Chapter 11
Chapter 11
In the predawn light the next morn, Lachann allowed himself to imagine he could see Braemore from the window of his bedchamber. He knew ’twas only a fleeting fancy, but he also knew that Braemore lay to the southwest. Exactly the exposure of his window.
He turned away and pulled on his clothes. Kilgorra would be his home, and he would learn to love it as he’d loved Braemore. He would develop friendships here as deep and as full as those he’d enjoyed within his own clan.
And there was no reason his family and friends could not visit the island. If they were to be allies, Lachann would want his brothers to become familiar with the place.
Sometime during the night, between his moments of restless sleep, Lachann had decided he could win Catrìona from whatever influence Macauley had over her. ’Twas only a matter of being pleasant with her. More pleasant than Macauley.
Anyone with an ounce of sense would know she ought to be more interested in the suitor who had already promised a significant bride price for her.
Mayhap her attention to Macauley was merely a strategy to make Lachann desire her more. Lachann could play her game, but he preferred a more straightforward approach. In all things.
The sun’s rays were just beginning to cast their light across the white peaks in the sea far below his window, so Lachann decided ’twas not too early to go down to the great hall in search of his future bride. He met no one in the gallery, and in the great hall he saw the last person he ought to feel any interest in.
Anna knelt before the large fireplace near the dining table, sweeping out the ashes from last night’s fire. As she stood, she startled at the sight of him.
“Ach! I did not hear you come in.”
“I did not realize my steps were so light,” he said. “You appeared to be lost in thought.”
A streak of dark gray ash graced her chin, and Lachann resisted the urge to move closer and rub it away with his thumb. Her shapely brows dipped over her blue-green eyes. “Aye. I was thinking of my friend, Kyla ...”
“Her husband found—?”
“Ach, no,” Anna replied, and her frown of worry was as pitiful as any he’d ever seen.
He would have liked naught but to smooth it away. With his lips.
“I made sure she stayed hidden away from him because I know what he would do.”
Lachann reminded himself ’twas none of his concern. Nor was the hint of a dimple that appeared in the lass’s cheek every time she spoke.
He glanced toward the staircase. “Has Laird MacDuffie come down yet?”
“Not yet,” she replied. “The laird and his daughter are not early risers. And he has been suffering frequent headaches lately. If you care to break your fast, our cook will be pleased to—”
“Simple fare will do.” Lachann did not doubt the old man had been having headaches. With the amount of whiskey he consumed, who wouldn’t?
Anna started for the stairs that led to the kitchen, and Lachann followed. “Flora always has porridge ready for the servants. If you don’t mind that, I’ll bring a bowl to you.”
“Aye, porridge will do, but I’ll just take it in the kitchen,” he said. He didn’t think Duncan would be happy about him going down to eat with the servants, but Lachann had never been one to stand on ceremony.
And when he became laird, there were going to be numerous changes. The household might as well become accustomed to his ways now.
Lachann followed Anna down the stone steps and considered the inefficient design of the keep. ’Twas archaic. The kitchen should be much closer to the hall and on the same level at least. Else the servants—like Anna—had to struggle with heavy trays as they made the climb up to the hall.
At least the kitchen was large and well appointed.
The cook—Flora?—was an auburn-haired woman at least a decade older than Lachann, and she gave him a look of surprise when he ducked under the lintel and entered her domain. “Be at ease, woman.”
“Anna?” she whispered anxiously, her cheeks blushing madly.
Anna laughed, and a tightness between Lachann’s shoulder blades eased slightly. He had not even realized the spot was so taut. “Our guest has come for a bowl of your famous porridge, Flora.”
“Famous, hmmpf!” Flora scoffed. She stood at her table looking unsure. “Only porridge, Laird?”
“Aye,” he said simply, though he was not yet laird. ’Twas a struggle to keep his eyes from following Anna as she moved on bare feet about the kitchen. She poured milk into a saucer, and when she set it on the floor by the door, the black and white cat came running silently to it.
Lachann found himself captivated by the sight of Anna’s fingers sliding into the wee beast’s fur, petting her while the cat purred loud enough to be heard all through the kitchen.
He swallowed thickly and turned to Flora, who took a bowl from a cupboard and spooned some of the hot, thick mash into it. She glanced in Anna’s direction, but the younger woman had moved on and was busy collecting water into her bucket from the kitchen cistern. Flora wiped her hands on her apron, then took the bowl and handed it to Lachann hesitatingly.
“Thank you.”
“Wait,” Anna said, putting down her bucket. She took the bowl from Lachann’s hand and ducked down to a low cupboard near the stove. She took out two small bags, then sprinkled some of their contents onto his breakfast. She returned the bowl to him with the hint of a smile in her eyes.
Lachann looked into it. “What did you add?”
“A few spices. Taste it and see if you like it,” she said. She picked up her full bucket and disappeared up the stairs.
Lachann must have stood watching overlong, for it wasn’t until Flora spoke to him that he realized he’d been staring. “Sir?” she asked. “Would you care for tea as well?”
He declined on his way to the door, where he stepped outside into the chilly morning sunlight. The waves were crashing upon the rocks below, and the sound was both invigorating and disquieting.
Lachann knew something of ships and the open sea, for he’d gone years ago with his cousin Iain MacQuarry on his trading runs to and from Ireland. Iain’s crew had been well trained and well armed in case of troubles.
Pirates had come, but only once during Lachann’s single season with his cousin. A pirate ship from the outer isles had attacked MacQuarry, who’d refused to yield to the rogues’ demands. There’d been a vicious battle, but Lachann’s cousin had prevailed because of some heavy guns and a well-trained crew.
Lachann intended to train the Kilgorrans in much the same way. If all went well, he would order another brig like the Glencoe Lass to be built for the purpose of guarding the isle’s seaways.
But too much rested upon Catrìona’s whim. Lachann did not appreciate having come this distance only to find his intended bride being wooed by a Macauley. He would set matters right as soon as he got a feel for the isle and began recruiting its men.
He walked ’round to the garden and sat down in a sunny spot, where he took his first taste of the porridge. ’Twas far more flavorful than what was served at Braemore, and he appreciated the additions Anna had made.
He also appreciated the gentle movement of her body as she’d worked efficiently in the kitchen, then hastened up the stairs to the great hall. He might have sworn off beautiful women after Fiona, but he was not unaffected by the sight of one.
’Twas clear Anna was more than just a bonny parcel. It had been quite obvious to Lachann that the collapse of her friend on the pier had taken her completely by surprise. In spite of that, she’d reacted swiftly and capably, acting with confidence in her every move.
Lachann hardened his heart. Determined to keep his thoughts focused and far from the kind of trouble the comely maid would bring him, he considered what to do. Demand that MacDuffie banish Macauley from the isle?
Nay. His pride would not allow it. Lachann was going to vanquish Macauley this time in his own way. He would marry Catrìona and become laird of his own realm. No man would take that from him.
Lachann heard a footstep behind him at the same time as a most unwelcome voice rose above the crashing waves below.
Lachann’s stomach clenched when he turned and saw his adversary approaching.
“You’re up and about early, MacMillan,” Macauley said.
Lachann continued eating, as though Macauley’s presence had no effect whatsoever. “What are you doing here, Macauley?”
“Waiting for the cook to prepare a decent breakfast for me.”
Lachann ground his teeth. He’d just as soon take his dirk to the man’s throat as sit there and look at him. “You are more a fool than I’d thought, Macauley,” he said. “What are you doing on Kilgorra?”