They wouldn’t be mad at her if she failed to produce supper. No, they would be disappointed and make do.
Cora decided that was far worse. It was one thing to resist being pressed into a mold, yet it was entirely another matter to realize she might be part of making the process of life possible and digging her heels in because she didn’t care for the duty which needed doing. To be certain, some of the men outside would have enjoyed being out of the cutting wind.
She’d disappointed more than one person with her lack of dedication to the skills of home and hearth, but today, she committed herself to the process, determined to succeed. Maybe it was on account of the example the McKay men were setting with their steely resolve. Perhaps it was gratitude for the life-saving shelter she’d received.
Whatever the case might be, she smiled as she peeked into the ovens and saw the bread turning brown. With a sturdy poker in hand, she made sure the coals below it were spread out evenly to provide the perfect baking temperature. A small poof of hot air blew out into her face. It carried ash with it. The linen cap all the maids of the household wore back on Mackenzie land suddenly became something she wished for earnestly, for it would keep her hair clean. But there was no such item to be found. So, she took a strip from a piece of fabric and wound it around her head to keep the soot out of her hair.
“So, ye can turn bread.” Faolan drew in a deep breath.
Cora turned around to find him behind her. The ache in her hands was suddenly worth it for the look which crossed his face. An expression of appreciation that sent a warm spike of victory through her.
“The kitchens were never my favorite place, but I spent enough time there to gain the skills necessary for running a modest home.” Cora pushed a strand of her hair back from her forehead.
His lips twitched. “Aye, what we find pleasing is rarely the sort of tasks life demands of us.”
There was a hard edge to his tone. Cora discovered it touching a common thread inside herself.
How often had she raged against what was expected of her, in spite of knowing the necessity of doing it? Suddenly, it seemed she was not so alone in her thinking.
“’Tis the truth that the very scent ye have managed to fill this kitchen with is going to see me men tripping over themselves to try and win yer hand. Sister to a laird or not.”
“’Tis fair enough for me to do something kind for ye all,” Cora replied as she watched him reach for the bread.
“Should ye not wait for yer men to gather?” she asked. “That ye might bless the bread and the meal, Laird McKay?”
Gainor was in the doorway, his lips split in a grin, and his eyes were glittering like a boy’s. But her words stopped him. He shifted his attention to Faolan, his forehead wrinkling.
“I am no laird,” Faolan corrected her. He turned his head and pointed to the side of his cap. There was a single feather there, not the three which would have proclaimed him a laird. He turned his gaze back toward her. “Ye know these things, lass. Flattery has no place here.”
Cora felt something shift inside her. Bucking against the saddle was something she held a great deal of experience with.
“Nor do dirty hands and feet,” Cora began. She pointed behind him. “The lot of ye can wash up before supper. Ye will no’ be tracking that mud into the kitchen. Took me half the day to shovel the mess out of here so I might cook ye a decent meal.”
As far as authority went, she had none. What she did have was fresh bread and a decent meal. Gainor and the men behind him looked at the work table in the kitchen, their eyes shining as they contemplated the fare she’d spent the better part of the day preparing, and at last, they looked toward their leader.
Faolan’s eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t make a move to bend to her will.
“Mind me, or I shall let ye go back to eating swill tomorrow,” she warned.
She’d faced off with him, for some reason feeling the need to meet the man head-on. It was a strangely intense flare of emotion. One which had her heart thumping hard.
Faolan stepped toward her. “I make the rules here, lass.”
“Not the ones in the kitchen when I am cooking,” Cora shot back. “I loathe kitchen work the most, so ye will be minding me.”
Their gazes had fused in some insane contest of wills. Cora could feel an awareness of him flowing through her veins like the finest French wines. She was hot and flustered, and her grip on her common sense was eroding.
“Washing up…” Gainor spoke up from behind Faolan. “A fine idea.”
There was a scuffle of booted feet behind Faolan.
Faolan didn’t miss it either. “Isn’t it just like a woman to enjoy upsetting a man’s house?”
“Isn’t it just like a man to think he does nae need any opinion except for his own?” she countered.
He grunted. It might have been a chuckle, but she wasn’t sure. His eyes flashed with temper, though, sparking a flare of enjoyment that raced through her.
“Wash up,” she pressed him, unconcerned with just how thin she was spreading her luck.
He suddenly grinned. Faolan showed off his teeth as he backed up. He even reached up and tugged on the corner of his knitted cap. “Aye, Mistress. I will do as ye say.”
He turned, giving her a look at his wide back, but he paused before leaving the kitchen, looking over his shoulder at her. “I conceded authority to ye over the kitchens.” There was a glint in his eye as he delivered his last words. “And will be right happy to have ye serve me supper in front of me men.”
*
It had been a stupid argument to pick.
Ye’re thinking the matter through far too late…
That little voice inside her head was correct. Cora reached up and rubbed her forehead.
What the devil was the matter with her? It was one thing to run a bit wild on Mackenzie land, but baiting the McKay in his own tower was something entirely different. She should have worried that he’d harm her, for she was in his domain.
Somehow, though, she’d only been focused on meeting the challenge he represented.
What the devil does that mean?
Cora truly wished she had a good answer to that question, but the truth was, she had no idea what had taken hold of her. And the honest truth was, she was itching to take him on again.
Ye lost your wits in that river…
Perhaps she had. There really wasn’t another explanation she could come up with besides thinking her head must have collided with a rock hard enough to jar her mental capacities loose.
At least there was work to throw herself into. She gathered up the fare for supper and filled a tray before leaving the kitchens. The McKay men were sitting at the three tables in the middle of the floor of the keep. Her agitation dissipated as she looked at the way they smiled at her.
Or there was likely not a more disreputable-looking group anywhere in the Highlands. For they were all rough, not a shaved face among them. Their jerkins were coarse and ragged. But most of them had faces shining with the remains of the water they’d used to wash up. Hair was swept back from their faces, and they watched her with giddiness. It was the truth that they appeared like a bunch of lads, all anticipating a treat.
Their efforts warmed her heart. They hadn’t bent to her demands out of fear of her wrath but from the desire to enjoy the simple joy of hearth and family. Something their duty kept them from enjoying. Cora discovered herself appreciating the way they waited for her to deliver their meal. They seemed to be holding themselves on a tight leash. That self-discipline ended the moment she touched the tray onto the tabletop. They reached for the dishes, handing them down the table in a flash.