Read Online When a Laird Takes a Lady: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel by Rowan Keats - Free Book Online Page A

melancholy look stole across her face, and she sighed heavily. “I miss your father.”
    “You must make the best of the current situation.”
    “Nonsense. If I settle for what we currently have, there’s no incentive for you to produce better. You are the chief. Reclaim our castle.”
    He loved his mother dearly, but she either did not understand how dire the situation was, or she purposely chose not to acknowledge it. He was an outlaw with a price on his head. If he were caught, his head would be publicly displayed on a pike in front of the very castle she wanted him to reclaim. His priority had to be clearing their name. And keeping his people alive.
    “My plans are my own,” he told her brusquely. “Do not presume to make them for me. I will see you anon.”
    He nodded sharply to Master Tam and left the stream. By God, women were difficult. His life would be a good sight less complicated without them.
    * * *
    When Isabail was satisfied her chamber was as clean as she could make it, she went in search ofsomeone who could add to her comforts. A pillow or two, a small chest, and a brazier. Surely that was not too much to ask.
    “Where is the seneschal?” she asked Beathag, who stood next to the cook, peering into a huge iron cauldron.
    “There is no seneschal,” the big woman said without looking up. She scooped several handfuls of dried peas from the bowl in which they were soaking and tossed them into the pot. The cook stirred.
    “Who is in charge of the stores, then?”
    Beathag thought for a moment, her head cocked to one side, her finger tapping her chin. “Lady Elisaid, I suppose.”
    “The chief’s wife?”
    The other woman shook her head. “His mother. The chief has never taken a wife. He was to wed the daughter of Rory MacDonald, a chief from the western isles, but she ran off with a Campbell lad instead.”
    “Oh.” Faced with wedding such a fierce man, Isabail might well have done the same. “Where will I find Lady Elisaid?”
    “A fine question,” Beathag said. Taking the ladle from the cook, she sampled the steaming liquid from the pot. “When you find her, let me know. She has the key to the spice cabinet, and I’m in need of some flavoring.”
    Isabail released a frustrated huff of breath. “What does she look like?”
    “You’ll know her when you find her.”
    Beathag was being decidedly unhelpful, but Isabail could not take her to task. She had no authority in the MacCurran’s household. “What are you cooking?”
    “Venison broth.”
    “May I taste?”
    The big woman turned to her, a sneer curling her upper lip. “Never had a simple bree, my lady?”
    “Of course I have,” Isabail said. “Many times. A well-prepared broth is a staple in the kitchen. You said you were missing some spice. I’d like to taste what you’ve prepared so far.”
    The cook took no offense at her request. He ladled a small portion into a wooden cup and gave it to her. Isabail sniffed it first, inhaling the rich scent of boiled venison. Then she sipped. It was satisfactory, but as Beathag suggested, a little bland. “If you are unable to get the spice of your choice, you could consider adding some leek and parsnip.” As Beathag’s eyebrows soared, she added, “Just a suggestion, of course. Good day.”
    Isabail scanned the inner close, seeking some sign of the MacCurran’s mother. He was a very large man, so surely the woman who birthed him was also large. Perhaps of a similar size to Beathag. She saw no one who might fit that description.
    Marching toward the outer wall, she scanned the people assembled in the outer close. A group of men was laying siege to one another with wooden swords. She recognized the man MacCurran had hailed as Niall among them, seemingly the one in charge. But no women at all.
    Down the rocky slope beyond the perimeter wall, she could see a field and, cutting through the field, an icy burn. Next to the water, she spied a party led by a small, slender woman wearing a