Rhona. It’s fanciful nonsense and we’ve had enough of it, do you hear me? And that one there is no more your mama than I’m the lady of MacLachlan Castle, so you’ll not be calling her as such anymore. Now eat your dinner and leave the poor mad thing tae her husband.”
“Is she mad, Papa—I mean, Uncle?” asked Keira, who stared so doubtfully at Magdalene that she focused once more upon eating her stew—but more slowly this time. “She’s so very beautiful, it doesna seem right…but she does act strangely.”
“Aye, so she does,” Gabriel agreed, nodding to a pair of serving maids carrying pitchers. “Ale for me and cider for the rest—no, on second thought, give my wife some ale, too.”
Magdalene stopped her spoon halfway to her mouth at his command, which made him look at her sharply, a dark brow rising.
That made her want to kick herself—och, what was she doing? No lunatic would react to everything the man uttered, which made her heart quicken in her breast.
Little by little, was she giving herself away? Here she had been trying so hard since the convent to appear as mad as could be, so what was happening here?
She had never had such trouble with Sister Agnes and the rest of the nuns, who hadn’t once appeared to doubt her feigned lunacy. Nor had her father, who had been only too eager to send her away.
Yet Gabriel MacLachlan wasn’t a nun, but a flesh and blood man. Was that what seemed to make him more attuned to everything she did? What else could she do to convince him that she was utterly dotty?
Her heart beating faster as her nervousness only grew, Magdalene made herself stare with no expression at all as her cup was filled to the brim with ale—another thought striking her.
Was he trying to see how she might act after drinking sterner stuff than cider? A test, mayhap? She had never been one to enjoy the taste of ale and the few times she had sampled it at her father’s fortress, she’d grown all woozy and begun to say silly things. Truthful things—aye, so that was it!
Magdalene’s hands trembled that Gabriel still seemed to be watching her so closely, even though he appeared to be listening to his nieces’ chatter about their dolls. She nearly jumped out of her chair when he moved the cup closer to her.
“Drink, Maggie. You must be thirsty. You had quite a fright atop the tower—”
“Oh, Uncle, I want tae go atop the tower!” interjected Keira, though Grania shushed her.
“Nonsense, child! That’s no place for wee ones like yourself. Finish your stew or you’ll get no apple tart.”
“Mmm, apple tart,” chimed in Rhona, both girls doing their best to oblige her as Gabriel moved the cup even closer to Magdalene.
She didn’t look at him, but began to shovel stew so quickly into her mouth that she spilled some down her chin to plop into her lap. At once Rhona noticed and giggled, and plopped a spoonful into her lap, too, which made Magdalene grab a small handful of the stuff from her bowl and smear it onto her face.
“Och, Rhona, no!” cried Grania as the child quickly followed suit, while Keira glanced from Magdalene to Gabriel and then back again.
