Page 41 of Owned by the Scarred Laird

“Face first,” Duncan added solemnly.

Without a word, one of the scullery maids slid a steaming cup of spiced ale in front of Chloe. Chloe took it, her fingers curling around the warm earthenware.

Melodie leaned toward her. “Is it true ye’ve already had Mrs. Donnan reorganize the store cupboards, me Lady?”

“Twice,” Chloe said. “The second time she suggested it herself, which I am choosin’ to take as progress.”

Isla snorted into her cup. Melodie pressed her lips together very hard.

Mrs. Donnan watched the exchange over the rim of her mug, saying absolutely nothing, which Chloe was beginning to recognize as the highest form of praise the old woman possessed.

For an hour, the noise drowned out the ache. She laughed where the stories warranted, drank her ale, and let the life of the castle wash over her.

But as the night deepened, the kitchen fire began to die back into gray ash. Every time the ancient structure above them groaned under the wind, every heavy footstep in the distant corridors, every door that slammed shut against the gale, Chloe felt her gaze pulling toward the ceiling. Her ears strained for the heavy, rhythmic thud of a particular pair of boots.

He had said he would come in the mornings. He had not said a damn thing about the nights.

Duncan continued talking and stood up to demonstrate, gripping his notched practice blade with exaggerated gravity.

“The wrist,” he said, rotating it slowly. “Tyler made me do it fourteen times. Fourteen. Before the sun was even up.”

“And did it work?” Chloe asked.

Duncan considered this with great seriousness. “The fourteenth time, aye.”

Isla made a sound that was not quite a laugh or a scoff, but contained elements of both.

Melodie leaned toward Chloe, lowering her voice to the register of a woman imparting something genuinely important. “How is wee William’s teethin’, me Lady? Cook has been soakin’ a crust of bread in honey for him. She’ll nae admit it, but she has.”

“Better some nights than others,” Chloe said. “Last night was a good one. He only woke twice.”

“Only twice,” Melodie repeated.

“It gets better,” Chloe said kindly. “Eventually.”

Melodie did not look convinced.

“Me Lady.” Isla set down her cup. “Is it true? About the vault?”

Chloe looked at her. “The vault?”

“The Laird’s vault.” Isla’s eyes gleamed. “The men say there are barrels down there that have been agin’ since before any of us were born. That he opened one once for a visiting earl, and the man wept.” She leaned forward. “Actual tears, me Lady.”

“I wouldnae ken anythin’ about a vault,” Chloe said mildly.

Isla narrowed her eyes. “But ye’ve been in the distillery.”

“I have.”

“And?”

Chloe took a long, slow sip of her ale. “The copper pot was very impressive.”

Isla's groan was loud enough to startle Melodie.

“She’s protectin’ him,” Isla announced to the room at large. “She’s already protectin’ him just after a fortnight.”

“Isla,” Mrs. Donnan said from the end of the table, without looking up from her mug.