Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Jeane slowly made her way through the halls of the McCloud castle, smelling the intoxicating scent of bacon as she went. She was trying to find the great hall where Fergus told her breakfast would be served.
Her stomach growled, and she huffed out a frustrated breath as she took yet another wrong turn. Usually, there were staff all over the castle, but today, it seemed everyone was busy. There was no one to ask for directions.
She felt silly. She had grown up in a castle after all, but the McKay castle had nothing on the McCloud castle in terms of size.
She looked at the portraits on the walls as she walked by. There was one constant—a woman with dark, curly hair and bright green eyes. She was beautiful—far more beautiful than Jeane could ever be, even if she had all the finest things.
And this woman was dressed in finery—rubies at her earlobes, pearls on her throat. She was clearly revered in the castle as there were multiple portraits of her on the walls.
Mary hummed as she walked up next to Jeane. Jeane turned to her, smiling.
“Good mornin’, Mary. How are you?”
“Fine,” Mary responded, smiling back. “A bit tired.”
Jeane frowned. “Have ye been usin‘ the sleepin’ draught I gave ye?”
“Aye, it’s just that me little one hasnae been sleepin’.”
Jeane nodded, understanding. “Aye, she’ll grow out of it.”
She had become close friends with Mary, and she reminded her of her best friend from back home, Beatrice.
The one luxury that Bennet afforded Jeane with was friends. He had wanted her to be social, to understand the ins and outs of the world, so he’d encouraged her friendships.
But after Beatrice was married, she didn’t see her all the time. She felt they were drifting apart. There was Agnes, of course, her other friend, but it felt like something was missing. They were a trio, after all.
Jeane turned back to the portraits, intrigued.
“Who is that?” she murmured, and when a booming voice answered her, she jumped and squeaked.
“Me mother,” Fergus answered, and when Jeane turned, she was shocked to see him without a tunic, only wearing a kilt, sweat beading on his brow and across his firm chest.
His torso was scarred from fighting. She had seen him without a tunic before, but it was only by candlelight. He looked as if he had been through a war. Or several.
But the muscle beneath those scars was ropey and looked as if she touched them, they’d be firm, and Lord, she wanted to. Her fingertips itched to trail across that broad chest, down his hard stomach.
She cleared her throat, hoping it would also clear her mind. The Lord would strike her down for thinking such unholy things about her captor.
About her future husband.
She flushed just thinking about it. Had Fergus been serious the night before? He had kissed her so passionately—her first kiss—and she had not stopped thinking about it. Had not stopped thinking about him.
The way his tongue had traced her lips before delving between them, how wet and hot his mouth felt against hers. And maybe, worst of all, the ache in her lower stomach that spread to her womanhood, such a deep, bittersweet kind of hurt.
Was that how all women felt toward their husbands? It seemed to be a type of madness.
Mary curtsied and made her exit, smiling ear to ear. Jeane knew she would tease her about this later.
“She’s beautiful,” she responded.
Fergus smirked at her. “Were ye scared, little mouse?”
She fought back a pout.
“I’m nae afraid of ye.”
“Nay? Ye could have fooled me.”
Fergus stepped closer, backing her up against the wall. She hovered above the portrait, not wanting to knock it off accidentally.
“What happened to her?” she asked softly, looking up at him, and Fergus’ mouth thinned to a slit.
“Died in childbirth,” he answered flatly. “With me.”
Jeane softened, and this time, instead of just thinking about it, she did reach out, touching his shoulder.
But Fergus moved away.
“The great hall is down that way to yer left,” he said, pointing toward the south side of the castle.
“How many lefts?” she muttered, and Fergus snorted.
“Just the one, lass. Yer almost there.”
“Ye willnae come with me?” she asked, frowning.
Fergus hummed. “In a bit.”
Jeane glanced toward where Fergus had pointed, nervous suddenly. She had not met many people other than Aiden and Lottie, and even though it would be Fergus’ men and some staff, she felt out of place.
“Go on, lass. Ye haven’t eaten since we were at the inn. Ye must be starvin’.”
“Aye,” she answered and looked down at her feet, embarrassed by her nerves.
“What’s the matter? Did ye get lost on purpose so that ye could see me?”
Jeane frowned deeper, looking up at him.
“Nay.” She tilted her chin up, and Fergus smirked at her. He placed his arm above her head, and she wiggled out from underneath him.
He shook his head, still smirking at her. “I’m goin’ to change. See ye at breakfast, little mouse.”
Jeane flushed and nodded, taking off down the hallway.
“Lass?”
She turned to look at him, huffing out a breath. “What do ye want now?”
He pointed in the other direction. “Yer goin’ the wrong way.”
Jeane wanted to scream, but instead, she flushed harder and hurried back the other way, taking a left as Fergus had told her.
She nearly ran into Mary, who was carrying a ton of plates toward the kitchen. The girl stumbled, and the tower of china wobbled in her arms.
Jeane grabbed it quickly to steady it, and Mary let out a relieved breath.
“Oh, many thanks, Me Lady,” she said appreciatively.
Jeane followed her into the kitchen, helping her keep the china steady.
“Ye daenae have to do this, Me Lady,” Mary said, flushed. “I’m ashamed I couldnae finish this duty meself.”
“Daenae be ashamed,” Jeane said fiercely. “Ye deserve a wee bit of help now and again.”
But Mary ushered her out of the kitchen quickly, seating her at the end of a very long table. She sat next to the head of the table, assuming that was where Fergus would sit.
She did not know why, exactly, but she wanted to be close to him.
Better the devil ye know, she thought.
A few of Fergus’ men sat at the table as she waited for the food to come out, and they talked idly among themselves, but Jeane could feel their eyes on her. They were not lewd gazes but… curious ones, all the same.
No one spoke to her, except Mary earlier. It was as if they were all shocked to have a lady in the house. Was Fergus a cold type of man? Jeane thought so, given his men’s reaction. She supposed it was good news that he did not have a different woman in bed every week like Lord Fraser.
Aiden came to breakfast just as the food was being put on the long table.
There was so much of it that it made her head spin.
Porridge, smoked salmon, eggs—both boiled and poached, she noted. Then even more food was brought to the table—fruit, bread, and cheeses.
Jeane looked at the spread with her eyes wide. It was not that she lived in poverty, nothing of the sort, but her father never had this kind of feast for breakfast. That was for sure.
It was usually just a bit of fruit, some bread maybe, even some barley soup from the night before. But the McKay castle was smaller by at least half than the McCloud castle, and Fergus had more men in his clan than her father did.
Jeane watched as Mary piled a plate high for Fergus, and she made her own, not waiting for the lass, not wanting to give Mary more work to do.
She grabbed some fruit and cheese, a small hunk of bread, and then sat back.
Fergus frowned at her.
“Ye eat like a little mouse, too,” he grunted and piled smoked salmon and eggs onto her plate.
Jeane pushed at his hands. “Nay, I cannae eat all of that,” she complained, but Fergus glared at her.
“Ye’ve barely eaten since ye arrived. Food keeps yer strength up, and ye’ll need it. Ye work for me, aye?”
Jeane wanted to roll her eyes. “How could I forget? Ye keep remindin’ me.”
Fergus frowned deeper, but Jeane turned to her plate. Fergus was right—she had not eaten much in the past few days, and she was starving. She ate slowly, trying to savor it. She did not want to get used to eating this much every day—she would miss it when it was inevitably taken away.
But Fergus piled her plate a second time after she finished.
“I cannae possibly—”
“Ye can,” Fergus answered, demanding, not giving her much of a choice. “And ye will.”
She let out a long breath. She was not quite full, not exactly, but she was used to the feeling of not quite being satisfied. Her father had made some poor decisions of late, and food had been a bit scarce.
“Ye daenae have to stuff me full to get me to do me job.”
“It’ll make the job easier to do, lass. Just eat.”
Jeane tried but only managed to finish about half of the second helping.
He offered her a sweet pastry that Mary had brought to the table, but Jeane shook her head and groaned.
“I couldnae eat another bite.”
Fergus nodded, as if satisfied. “Lottie is waiting for ye in her chambers. She will take her breakfast, and ye will examine her.”
“Aye,” Jeane answered easily. Although she was often annoyed that Fergus only wanted her at the McCloud castle for her healing prowess, she did love her job and wanted to see how Lottie was faring.
Fergus did not say goodbye as he walked out of the great hall, but Jeane was not offended. She knew a laird had many responsibilities throughout the day.
Mary, along with the other staff, came to clean the breakfast table, and Jeane clutched at her as Mary picked up her plate.
“Would ye show me to Lottie’s quarters?” Jeane asked, and Mary relaxed.
“Of course, Me Lady. Follow me.”
Mary led her down the hall and up some stairs, the castle seeming endless to Jeane, and finally, they arrived at Lottie’s quarters.
“Right through there,” Mary pointed, and Jeane nodded.
“Thank ye for yer help,” Jeane said.
“Aye, Me Lady. I will be back with Lady Lottie’s breakfast.” Mary curtsied and headed back toward the great hall.
Jeane knocked softly on the door.