But then, her stomach betrayed her with another unmistakable growl.
The cook winced sympathetically. “Please, me lady,” she said gently. “Go tae the dining hall. Ye need tae be healthy yerself and well rested if ye are tae heal others.”
The words struck despite her anger. Elaina closed her eyes briefly, then nodded once.
“Very well,” she replied, as resignation threaded through her voice.
She turned toward the door, drawing her cloak closer around her as if it could shield her irritation. As she made her way down the corridor toward the dining hall, she could only hope that it was late enough that the laird had already retired to his study.
She had endured quite enough of Duncan Grant for one day.
The dining hall was quiet in the way only late evenings could be.
Most of the household had already retired, leaving the long table sparsely set. Duncan was sitting at the head with Iain across from him, a plate between them that neither seemed particularly intent on finishing. Maps lay half-unfurled beside trenchers, crumbs marking borders where fingers had traced patrol routes.
“If the western road remains quiet another week,” Iain was saying, “we may assume the movement has shifted south.”
“Or that someone has grown cleverer,” Duncan replied, tearing off a piece of bread without much attention.
At that moment when the doors banged open. Both men looked up, only to see Elaina stepping into the hall with unmistakable purpose. The guard who had followed her remained discreetly outside, as if even he sensed the danger of crossing the threshold with her.
Duncan leaned back in his chair and smirked.
“Ah,” he said mildly, “me lady. How nice of ye tae join us.”
She fixed him with a look that felt remarkably like poison-tipped arrows. It amused him beyond reason.
She crossed the hall and stopped at the table, planting her hands firmly on its edge. “I would nae have interrupted,” she said coolly, “if I had been allowed tae take me meals anywhere else but here.”
Iain’s brow lifted, just slightly. He knew nothing of the guard, the orders, the careful watch Duncan had placed upon her movements.
Duncan did not apologize.
He sensed it still, that instinctive wrongness that told him she was hiding something important. Not something malicious, perhaps, but dangerous all the same. Until he understood what itwas, he could not afford blindness. And if there was one moment in the day when she could not refuse to be seen, it was when hunger demanded its due.
He inclined his head politely. “As yer host, it is me pleasure tae have ye join me fer meals. Especially since this is the first invitation ye’ve accepted.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Accepted is a generous word.”
“Hospitality often is,” he replied easily.
They stared at one another for a heartbeat with anger sparking and challenge flaring, until something else slipped in alongside it, and that was a mutual, unwilling delight in the clash.
She huffed. “I suppose I should thank ye fer ensuring I dinnae starve in isolation.”
“I would hate tae be accused of neglect,” he replied. “Particularly by someone with such a talent fer dramatic entrances.”
Iain leaned back, openly entertained now. “I’ll fetch another plate,” he said, rising. “It seems dinner has grown more interesting.”
Duncan watched him go, then gestured casually. “Elaina, this is Iain MacRae, Captain of the Grant army, and an old friend who has tolerated me longer than any sensible man should.”
Iain returned just in time to hear that and snorted. “Ye make it sound as though I had a choice in the matter.”
To Duncan’s distinct surprise, Elaina did not take the seat across from him. She moved instead to the chair beside Iain. Duncan stilled, only barely.
Elaina regarded Iain with open curiosity. “I hope,” she said sweetly, “that ye are nae like yer laird, deciding what people eat, where they walk, and who watches them breathe.”
Iain barked a laugh. “Nay. I’m more the sort who worries about where the enemy is hiding, how many men they’ve brought, and how tae kill them efficiently.”
