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Eilidh fought through the nerves lodged in her throat and managed, “Yes, sire,” then shook his hand. She startled when his thumb brushed twice inside her palm and sought to remove her arm. But he held her a little longer before letting her go. Eilidh’s face burned redder than blood. She cursed Dabria inwardly. “I-I have to be at the kitchens, sire. If I may be excused.”

“Ye are,” the Laird intoned with an inscrutable expression. Nodding her thanks, she fled without a glance behind her.

The heat in the kitchens matched the hotness of her face, and she welcomed it. The housekeeper, Iona, ranted about ignored duties, and Eilidh had no answering quip as the woman rambled on. With the arrival of the new guest, they had to prepare special dishes for lunch and dinner. She lost herself in the mayhem of roasting meat, baking bannock, preparing stew, broths, and pies.

After they had served lunch, she was given the task of cleaning up as punishment for abandoning the kitchen in the morning. She rushed through her meal of leftover pie and bread, then moved to the basin to wash the first of the bowls and glasses stacked. She sighed at the pile. Truly, this was her least favorite chore. From clearing away the uneaten foods, to wiping out the oil and drying the dishes. It was exhausting.

The basin was as long as a trough, and it had been built beneath a small window that looked over the courtyard. Eilidh busied her mind by counting the number of maids who flirted with men as they passed. Iona was blushing at whatever the gardener had whispered to her before they disappeared from view. She remembered Logan’s bold advances earlier, and an involuntary heat spread through her.

His intensity had jarred her. The only noble who had ever taken an interest in her had wanted what she couldn’t give. Since then, a few of the Laird’s tacticians and guards had shown interest in her, but she had always declined. The memories of MacAdam were still fresh in her mind. To her, all men appeared to want the same thing.

Except Caelan, she reminded herself. He was different—her savior.

“We meet again.”

“Och!” Eilidh exclaimed, the glass she’d been rinsing slid from her fingers and crashed into the sink. “Oh, nae!” she gasped as a couple others broke with it. Unthinking, she plunged into the pile for the single that remained whole. “Mr. Robertson,” she greeted.

“Dinnae dae that—”

It was too late. Eilidh’s middle finger stained the water a bright crimson.

“Look what ye’ve done,” Logan groused, taking her hand.

Compared to the ones Eilidh had managed to gather in the past, the cut wasn’t deep. She made to shrug off his hold. “Dinnae worry, sire. I can take care o’ the wound. ‘Tis nae a bad one!”

“I have complete faith in yer abilities, my dear. But it would be ungentlemanly of me to abandon ye here when I caused yer accident.” He grinned. “And ye should call me Logan.”

Despite her objections, he held her hand under the water, then pressed down on it gently with his own finger to staunch the flow of blood.

“Sire…” He smiled, gazing into her eyes. “Logan,” she corrected. “If ye’ll excuse me, I want to return to me quarters and dress the cut.”

“Am I making ye uncomfortable?” His voice dropped to a low timbre, making her swallow hard. “Tis nae my intention.” With his other hand, he brushed wisps of hair behind her ears. Then, he twirled a curl around his finger before dropping it. All Eilidh could think was that, regardless of his handsome face, the look in his eye reminded her too much of MacAdam—ofallthe men who had looked at her with lust.

“Nae, sire— Logan.” She extracted her finger and retreated a step. “Did ye want something from here? Is that why ye came down?”

His intense gaze never wavered from hers. “Indeed,” he murmured.

Eilidh looked everywhere buthim whena tall, elegant figure darkened the entrance to the kitchens. It took all of herwillpower not to run away. Caelan's suspicious green gaze moved from Logan to her, making her chin quiver.

Nodding at him, he turned and left.

She had done nothing wrong... so why did the look in his eyes make her feel like she had committed the worst crime? She quickly excused herselfand proceeded to the servants' quarters to get her wound treated.

CHAPTERFIVE

Caelan knew that his brothers would have retreated to Evan’s study. He wondered how many strange men they intended on letting into the castle. Then again, he recognized the man who had accosted Eilidh as being one of Arran’s friends, though he had long forgotten the man’s name. And she seemed to know him, too.

It appeared like they were past ordinary familiarity. The guest had looked at her like a wolf looked at its prey. It riled him up that she didn’t see how obvious that was. It didn’t matter. It was none of his business who she chose to be with. In fact, he should have been glad for her. He should have—

“Caelan?Caelan!”

He whirled around and noticed his brothers were emerging from the hall behind him. In his haste, he had not seen them.

“Why do ye look like that?” he asked, taking them in. “What has happened?”

Arran palmed his scabbard. “Did ye meet brigands in the hills?”

“They wouldnae dare draw that close to us,” Evan argued, brow furrowed at Caelan’s hastiness. He too grabbed the hilt of his sword.


Tags: Fiona Faris Historical