Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
By the next afternoon, Ailis had found another way to busy herself and distract her thoughts from the Laird.
She kept wondering why he had dismissed her last night.
And why didnae he speak of the kiss? Does he think me careless with me virtue?
Her cheeks burned with the thoughts, and she tried to ignore the flush spreading through her as well.
The morning had been too full of people, questions, and memories she did not wish to examine. Gordon had barely spoken to her since the previous night in the garden, and somehow, his silence had become more irritating than his temper.
She needed something to keep her hands occupied.
Paintin’ would do.
She slipped through the kitchen passage and into the storage room beside it, expecting to find Beth’s usual collection of linen, flour sacks, old baskets, and household odds and ends. Instead, she found Beth standing with both hands planted firmly on her hips.
And beneath the long wooden table, two enormous eyes stared back at her. Beth sighed. “Come out now, Lileas.”
Ailis pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “What has she done?”
Beth looked toward her. “Stolen bread.”
A tiny rustle came from beneath the table. Ailis crouched slowly, peering beneath it.
Lileas had curled herself into as small a ball as possible, her dark curls spilling around her face, one hand clutching a crust of bread as though it were a precious treasure she meant to defend with her life.
Ailis’ heart softened. “And if she comes out,” Ailis asked, looking at Beth, “she may keep the bread, right?”
Beth tried to maintain her stern expression but failed. “Aye,” she said, shaking her head. “She may keep the bread.”
Lileas considered this arrangement carefully. “Truly?” she asked.
“Truly,” Beth assured her.
The child crawled forward, and Ailis held out her hand. “Come along, wee one.”
Lileas took it, still clutching her bread in the other.
Beth sighed. “Ye encourage her.”
“I didnae do such a thing,” she denied in a light tone, chuckling.
“Ye did.”
“I merely believe a woman ought to have bread when she is hungry.”
Beth snorted. “Ye will spoil her.”
Ailis glanced at the little girl.
Lileas had already begun eating her crust with great seriousness. “She deserves spoilin’.”
Beth’s expression softened. “Aye,” she murmured. “Mayhap she does.”
Warmth tugged inside Ailis at the quiet acceptance in those words.
She squeezed Lileas’ hand. “I have a grand idea for us.”
Lileas looked up immediately. “What kind?”
“The sort that gets us into trouble.”
The child’s eyes widened.
Beth pointed a warning finger at Ailis. “Daenae teach her that.”
“I would never.”
Beth gave her a doubtful look, but it made Ailis smile.
She led Lileas toward the far worktable. “Ye’ll help me which means Beth can work in peace.”
“Thank the saints,” Beth muttered.
Within minutes, they had claimed a length of white linen and spread it across the stone worktable.
Ailis fetched several shallow bowls and filled them with water. Then she raided Beth’s baskets for flowers that had begun to wilt but were still rich with color. There were poppies, blue dahlias, and even small white blossoms Lileas insisted were too pretty to crush.
Ailis handed her a flower. “Ye may keep that one.”
Lileas smiled. “Thank ye.”
“Now.” Ailis rolled up her sleeves. “Do ye ken how to paint?”
Lileas shook her head. “Nay.”
Ailis’s grin widened. “Excellent. That means I get to show ye.”
She crushed crimson petals between her fingers. Their color stained her skin. She mixed them into a little bowl of water until the liquid turned a rich red.
“See?”
Lileas leaned closer. “It looks like blood.”
Ailis paused then laughed.
“Ye have been spendin’ too much time listenin’ to Highland men.”
Lileas giggled.
Ailis dipped a thin brush into the paint and drew a long, curved stroke across the white fabric.
“Now watch.”
She added another line then another, and slowly, the shape of a horse appeared.
Lileas gasped. “A horse!”
“Aye.”
“How did ye do that?”
“Magic.”
“Truly?”
Ailis tapped her nose.
“Never tell anyone, but flowers keep colors hidden inside themselves. Ye only have to persuade them to come out.”
Lileas stared at the bowls as if they had suddenly become treasure.
“Can flowers make anythin’?”
“Almost anythin’.”
“A castle?” Lileas asked eagerly again, her eyes dancing with excitement.
“Aye.”
“A dragon?” she asked again.
“Especially a dragon.”
“What about a princess?”
Ailis smiled after that one. “The finest sort,” she said with a grin. “Ye can paint whatever ye want.”
Lileas leaned eagerly over the table.
“What about Brochan?”
Ailis followed the child’s gaze. The hedgehog lay curled in a small basket beside the table, apparently exhausted by his adventures and entirely indifferent to their artistic efforts.
“Can we make another hedgehog?” Lileas asked quietly. “So Brochan has a friend?”
A laugh escaped Ailis. “Of course we can.”
She picked up the deep purple dahlia.
“Though I think his friend should be very grand.”
Lileas nodded solemnly. “A prince.”
“A prince?”
“Aye.”
Ailis crushed the petals between her fingers, smiling.
“Then a prince he shall be.”
She worked beside Lileas, guiding the little girl’s fingers around the brush.
“Nay, like this. Gently.”
Lileas copied her. A small purple mark appeared on the cloth.
Lileas gasped. “I did it!”
“Ye did,” Ailis celebrated with her, her heart bouncing with joy just from seeing the girl celebrate.
She remembered being young enough to be this carefree herself. Young Ailis had been bold enough to gather fallen petals and tuck them into books. She had been bold enough to dream of distant roads and castles with towers reaching the clouds.
She had once believed the world was waiting for her.
Perhaps Lileas deserved to believe it too.
“Ye ken,” Ailis said, lowering her voice, “the best thing about paintin’ is that nay one tells ye what the picture must become.”
Lileas looked at her. “Why?”
“Because it belongs to ye.”
The child considered that then she smiled, and Ailis smiled back.
“Me paintin’ shall be anythin’ I want it to be,” Lileas chanted as Ailis grinned at her again.
And that was when she felt a pair of eyes on her.
Ailis’ fingers paused around the brush. She didn’t need to look back to know it was Gordon.
The familiar tingle skimming through her, rousing the delicious melting heat in her core she had spent the past few days fighting, was enough.
She finally turned to the kitchen’s doorway and saw Gordon standing several yards away.
He did not take his eyes off her, and it was almost like he wanted her to know he watched.
Her pulse tripped for a second then skittered around.
What is he thinkin’? I daenae care…
But she did not look away either, and that only worsened the bloom of heat she felt creeping through her.
Gordon had meant to pass through the kitchens without stopping that evening.
He was on his way to the storage rooms when the heat struck him first. Then came the noise and the blend of laughter, familiar and intent on making his heart flutter.
The kitchens were alive at this hour, louder than the great hall and twice as warm. Pots clattered against iron hooks. Knives struck wooden boards in a steady rhythm. Someone shouted for more onions. Another shouted that the onions had already been sent.
A pot hissed over the fire as steam curled beneath the low beams, carrying the rich scents of broth, herbs, baked bread, and roasting meat.
Gordon paused at the entrance. He should have kept walking. Instead, he stood there and watched Ailis, like there was nothing else he could do with his time.
He found her near the long preparation table, sleeves rolled above her wrists, a knife in hand and flour dusted across one cheek.
Her hair was loosely pinned, several curls escaping around her face.
She looked entirely at ease among the women, as though she had been born among steaming pots and chopping boards rather than raised in a noble household.
Mairi, the cook, stood opposite her with a wooden spoon held like a weapon.
“Ye cut like a lady!” Mairi shouted over the din.
Ailis looked down at the vegetables before her then she glanced up with a grin. “Then teach me otherwise.”
“Like this!” Mairi snatched the knife from Ailis and demonstrated a swift, neat cut.
Ailis watched closely. “Aye.”
She took the knife back and tried again.
Mairi shook her head. “Slower, Ma’am.”
Ailis frowned. “Ye did it faster.”
“Yes, but ye arenae as skilled. Ye will cut yerself.”
“Oh,” Ailis gasped, her cheeks flushing with another smile that made Gordon scoff, his own lips splitting into a small smile before he realized it.
What are ye doin’?
His jaw tightened when he caught himself about to smile again. Gordon could not deny that he enjoyed watching Ailis, but he also could not let himself simply do that.
Nae when she will end up leavin’.
Jane laughed from beside them, her sleeves rolled to her elbows as she sorted herbs. Beth stood farther down the table, pretending not to listen while a smile tugged at her mouth.
Gordon watched it all like he could not help himself.
I am merely checkin’ on the household. That is all.
It had nothing to do with the fact that Ailis somehow had managed to blend into his household and bring warmth and laughter. It had only been two weeks, and yet his people were accustomed to her.
He kept watching as Ailis lifted her knife and began cutting again. Her movements improved with each cut, and Mairi nodded grudgingly.
“That is better.”
“Better?” Ailis demanded, feigning hurt. “I am wounded.”
They both laughed again, and Gordon’s felt his chest flutter as he took in the softening of her features.
A heady rush of energy surged through him, a reminder that he needed to be cautious around her. He turned to walk away, but her gaze found him with uncanny ease, as though she had sensed him standing there from the start. Her eyes traveled over him, lingering briefly before lifting to his face.
Their gazes met, and her smile changed.
It was no longer the open smile she gave Mairi. This one was smaller, and Gordon’s jaw tightened.
He looked away immediately as heat burned the back of his neck with embarrassment. He needed to find a way to get her out of his thoughts.
Because it is dangerous to enjoy her like this.
And even more dangerous if he let himself forget what was most important.
Me people… me land… nae a woman who deserves better than me.
Gordon had barely taken three steps outside of the keep when the sound of pounding hooves shook through the grounds.
He stopped as he saw the rider approach, unable to make out who it was. Behind that rider, two more rode fast. One nearly fell from his saddle before catching himself. Blood marked the sleeve of his tunic, and when they reached him, Gordon sensed the desperate terror even before they spoke.
“Me Laird,” one blurted, bowing his head.
“What happened?”
“There has been some ruckus in the village,” the man answered in a trembling voice, his eyes wide as he panted.
“A raid?”
“Aye, Me Laird. A man was killed and a girl taken. A message was left for ye.”
The man handed Gordon a folded parchment, and he quickly opened it, his eyes scanning the cursive writing in ink. His grip stayed tight on the parchment as he read the words out loud.
“I want what was rightfully mine. A debt is to be paid, Laird, and I shall collect.”
Gordon crushed the parchment in his hand as he glanced up at the guard watching him with wide eyes. Just then, Malcolm walked out of the keep behind him, oblivious to what was happening.
“Me Laird?” he asked as Gordon slowly turned to him. “What has happened?”
“Ready the men,” Gordon answered without hesitating. “Our village has been attacked. We must find out who did this.”
He marched away from Malcolm with that, every part of him tight and set into a rigid line. Gordon had vowed to protect his land and people when he became laird. It was all he knew how to do.
And he intended to keep that vow.
His mind wandered to Ailis one more time, a vivid image of her smile sliding into his thoughts then the soft sigh from her as he tasted her lips followed.
Gordon shook his head once, as though he could physically cast her from his mind. He could not afford any more distractions.
He could not afford to let Ailis sway his focus anymore.