“I mean, it is their lives and homes and families that are most impacted by my decisions. So I give them an equal chance to voice their needs. With every big decision, I hold a council, a chance for members of my lands to come and give their opinion. I have already called one to discuss the Baron’s proposal. They have a right to know what is coming. If there is to be a war between the English and the Scots, I want all of my people to be as prepared as we can be.”
She was stunned into silence once more.
“I would like for you to stay and attend,” he offered. “As I have already said, it is far too late for you to ride out on your own, and I am in no fit state to accompany you home. But if you will stay for the night, stay for the council, then I will do everything in my power to see you brought to wherever you wish to go after.”
“Ye want me to stay so that I can be another example of the savagery of the Scots?” she scoffed, not letting herself believe that Oliver was being earnest. “Something to stand in the middle of yer council for yer people to point and jeer at that furthers yer point about siding with Dudley?”
He blinked in surprise and slowly started shaking his head.
“Of course not. What a ridiculous notion. Do you truly think so low of me that you imagine I saved you from the Baron only to bring you to my home and give you the same treatment? No, Sorcha,” he said sternly. “I want you to attend so that my people have the benefit of hearing your perspective. You know things we do not. They will benefit from hearing what you have to say.”
Exhaustion rolled over Sorcha with a wave so powerful that it almost knocked her feet out from under her. She wavered and Oliver reached out to grab her, placing steadying hands around her waist. He pulled her in close, leaving her no choice but to press her palms into his chest.
“It has been a long day.”
The excuse was offered with kindness, she knew, but she still felt a rush of heat in her cheeks.
“I daresay it has been a longer one for ye,” she countered, her eyes staying on the floor.
Oliver waited just a moment longer until she had truly gained her footing before letting go of her once more. He shrugged off her statement with a nonchalance she couldn’t summon herself.
“It has not been easy, I will grant you that. A sleepless night, a long journey, and a battle and wound to boot. But I had a proper meal last night and this morning. I have had the use of a proper bed these past weeks. Can you say the same?”
When she didn’t answer, Oliver reached once more for her fingers and led her out of the surgery.
“Come on. We can sneak into the kitchens and find some dinner for ourselves. Cook won’t mind. Besides, I think I owe you for keeping you out in the stables for so long. It is my fault we missed dinner in the first place.”
“Aye,” she agreed, letting him guide her through the dimly lit hallways of his home. “That would be nice.”
“Does this mean you will stay?” he asked, barely looking at her over his shoulder.
She paused only long enough to consider her answer, to consider everything she had learned about Oliver in the past few hours. In the end, it was a simple decision to make.
“I suppose it does, Oliver.” She sighed with a nod. “Aye. I will stay and eat and rest. Tomorrow, I will sit in on this council meeting and offer what I can. And then, I am goinghome.”
Her declaration hung in the air between them all the way to the clean and empty kitchens. Like the rest of his home, this room was lived in but well-kept. It was apparent from the organized and gleaming pots hanging over the stove to the fully stocked pantry that the ruler of this domain took great pride intheir work. The thought brought back to mind something Oliver had said earlier that had pricked Sorcha’s curiosity.
“Ye said we had to sneak into the kitchens. Why? Are ye nae Lord and master of yer own home?”
He chuckled at her good-natured ribbing. The sound was warm and friendly. She managed to catch a glimpse of the boy he used to be, and she felt a pang of sadness that he had lost that innocence, that easygoing nature so abruptly.
“Not when it comes to Cook. She rules her kitchen with an iron fist, but once you taste her biscuits, her stews, you will not begrudge her for it.”
“Sounds like ye care a great deal for her. Has she been with ye long?”
He peered about the kitchen, pulling a couple of plates and mugs off the shelves before reaching for some bread and leftover cheese. With his head tucked deep into the stores, he found a half-eaten selection of cold meat and set that on the counter with the rest of his findings. Waving his arms, he gestured for Sorcha to start eating while he went in search of some wine.
“Longer than I or my mother have been, yes. She started as a kitchen maid here when my dad was first born. Through the years, she has earned an impressive reputation for herself. She likes everyone to think she is harsh and unyielding, but I know she has a soft spot for me.”
“Och?” Sorcha asked between bites of food. “And how do ye ken that?”
He poured them each a healthy measure of wine before sitting in the stool across from her. Propping one elbow against the wooden counter, he chewed on the cheese thoughtfully.
“I suppose it was another thing I inherited from my father. When I was a lad, I could never seem to get my fill. I would eat and eat at dinner and come midnight, I would be starving again. It became my habit to sneak down here and eat whatever Icould find. One night, I happened to be in here as my father was leaving for a hunting trip. My going had been out of the question, so naturally, I stuffed my pockets with as many rolls as I could manage and took off after my Da.”
The image he conjured was one that brought her a smile. She could easily picture the dashing, mischievous boy Oliver would have made, sneaking through the kitchens to spend time with his father.
“Did he ever catch ye?”
