Chapter 11 #2
Oliver waited just a moment longer until she had truly gained her footing before letting go of her once more. He shrugged off her statement with a nonchalance she couldn’t summon herself.
“It has not been easy, I will grant you that. A sleepless night, a long journey, and a battle and wound to boot. But I had a proper meal last night and this morning. I have had the use of a proper bed these past weeks. Can you say the same?”
When she didn’t answer, Oliver reached once more for her fingers and led her out of the surgery.
“Come on. We can sneak into the kitchens and find some dinner for ourselves. Cook won’t mind. Besides, I think I owe you for keeping you out in the stables for so long. It is my fault we missed dinner in the first place.”
“Aye,” she agreed, letting him guide her through the dimly lit hallways of his home. “That would be nice.”
“Does this mean you will stay?” he asked, barely looking at her over his shoulder.
She paused only long enough to consider her answer, to consider everything she had learned about Oliver in the past few hours. In the end, it was a simple decision to make.
“I suppose it does, Oliver.” She sighed with a nod. “Aye. I will stay and eat and rest. Tomorrow, I will sit in on this council meeting and offer what I can. And then, I am going home.”
Her declaration hung in the air between them all the way to the clean and empty kitchens.
Like the rest of his home, this room was lived in but well-kept.
It was apparent from the organized and gleaming pots hanging over the stove to the fully stocked pantry that the ruler of this domain took great pride in their work.
The thought brought back to mind something Oliver had said earlier that had pricked Sorcha’s curiosity.
“Ye said we had to sneak into the kitchens. Why? Are ye nae Lord and master of yer own home?”
He chuckled at her good-natured ribbing. The sound was warm and friendly. She managed to catch a glimpse of the boy he used to be, and she felt a pang of sadness that he had lost that innocence, that easygoing nature so abruptly.
“Not when it comes to Cook. She rules her kitchen with an iron fist, but once you taste her biscuits, her stews, you will not begrudge her for it.”
“Sounds like ye care a great deal for her. Has she been with ye long?”
He peered about the kitchen, pulling a couple of plates and mugs off the shelves before reaching for some bread and leftover cheese.
With his head tucked deep into the stores, he found a half-eaten selection of cold meat and set that on the counter with the rest of his findings.
Waving his arms, he gestured for Sorcha to start eating while he went in search of some wine.
“Longer than I or my mother have been, yes. She started as a kitchen maid here when my dad was first born. Through the years, she has earned an impressive reputation for herself. She likes everyone to think she is harsh and unyielding, but I know she has a soft spot for me.”
“Och?” Sorcha asked between bites of food. “And how do ye ken that?”
He poured them each a healthy measure of wine before sitting in the stool across from her. Propping one elbow against the wooden counter, he chewed on the cheese thoughtfully.
“I suppose it was another thing I inherited from my father. When I was a lad, I could never seem to get my fill. I would eat and eat at dinner and come midnight, I would be starving again. It became my habit to sneak down here and eat whatever I could find. One night, I happened to be in here as my father was leaving for a hunting trip. My going had been out of the question, so naturally, I stuffed my pockets with as many rolls as I could manage and took off after my Da.”
The image he conjured was one that brought her a smile. She could easily picture the dashing, mischievous boy Oliver would have made, sneaking through the kitchens to spend time with his father.
“Did he ever catch ye?”
“Oh, every time. And often right before he snagged the biggest prize of the hunt. I put it together when I was older that he would let me stay hidden until he had spotted a buck or a doe, and then he would find me, make a bit of a show of things, and then we’d get to track the beast together.”
She gave him a thoughtful hum, content to let Oliver’s memories play out in front of them together.
“It became a sort of game, a charade I suppose. He would pretend to not see me and I would pretend to hide. We were both too stubborn to simply admit that we wanted to spend time together. The game went on far longer than it should have. Cook eventually started leaving food set aside for me, so I wouldn’t get into the things she needed for the next day.
” He paused, a mournful expression glazing over his eyes.
“I have not been hunting in ages. No doubt the larder would thank me for my efforts, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. ”
“Ye miss him.”
It was a statement rather than a question, but he answered her all the same.
“Aye,” his Scottish lilt sneaking back in. “I do. Being unable to bring his murderer to justice keeps his ghost alive. It haunts me, knowing that I will likely never be able to make the man pay for taking my father’s life. I could nae so much as tell ye who is responsible for it.”
Her heart ached for him—keenly. She felt so much guilt herself for Taryn’s disappearance. She would never be able to forgive herself if Taryn had come to such a terrible end. Her life would be over as she knew it. It baffled her how Oliver had ever been able to recover from such a loss.
Her palms itched to reach out and touch him, to offer some modicum of comfort. She wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to do anything she could to help ease the sting of all he had lost. Just as she shifted to do so, to open her mouth and offer her condolences, he spoke again.
“It is well past any respectable hour. My mother would have my hide if she kent that I was in here with ye like this.” He rose from his chair with a grin. “And ye look like ye’re about to fall over in yer seat. Come on then. Let’s get ye to bed.”
Spoken innocently enough, his words still brought a red streak to her cheeks.
Luckily, Oliver had moved to clear away any evidence of their makeshift dinner while she collected herself.
Gallantly, he gestured for her to follow him, and he led her back through the labyrinth that was his castle.
She found herself grateful, not for the first time, that Oliver was nothing like the Baron, if only because she would never have been able to escape such a maze should the need arise.
“I am just down the hall,” he told her, coming to a stop outside a simple wooden door. “Should you need anything, you can use the bell pull or come knock on my door. A maid will be in to wake you in the morning so you can have a proper meal before the council.”
A beat of silence filled with tension stole her breath as it hung between them.
Something warm and languid pressed against her chest, while his eyes captivated hers.
He leaned in close, smelling of the wine they had shared and the salve she had spread on his skin.
One hand went around her, just barely missing her, and she arched up to reach him.
“Good night,” he breathed against her lips, turning the handle to her room and pushing it open. “Sorcha.”
Without another word, he moved from her and down the hall to his own room, leaving her breathless and dazed and more than a little irritated. She spun into her room and flung herself into the bed, not so much as bothering to kick her boots off before she fell asleep.