“Coddle their men? Everyone works in this castle. Every single soul or I’ll hear why they’re a burden to the clan.” Then his voice lowered. “You work more than ten women, Mairi, with more piled on every day. You’ve made them lazy, and I won’t have you weaken us anymore.”
“I weakened then?” she said, her voice rising until it squeaked. “When I have near killed myself—”
“Aye. You did their work, and now they expect it.”
Her jaw dropped open and her face flushed a bright purple. And then she threw down the basket of bread as if it burned. “Verra well,” she said as she glared at Clara. “I’m done. See if your Sassenach bride can do better.” Then she stomped away, and not toward the kitchen. She went right out the main door, throwing it open with a hard shove of both hands.
Everyone watched her stalk out of the room, the quiet growing in her wake. Then one by one, they turned to stare not at Liam who had created the mess, but at her. She was the lady of the castle now, and with Mairi gone, she would have to see that it worked and worked well.
“What have you done?” she rasped. “I’m hopeless at running a household!”
Underneath the table, he gripped her hand tight while he turned to her. His expression was nothing short of besotted, and his words were clear to everyone. “I promised you a free hand to do as you will here. No one to interfere with your plans, no one to naysay you but me.”
She gaped at him. “I know nothing about running a castle. Mairi is the one who managed everything here.” Her voice was growing stronger as outrage filled her. “You’ve doomed me from the start!”
“Nonsense,” he said with a grin. “I’ve given you the challenge of your life.” He looked around the room. He had everyone’s attention, that’s for sure. “Is what my lady said true? Is one woman—a MacAdaidh, no less—the only one who can manage here? Can the men not pack their own gear without her telling them what to do? Can the women not cook without her direction? Should we all change our names then to MacAdaidh?”
That was like pouring oil on a ready flame. The hall exploded into denials. Men and women alike were on their feet, chanting the MacCleal name as if it were the answer to their prayers. Liam grinned as he grabbed a handful of bread. He then filled his flagon with wine and lifted it to the room. There was a collective pause as everyone waited to hear his words.
“I thought not,” he said. He stood up, his chair scraping loudly behind him. “We are MacCleal,” he said. “And we will work until we thrive.”
She did not think it could get any louder in the hall, but she was wrong. Every voice cried out, even his father’s. There was clapping and stomping of feet. There was drink consumed in Liam’s honor. In Clara’s honor. And, of course, in the MacCleal name. It grew even louder as Liam took her hand and pulled her up to stand by his side. She smiled, of course, and tried not to look sick.
“I hope you enjoy that bread,” she said in an undertone. “God knows, it’s the last decent food you’re going to get with me in the kitchen.”
