Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The kitchen became Marian’s territory sooner than she had expected.
It started with tea the day after she had arranged the pantry. The kitchen maids failed to find the herbs needed for her brew, so they sought Lilly to help in their search.
But Lilly did not know where to look herself. She came up to the chamber, sweating and panting, and asked on their behalf, “My Lady, can you please come down to the kitchen?”
Marian’s eyes lit up.
Thank heavens.
She stood up immediately, grateful for a distraction from the dullness of the afternoon. “Why? Did Mrs. MacBride request my presence?”
Her shoulders fell slightly when Lilly shook her head.
She had hoped to win the favor of the most difficult person in the castle—Mrs. MacBride—by rearranging the pantry despite her initial resistance. And now that she had grown far too intent upon it, it felt like an impossible task.
The Laird will certainly be surprised if I get on good terms with his cook as well. What better way to prove I belong here in Glen Carrick?
Her lips pressed together as she headed down the stairwell with Lilly, their footsteps echoing softly along the narrow stone steps.
“Promise me you won’t get upset, my Lady,” Lilly said as they approached the kitchen corridor. “The maids have been searching for some time. They might have ruined your immaculate arrangement.”
The sound of distant voices grew clearer with each step they took, and by the time they reached the kitchen corridor, the faint clatter of hurried footsteps had already begun to fill the space around them.
Lilly slowed down slightly as they approached the entrance, casting Marian a brief, apologetic look before stepping aside to let her pass first.
Mrs. MacBride was nowhere to be seen, so Marian headed straight into the pantry to go over the arrangement with the maids.
“Sorry to bother ye, me Lady,” one of them said quietly. She seemed the most senior, but her voice was soft and timid. “The girls are only too scared. They ruined yer good work.”
It cannot be that serious.
Marian laughed softly, walking toward the shelf where she’d stored the herbs. “The purpose of an orderly pantry is to make things easier,” she began. “One cannot simply ruin it. Just follow the order, and it will come naturally with time.”
She picked out some of the herbs, showing them one by one.
“Rosemary goes there, thyme beside it, and lavender in the back. It is quite easy.”
She stepped aside, allowing the maids to sort the rest of the herbs themselves.
“That’s it,” she said gently as they moved the herbs around. “You see? There’s nothing complicated about it.”
Their eyes fixed on her, and they were so taken with her explanation that none of them realized it when Mrs. MacBride returned to the kitchen.
“Me Lady,” she greeted first, and the maids turned white. She stepped between them, coming face-to-face with Marian before breaking out in a smile. “I see ye’ve chosen to grace us with yer presence again.”
Marian smiled back at her, her chin rising slightly at the look of approval on the head cook’s face. “Yes, Mrs. MacBride,” she replied. “I came to show the girls the herbs for my tea. But I was just leaving.”
Mrs. MacBride’s brow furrowed. She turned to face the maids, her voice rising slightly. “Did ye nae hear that? The Lady wants her tea!”
Does this mean…?
The maids scrambled into the main kitchen, and Mrs. MacBride turned back to face Marian and Lilly, muttering under her breath, “Always need a push, the lot of them.”
Her gaze lingered on Lilly for just a second.
“Fetch yer Lady a seat, will ye?” Her voice was not nearly as friendly as it was with Marian. “Come, me Lady.” Marian followed, struggling to keep her smile from growing too wide. “I’ll show ye the best brew we have in Scotland.”
Marian sat at the table with Mrs. MacBride as she put together the materials for her tea. She leaned forward, paying rapt attention as the head cook went on about tea blends and her most delicious herb combinations.
“See here,” Mrs. MacBride said, holding up a sprig of mint. “Ye want it to steep just so, or its flavor will overpower the chamomile.”
“Yes.” Marian nodded in agreement as she plucked a few leaves. “Just a touch of it balances things up nicely.”
“Ye ken a lot…” Mrs. MacBride was saying when a dark shadow sprinted across the room.
Lilly jumped, holding on to Marian’s sleeves. “Was that a large rat?” Her eyes widened.
Mrs. MacBride waved her off. “There are nay rats in me kitchen,” she declared. “Nae with old Mossie guardin’ the floors.”
“Old Mossie?” Marian’s eyebrows rose in curiosity, just as the round gray-furred cat stalked toward them. “There!” She tapped Lilly lightly. “It is the castle ghost!”
Lilly looked at the cat in confusion, while Mrs. MacBride bent to stroke its fur lightly. “Ah, I see ye’ve already met.”
Marian’s heart warmed, her mind immediately replaying memories of that dark corridor.
We certainly have.
Mossie padded up to her, its tail twitching as it pawed at her skirt. It meowed insistently until she scooped it up and placed it on her lap. The cat settled easily against her, and she let out a soft breath, her fingers moving almost instinctively over its gray fur.
“Well,” she murmured, more amused than she cared to admit as it started purring. “I see you’ve made yourself quite at home, Mossie.”
“He’s a charmer, is he nae?” Mrs. MacBride said, just as one of the maids brought a tray of oatcakes to the table.
And a bannock thief.
Marian nodded, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “He certainly is.” She picked up an oatcake and placed it in front of the cat. “Although this is why he’s here.”
Mossie jumped down from her lap, padding across the kitchen once it had eaten its oatcake. She watched as it wandered off without so much as a backward glance and shook her head in wonder.
The terror of Glen Carrick, indeed.
Her fingers stilled slightly against the edge of the table.
“The Laird did not mention whether he has a name,” she said, more to herself than to anyone, but Mrs. MacBride heard her.
She laughed softly. “That is because we keep it between ourselves.” She poured the tea into a porcelain cup, steam curling up into the air before her. “Even the Laird doesnae ken.”
“What do I nae ken?” Lachlan’s voice suddenly asked.
Marian nearly spilled her tea, her heart skipping a beat. “You startled me, my Laird,” she gasped, her cheeks reddening from how close he stood behind her.
She shifted slightly in her seat, turning her head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face. For a moment, their eyes met. Her fingers tightened around her teacup.
It was the strangest thing. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, and it warmed up her chest even more than the hot tea in her hands.
She straightened slightly, as though that alone might restore some order to her body. It did not.
Mrs. MacBride’s eyes narrowed. She gave Marian a look before leaving them alone at the table to do something else.
Lachlan leaned in, whispering close to her ear, “Ye’re nae supposed to be in here.”
All the heat in her chest vanished instantly.
This matter again.
She placed her teacup gently on the table and turned so she now faced him more fully, even though she barely reached his torso while seated on the stool.
“We were having a pleasant conversation,” she answered quickly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lachlan eventually stepped back, his gait somewhat hesitant as he put some space between them.
“She has more sense about a kitchen than half of yer men,” Mrs. MacBride piped up from the next table, even though she had no way of hearing what either of them had whispered.
“So I heard,” Lachlan said dryly. Then he muttered something in Gaelic that made the maids laugh.
Marian narrowed her eyes at him. “You promised not to speak Gaelic around me,” she scoffed, pained that she could not catch the joke.
“Nay, Mairi,” he replied coolly. “I said when it concerns ye. This concerns oatcakes.”