Chapter Twenty-Three
Logan stole into the Main Hall before Cook woke for the day.
Cook did not like folks near his food until it was served.
If caught, Logan would not be able to eat anything Cook prepared for him for at least a month.
The crabby cook was known to put ‘things’ into the food of those who wronged him.
The Lochiel kept him on because the untainted food he prepared was the best in the region, that is, besides Logan, whose dishes were even better. Logan had no desire to be Tor’s cook.
Normally, he would not test Cook’s ire, but this morning, he wanted to eat alone with Elspeth.
So, he took a basket and filled it with a variety of berries and bread.
He added a jar of fig jam, a clump of sweet butter, and two cups.
In his free hand, he scooped up a jug of water.
He carried it all, along with a victorious smile, out of the kitchen… and straight into Cook.
“Ye will never change, will ye, Master Cameron,” Cook accused, crossing his arms over his chest. “It has always been ye creepin’ aroond my kitchen.”
Logan remained silent during the scolding. It was better than angering Cook more and risking losing his supper.
“Aye, ever since ye were a bratling, if food was missin’, ye were always guilty.”
Logan didn’t let his emotion show when he thought of all the times it wasn’t him.
“But after ye left, I found oot that ’twas Jamie, that thievin’ bas—”
He stopped when Logan held up his hand. Cook shouldn’t think it was all right to curse Logan’s cousins.
“Jamie canna help bein’ hungry all the time. He is still growin’.”
“Then let us hope that he doesna grow any more if it will keep him oot.”
Did Logan hear him right? Did Cook just invite him to hope Jamie dies?
Logan had been patient enough. When he was Lochiel, he would get rid of Cook. “And let me remind ye that the food in this kitchen is provided by the Lochiel, my father. ’Tis all his, and as his son, ’tis all mine. If one of my cousins helps himself to food, he has my blessin’.”
Cook stared at him in utter surprise. He opened his mouth to say something.
“And if I discover that, after this day, ye put somethin’ in his food or mine, I will have ye hanged.”
“May I—”
“Do ye understand?” Logan demanded. It was the only thing he wanted Cook to answer.
“Aye,” Cook managed begrudgingly.
“Good. I left the black bread. It felt fresher. I want it served at my kin’s table.”
Cook nodded, and Logan went back to smiling and his path to the stairs.
Now it made sense why Jamie was always so hungry when he visited Logan. He was afraid to eat Cook’s food.
Mayhap now things would change.
He would see to it later. Now, he wanted to wake his wife. He thought of their first night together, of looking into her eyes during their most intimate moments, and his heart raced. He’d gone slowly with her untried body.
When they finally slept, he dreamed of slaying a dragon for her.
The dragon’s name was not Roderick. Logan didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. He struggled with it in his slumber, until…until Elspeth appeared in his thoughts and slapped the beast as if there was good sense in her palm and she had one chance to slap some into him.
The hellish beast retreated. Logan had opened his eyes to find Elspeth sprawled over him. He’d crept out of bed without disturbing her and laughed softly at what a deep sleeper she was.
Now, reaching their door, he almost dropped the jug of water when he tried to open it. He tried again and opened it. When he stepped into the room, he smiled again, looking at her. This time, she smiled back. She was awake and lying in bed, waiting for him.
He kept her waiting no longer. “Are ye hungry, Fae?”
“Fae?” she asked, her smile warming on him.
“Ye look like a faerie who dropped into my bed from my dreams.”
“Do ye dream of faeries then?”
“I dream of ye,” he told her, setting down the basket and jug and climbing back into bed with her.
*
“If they see me, they will know.”
“Then dinna let them see ye.”
Roderick lay back in his bed and closed his eyes. Why had he shackled himself to this imbecile? Still, she did her best to nurse him back to health. He had no one else.
“Go on now, Helen,” he urged a bit more tenderly, mostly because every bone in his face hurt. “Find a way to work in the kitchen.”
She was wise not to question him further. She must find a way on her own.
“Ye have everything ye need, aye, Helen?”
She nodded and patted her skirts, and avoided looking at him. She was afraid of the task before her.
He thought of Elspeth. His sister had not been afraid.
She was a stubborn dove. Pity, she had to die.
She’d given her heart to a Cameron. What did he care that they were blamed for the massacre at Dunley Keep?
Or that they were innocent? His sister deserved more.
Elspeth deserved a nobleman, preferably a duke.
But she only wanted the Royalist Highlander.
He shook his head in disgust. He’d rather kill her.
“Send word to me immediately, Helen. The moment ye have done it.”
She bowed her head. “Aye, my lord.”
He watched her leave, wanting to kick her in the backside to get her moving. He cursed his leg that lay lifeless in bed and made him a prisoner to whatever room he was put into. He wanted to see them suffer, but he had to rely on Helen. The cruelty of it made his belly knot.
All she needed to do was weasel her way into the castle kitchen and poison the main water source. She was not to put enough poison into the water to kill them. Elspeth would find out how much he cared about her when she didn’t die.
Still, if he didn’t get to her in time, he would feel no regret over his sister’s death. She chose her end when she chose that Cameron.
He smiled, closing his eyes. For now, let him sleep and dream.
Hopefully, when he woke up, his sister would be on her deathbed.
*
Elspeth smiled at the other women who either lived in the castle or close by, now, all gathered to meet the new wife of Logan Cameron.
“Och, but ye are like a porcelain statue!” cried Stel MacDonald, Steafan’s mother, and reached out to touch Elspeth’s cheek.
“Dinna grope her,” Ismay scolded and slapped Stel’s hand away.
“What happened to her hair?” Joan Cameron, mother of Jamie, asked, giving Elspeth’s scalp all her attention.
“In the places I lived,” Elspeth spoke for herself, “there were no combs or brushes. My hair knotted beyond repair. This was the fifth time I cut it off, and hopefully my last. My dear husband gave me a beautiful comb inlaid with gold and abalone and a mirror to match.”
“Aye,” Joan and Stel agreed, “Logan has always been so thoughtful!”
Elspeth smiled and nodded. After that, they were nicer to her. In fact, they surrounded her like a herd of elephants—Ismay, her new mother, in the lead. She barely let anyone near her.
A few times when she was being introduced to another member of the clan, Elspeth thought she saw Logan hovering in the shadows, smiling with pride. It made her want to giggle.
“Does anyone know if Lynette the seamstress is in the castle today?” Ismay didn’t wait for an answer but made a sharp right and led the way to a large wooden door. She pushed it open and smiled when she saw Lynette sitting at a table covered in a pile of fabrics.
“Och, Lynette!” Ismay cooed, going to her.
“Stop what ye are doing and meet Logan’s wife, Elspeth.
Please make some pretty skirts and whatever else she needs.
I know ye have a schedule to keep, other things ye need to see to.
I will pay ye with the job title, Lady of the Sewing Room.
On top of that, I will make ye my own personal seamstress. What do ye think?”
They all waited for Lynette’s answer. Then Elspeth stepped forward and grasped the Lochiel’s wife by the arm. A collective gasp went out around the hall.
“I just wanted to lend my hand to Lynette, if she would accept it. I can sew and I am quick! I can have three skirts with voluminous folds done in an hour.”
Lynette looked hopeful. Ismay gave Elspeth a curious look and then nodded. “Well then, I’ll let ye get to work. Come, ladies.” She called out to Joan and Stel.
“Should we not stay with her?” Joan asked.
“I think we should,” Stel agreed.
“Elspeth, dearest,” Ismay turned to her. “Do ye want us to stay here with ye?”
“Nae, Mother,” Elspeth called out, sitting at the table. “Please go about yer day.”
When the herd was gone, Lynette pointed to the pile of fabric. “Take whatever ye like.”
Elspeth chose light blue wool first. She sewed all day and had a visit from May and two of her cousins during her afternoon break.
One cousin was called Scout, sister of Jamie.
The other was Margaret, sister of Steafan.
They teased Elspeth mercilessly about being the wife of a man like Logan, until May, sickened by their desire for her brother, their cousin, admonished them and threw them out of the room.
“Fergive them.”
Elspeth smiled. “Of course.”
May walked around the table and lifted the olive skirts with the emerald velvet borders. “This is lovely. Who taught ye how to sew like this?”
“The elder ser—folks who I lived with taught me.” She wasn’t certain if Logan had told his sister about her. Mayhap Ealar or Ismay told her. Elspeth didn’t care if May knew. She didn’t want to call them servants because the women who had taught her were more than servants.
“Hmm,” May Cameron lifted her elegant fingers to her chin and looked up, as if she were waiting for some divine revelation.
“I know my brother willna want his wife to be a seamstress in his castle.” She leaned in and her eyes opened wider.
“Let us make a bargain. I would like skirts like this one.” She held up the green.
“Ye will choose the colors fer me.” She held up yellow fabric and posed, blinking her lashes.
Then, the blue wool for which she scooped up her orange tresses and puckered up her lips.