“It took ye long enough to say just that, lad.” Logan sank into his chair with a huff. “What do ye mean, ye cannae find the Laird? Did he vanish into thin air?”
“I-I searched the k-keep,” the manservant stuttered, and a bead of sweat dripped from his forehead.
“Ye may leave us now,” Logan said to the boy who scurried to the back of the hall. He returned his gaze to Sophia. “Haveyeany idea where the Laird might have gone?”
“Nae, Sir Logan. He left rather abruptly,” Sophia answered. Her eyes caught Lorena’s, and she quickly turned away.
“Ach… how the young laird troubles me so.”
* * *
Catherine stood behind the door with a smirk, she dragged the footman to a dark corner as soon as he departed the hall.
“Tell me, then—where is the Laird?” she demanded.
The footman looked her from head to toe and back again. “Is there a reason why I must tell ye?”
She leaned closer to him. “Ye lied to Sir Logan, and I am well aware of that. He will be too if you dinnae tell me right this instant where the laird is.”
The boy clamped his hands over his mouth, searching for a way out. “It was at the Laird’s insistence—”
“Aye—but will Sir Logan pardon ye if he came to ken of yer lies?” Her grin was menacing. “Tell me, or I will out ye as the liar ye are.”
“By the oak tree,” he squeaked. “The Laird was by the oak tree.”
With a mischievous smile, Catherine walked away from the boy. She adjusted her skirts and revealed a little more from her bosom than was appropriate.
After all, she had a laird to seduce.
CHAPTERFIVE
Logan’s tapping feet. The farmer’s merciless snore. His daughter’s lapping at pork. The anxiousness in the pale lady’s breathing. Lorena's infectious yawn. God Almighty! The great hall resembled a cemetery.
Catherine leaned into the slightly open door, a wicked grin on her face, and peered into the hall. She wore her apron and walked into the feast hall with her palms on her belly.
“Pardon my interference, Sir Logan,” Catherine said as she edged closer to him. “I might be able to find the Laird and return him to the feast, milord.”
“How so?” Logan sneered. “Is it part of yer duty to spy on the Laird?” He had a heartfelt dislike for her, and she knew it. In fact, she thought he had a dislike forallthe women the Laird brought into his bed. It did not bother her much though—an old cad was the least of her concerns.
“Never, Sir Logan. I am but a humble maidservant.” She tasted bile at the words. “I am often aware of his favorite places in the castle, Sir Logan. ‘Tis all.”
The squat, greasy-fingered noble girl scoffed at Catherine, and the maid reciprocated her arrogance with a glower.
“Hurry then,” Logan encouraged her. “Let him ken that his guests are weary for his absence.”
Catherine nodded and turned away. A wicked grin took shape on her mouth.
I ken, milaird, that ye would nae choose any other lass, she told herself, stifling a giggle.
When she got outside, she looked around. He was, indeed, in the field by the oak—looking up at the sparkling stars. He made no move in response to her approach.
He picked at his nails as he twitched against the trunk where he sat.
“Milaird.”
Kendrick turned to Catherine. To her delight, her bosom caught his gaze. However, she was left rather disappointed when he ignored her. Had there not been so many guests, she knew, he might have had his way with her then and there. This night was different. He pretended not to notice her presence; he hadneverpretended to not notice her before. She was hurt.
“Laird MacNeil,” she called out to him again, slowly closing the space between them with all the grace of a cat. “I see yer alone and in need for comfort.” She crouched before her, pushing her breasts together. Then, she reached for his leg. “I have missed ye, milaird.”