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hands; it was empty, smeared with the jellied remnants of cold oatmeal.
“It’s about time you showed your face this morning, missy. Here. Take it back to the kitchens and have it filled again.” Bridgid shook her red face at Aileana, muttering, “There’s no time to dawdle with a room of hungry men. Get about it.” She stalked away, charging at whirlwind speed toward a table whose occupants were banging their fists in a rising crescendo of complaint.
Aileana gaped at Bridgid’s retreating back. Serve these animals? But Bridgid had already turned away, waving her toward the kitchens. With a sigh, Aileana let the pot dangle from her grip and did as she was bid. The sound of women’s voices spilled from the warm chamber beyond the hall, rising and falling, punctuated with laughter. But as soon as she stepped into the chamber, the chatter tapered off and fell to silence by the time she’d reached the middle of the room.
“Bridgid told me to have this refilled,” she murmured, holding out the empty pot. The only sound to break the quiet came from the bannock cakes hissing on the hearth-fire.
Finally, one of the women sauntered forward. She was tall and dark-haired, her ample curves filling a kirtle thatwas a shade too tight. She reached out and grasped the pot between her finger and her thumb, clearly being careful not to touch Aileana’s hand.
“Here, Maggie,” she said to the small, blond girl behind her, though she kept her gaze only on Aileana. “Wash this out before you fill it again.” She fixed her with an insolent expression. “We don’t want our men catching anything from the MacRae’s new whore, now, do we?”
Aileana stood her ground, but a sick, hollow feeling unfurled in her belly. Someone jostled into her and pushed her roughly aside.
“That’s enough out of you, Nora MacKenzie.” Bridgid jabbed her finger into the woman’s shoulder. “If you want to spend the day wailing about being misplaced from the MacRae’s bed, then do it on your own time. That, or I can send you out to the pig trough, to muck and mumble by yourself.” Bridgid glared. “Make your decision.”
Nora’s gaze sliced across Aileana once more before she grumbled under her breath and moved back to the cook pots. One by one, the other women went back to their tasks, their sideways glances leaving Aileana little doubt about the meaning of their whispers.
Pursing her lips, Bridgid took a pot of fresh, hot oatmeal from the fire and wrapped the handle in a cloth before handing it to Aileana. “Take this to the MacRae’s table. His was running low.”
Aileana just looked at her, surprised at her intervention. With a tentative nod, she said, “Thank you for what you did just now. I won’t forget it.”
“What I said wasn’t for your sake, missy, believe you me,” Bridgid snapped, angry red mottling her cheeks. “Work needs to be done, and that was the quickest wayof getting Nora back to it. I’ll not be defending the likes of you with my breath.” She tilted her head with a sharp gesture to the door. “Now get moving and take this in before it gets cold.”
Cheeks burning, Aileana turned away without another word and strode from the kitchen. She reached the MacRae’s table almost without looking, but as she prepared to set the pot of oatmeal on the broad wooden surface, she heard a hissed conversation right next to her that stopped her cold.
“The MacDonell lass has a nice twitch to her arse when she walks, eh, Dougal?”
“Aye, and a fine lap for resting in as well, if you ken my meaning,” the other said, chortling. “Do you think the MacRae’ll be sharing her anytime soon?”
Aileana’s gaze snapped up. The two men sat an arm’s length away from her at Duncan’s table, one as broad as the other was lean. They stared, the lanky one grinning. Her stomach sank to her toes. When she set the pot down, her hands trembled so badly that some of the oatmeal sloshed onto the table in front of
“It’s about time you showed your face this morning, missy. Here. Take it back to the kitchens and have it filled again.” Bridgid shook her red face at Aileana, muttering, “There’s no time to dawdle with a room of hungry men. Get about it.” She stalked away, charging at whirlwind speed toward a table whose occupants were banging their fists in a rising crescendo of complaint.
Aileana gaped at Bridgid’s retreating back. Serve these animals? But Bridgid had already turned away, waving her toward the kitchens. With a sigh, Aileana let the pot dangle from her grip and did as she was bid. The sound of women’s voices spilled from the warm chamber beyond the hall, rising and falling, punctuated with laughter. But as soon as she stepped into the chamber, the chatter tapered off and fell to silence by the time she’d reached the middle of the room.
“Bridgid told me to have this refilled,” she murmured, holding out the empty pot. The only sound to break the quiet came from the bannock cakes hissing on the hearth-fire.
Finally, one of the women sauntered forward. She was tall and dark-haired, her ample curves filling a kirtle thatwas a shade too tight. She reached out and grasped the pot between her finger and her thumb, clearly being careful not to touch Aileana’s hand.
“Here, Maggie,” she said to the small, blond girl behind her, though she kept her gaze only on Aileana. “Wash this out before you fill it again.” She fixed her with an insolent expression. “We don’t want our men catching anything from the MacRae’s new whore, now, do we?”
Aileana stood her ground, but a sick, hollow feeling unfurled in her belly. Someone jostled into her and pushed her roughly aside.
“That’s enough out of you, Nora MacKenzie.” Bridgid jabbed her finger into the woman’s shoulder. “If you want to spend the day wailing about being misplaced from the MacRae’s bed, then do it on your own time. That, or I can send you out to the pig trough, to muck and mumble by yourself.” Bridgid glared. “Make your decision.”
Nora’s gaze sliced across Aileana once more before she grumbled under her breath and moved back to the cook pots. One by one, the other women went back to their tasks, their sideways glances leaving Aileana little doubt about the meaning of their whispers.
Pursing her lips, Bridgid took a pot of fresh, hot oatmeal from the fire and wrapped the handle in a cloth before handing it to Aileana. “Take this to the MacRae’s table. His was running low.”
Aileana just looked at her, surprised at her intervention. With a tentative nod, she said, “Thank you for what you did just now. I won’t forget it.”
“What I said wasn’t for your sake, missy, believe you me,” Bridgid snapped, angry red mottling her cheeks. “Work needs to be done, and that was the quickest wayof getting Nora back to it. I’ll not be defending the likes of you with my breath.” She tilted her head with a sharp gesture to the door. “Now get moving and take this in before it gets cold.”
Cheeks burning, Aileana turned away without another word and strode from the kitchen. She reached the MacRae’s table almost without looking, but as she prepared to set the pot of oatmeal on the broad wooden surface, she heard a hissed conversation right next to her that stopped her cold.
“The MacDonell lass has a nice twitch to her arse when she walks, eh, Dougal?”
“Aye, and a fine lap for resting in as well, if you ken my meaning,” the other said, chortling. “Do you think the MacRae’ll be sharing her anytime soon?”
Aileana’s gaze snapped up. The two men sat an arm’s length away from her at Duncan’s table, one as broad as the other was lean. They stared, the lanky one grinning. Her stomach sank to her toes. When she set the pot down, her hands trembled so badly that some of the oatmeal sloshed onto the table in front of
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