“Have they drunk it all already?”
The cook’s quirked eyebrow studying the jug that landed on the messy counter with a thunk that answered her question.
“Aye,” Laura replied anyway. “The Baron has called for more.”
“This is the third time you have been sent back to the kitchens, Laura.” One of the kitchen maids regarded her, a smug, knowing look in her eye. “If you are not quick about it, the Baron will notice your absence and punish you. Although, I hear this time, you might have some company in the cells. That would be a nice change of pace for you, would it not?”
Laura bit back the words forming on her tongue. She didn’t dare admit how much she was itching to get back down to the dungeon, an endless list of questions begging for answers from the prisoner. The first of which was about their shared friend.
As much as Laura was loath to admit it, she missed Taryn—desperately. These long three years had been made bearable only through her memories of the days she spent at home. Every day, she would summon the images of her parents’ and her brother’s faces, if only to ensure she didn’t forget them completely. Taryn’s face would often appear alongside her family, despite the mix of emotions that always accompanied it.
To Laura’s dismay, the details of her loved ones had long since grown hazy. She knew that her brother, James, had the same green in his eyes, though his always seemed to glow with a vigor for life that she could no longer summon. Her mother had bequeathed Laura the muddy yellow color of her hair.
There had been a point in her life where she could remember feeling beautiful. She had never been much compared to Taryn’s golden spun hair and crystal blue eyes. Even still, Laura knew she carried her own unique beauty; at least, she had. Three years of life in and out of a dungeon cell, toiling away for a cruel master, has robbed her of anything lovely. Even the skin on her hands was cracked and brittle, hard callouses on her palms rough on her gaunt cheekbones.
“After being on me feet these last few days for the master and all of his unruly Lords, I am sorely tempted to land myself in a cell, if only to get a few days’ rest,” the cook quipped, breaking the strange air of tension that had risen with the heat from the hearth.
“Och, aye,” the housekeeper added. “It’ll be ages before the soreness leaves these old feet.”
She propped the offending appendages on the chair across from her, rubbing the tired, aged muscles of her legs.
“I will make ye my poultice tonight, if ye would like, Mrs. Hall,” Laura offered quietly. “It will ease the ache.”
“Ye are a gem,” the housekeeper gushed, her eyes sparkling with affection for the girl.
The warmth Laura saw nearly brought tears to her own eyes, shocking her with the sudden wave of homesickness.
She had gotten over the worst of her longing for home just after her first year on the estate. It had been many more months since she had last shed a tear for the family she had been stolen from. Her heart was cold and hard, an iron forged by the fires of separation that had cooled, cementing her place in the world. At least, she thought she was impervious to the rushing waves of grief until someone like Mrs. Hall looked at her with such warm affection.
It was no secret that Laura was the odd one out amongst the servants. For starters, she was one of the few Scots the Baron allowed on his lands. And that said nothing for the fact that Laura was a prisoner here, unable to leave and move on should she wish to do so.
The rest of the servants came to better themselves, to make a life for themselves. They came because it was the best life had to offer them. And then, once satisfied with the skills and the reputation that they had built for themselves, they would leave in search of a more benevolent master. Or to marry their childhood love. A handful of the most complacent servants stayed put, Mrs. Hall amongst them, roots too deep in the Baron’s land to leave.
But Laura had no hope to expect anything other than the cruel treatment from the Baron. It was a blessing to be forgotten because that meant that at the very least she wouldn’t be the object of his jeers. She would never be allowed to leave his estate, to venture back home for the holidays, or to tell her aging parents goodbye. A husband and family of her own, once her dearest held dreams, had been decimated by the bargain struck between the Baron and her Laird. And that made her, to all the other servants, the lowest ranking person in every room.
She had resulted to trading favors, using her skills as a seamstress to pick up new ones, like making salves for wounds and basic healing talents, to get in the good graces of those around her. She was only acknowledged when someone needed something from her or when the Baron believed that she had done him some misdeed. To the rest of the world, she was merely a means to an end. To everyone except Brandon.
The stablemaster nodded over to the far kitchen of the corner. He had snuck in while she was too busy refilling the pitcher of ale to notice.
“Let me bring the wine in,” he offered, half-pleading and-half demanding. “I will put it on the table in front of the Baron, and he can serve himself.”
“Brandon,” she softly chided. “He will nae like it.”
“He will not say a word about it. Not to me. I doubt he will even notice.”
A roar erupted from the Great Hall and echoed down the corridor, furthering the point Brandon was trying to make.
“Ye underestimate what the Baron sees,” she told him.
“Laura,” Brandon pressed, inching closer to her.
The firelight made his brown eyes turn a rich hazelnut and streaked through his black hair with amber. There was a light about him that was as wild and free as the horses he cared for. It called to her, beckoning her into the same kind of freedom, unaware that she would never be given that opportunity.
“Every man in there is drunk. They are all so lost in their cups that if you step foot inside the hall, they will forget themselves. If they haven’t already,” he added darkly under his breath.
She huffed a dry laugh and brushed his worries away.
“Nay, they will nae. I am too plain for any of them to find me tempting, nay matter how deep in their cups they might be. Besides, if the Baron sees ye doing my job, he will be sure tomake me pay for it later. I can already hear his rants about how I embarrassed him by having a stable master serve his table.”
