by Mary Wine
Order Mary Wine’s next book
in the Highland Weddings series
Highland Flame
On sale September 2017
Keep reading for a look at the next book in the Highland Weddings series
Gordon land
They were waiting for him to bless the meal.
He was laird, and it was his place to begin the evening supper with a prayer. Somehow, in all the times his mother had spoken of that moment with longing in her eyes, she had never mentioned to him just how much it would remind him of facing down his enemies.
More than one man was giving him a glare that made it plain they felt they were as entitled to the position at the high table as Diocail was.
Diocail Gordon eyed the bread his staff delivered and hesitated. It was misshapen, and when he did grasp it, his fingers sank in because it was wet, the top part of it soaked with water as though it had been sitting out in the rain. He cleared his throat and said the prayer before ripping the bread to indicate everyone might eat.
The hall was only half full, which surprised him. The laird provided supper for his retainers, yet it appeared a good number of them were choosing to find their meals elsewhere. The clumps of wet bread glued to his fingertips might be one reason—if a man had a wife to turn him better bread—but that didn’t account for the number of retainers missing.
Diocail sat down and watched, seeking out more clues. Maids were entering the hall now, and they carried several large trays toward his table. While the bread might have been lacking, these platters were full of roasted meats that looked very good to his eyes. It was a bounty to be sure, and his predecessor’s captains began to help themselves.
Along the table that sat on the high ground were men who had served Colum, the last laird of the Gordons. Diocail had given them all a chance to challenge him, and none had. Instead, they maintained their high positions. At the moment, that entitled them to a good supper, served to them in front of the rest of the clan to make their position clear. There wasn’t an empty chair, and each man had a gilly behind him to take care of his needs. Some of the older captains had two young men standing at the ready, which made Diocail narrow his eyes. When a man was young, he often became a gilly to learn focus, but there was a gleam in these young men’s eyes that didn’t make sense.
Diocail didn’t suffer in ignorance for long.
Supper began to make its way into the hall, but it was far from sufficient. Men fought over what was brought, elbowing each other as they grabbed it from maids, who tossed their trays down because of the fray, afraid to get too close to the tables. There were clear pockets of friends who clustered together to defend whatever they had managed to grab from the frightened kitchen staff. Any man who tried to break into their ranks was tossed aside like a runt.
Diocail never started eating. He watched the squabbling and then realized exactly why his men were fighting when no more food came from the kitchens. Whatever a man had managed to grab was all there was, and the lucky ones devoured their fare quickly before someone else managed to rip it from their grasp.
“Colum was a miser,” Muir told him. Diocail’s newly appointed captain was making a face as he tried to chew the bread. “Dismissed the Head of House in favor of one who would be willing to serve less food without complaint. There is nary a rabbit within a mile of this keep because so many take to hunting to fill their bellies.”
Muir was disgusted too, looking at the piece of meat in his hands as though the taste had gone sour. Diocail realized it was because a young boy was looking at it as well, his young eyes glistening with hunger. Muir lifted the food toward the boy, and the lad scampered up the three steps to the high ground to snatch it.
“Even though I am no’ in the habit of questioning the Lord’s will,” Muir growled out between them, “I confess, I wonder why that man was graced with such a long life when he sat at this table feasting away while his own men starved.”
“It makes me see why no one else was willing to defend him,” Diocail answered. “Seems it was justice that saw him stabbed in his own bedchamber.”
“A justice ye did yer best to shield him from.” Muir sent him a hard look.
“He was me laird,” Diocail answered. “A man I had sworn to protect. His lack of character did no’ release me from the bonds of honor. Yet I confess, I am grateful I lost that battle, and I am no’ sorry to say so. The bastard needed to die for what he’s allowed the Gordons to become.”
“Aye,” Muir agreed, looking out at the hall once more. There was now a cluster of children in front of them, all of them silently begging for scraps. All of them were thin, telling him that they weren’t just intent on being gluttons.
No, they were starving.
And that was a shame.
A shame on the Gordon name and Diocail’s duty to rectify. He waved them forward. They came in a stumbling stampede, muttering words of gratitude as they reached for the platter sitting in front of him and Muir.
The platter was picked clean in moments.
Diocail stood up. The hall quieted as his men turned to listen to him. “I will address the shortage of food.”
A cheer went up as Diocail made his way down the steps from the high ground and into the kitchen. Muir fell into step beside him. The kitchen was down a passageway and built alongside the hall. Inside, the kitchen was a smoke-filled hell that made Diocail’s eyes smart and the back of his throat itch. He fought the urge to cough and hack. It was hardly the way to begin a conversation with his staff.
“The weather is fine and warm,” he declared. “Open the shutters.”
Instead of acting, all the women working at the long tables stood frozen, staring at him. Their faces were covered in soot from the conditions of the kitchen. Many of them had fabric wrapped around their heads, covering every last hair in an effort to keep the smoke from it. Muir opened a set of doors, allowing a cloud of smoke to roll out. Diocail looked at the hearths and realized the smoke wasn’t rising up the chimneys. No, it was pouring into the kitchen, and the closed shutters kept it there.
The staff suddenly scurried into a line to face him. They lined up shoulder to shoulder, looking at the ground, their hands worrying the folds of their stained skirts.
“Where is the Head of House?” he asked softly. It was God’s truth that he’d rather face twenty men alone than the line of quivering females who clearly thought he was there to chastise them.
Colum had truly been a bastard of a laird. He’d made his people suffer when the true duty of the laird was to serve the clan.
One of the women lifted her hand and pointed. Diocail peered through the clearing gloom and spotted the Head of House. She was seventy years old if she was a day. Whoever she was, she was deep in her cups and sitting in a chair on the far side of the kitchen as she sang and swayed.
“Sweet Christ, little wonder the supper is a poor one,” Muir remarked next to Diocail’s ear.
“Who is her second in charge?”
The women continued to look at the floor. Two of them were beginning to whimper. Muir took a step back, but Diocail reached out and grabbed the man’s kilt. “Do nae ye dare leave me here alone,” he muttered under his breath.
“Someone must be making decisions,” Diocail said as gently as he could in an effort to coax one of the women forward. What did he know of speaking to frightened females? Two more started crying, proving his knowledge was extremely lacking. Their tears left smears down their cheeks.
“Mercy, Laird,” a younger woman wailed. “I need me position. I swear, I will serve less, please do nae dismiss me.”
The entire group suddenly dissolved into desperate pleading. They came toward him, backing him and Muir up against the wall as they begged him not to send them away.
Diocail had never been so terrified in his life.
“No one is being dismissed.” Diocail raised h
is voice above the wailing.
It quieted them for the most part, which allowed him to see that a good number of his retainers had made their way into the kitchen after him. Those men were now glaring at him, making it plain that these were their wives or women and they didn’t take kindly to him upsetting them.
Diocail looked at the woman who had spoken. “Mistress?”
“Eachna.” She lowered herself but looked up at him, proving she had a solid spine, and while there was a worried glitter in her eyes, there was also a flash of temper that made it clear she thought his visit was long overdue.
Christ, he’d only been back at the castle for two days.
But he’d known that taking the lairdship meant his shoulders were going to feel the weight of the burden that went along with the position. He intended to rise to meet it.
He gestured for her to rise, and the rest of the women suddenly lowered themselves.
“Enough of that.” Diocail felt Muir hit him in the middle of his back because his voice had gained a frustrated edge. Diocail drew in a deep breath and regretted it as his lungs burned.
“I am here to resolve the issue of supper, no’ have ye all quivering. So…” He resisted the urge to run his hand down his face in exasperation. “If ye might explain the lack of food? There was no’ enough served, and I would see the men satisfied.”
He looked to Eachna, and her companions seemed quite willing to allow her to be the target of his inquiry. They shifted away from her, proving Colum had dealt harshly with his staff.
Not that such was a surprise. The old laird had been a bitter man who’d died with hatred in his eyes while his blood drained out of his body from stab wounds inflicted by a man hungry to take the lairdship.
Order Mary Wine’s next book
in the Highland Weddings series
Highland Flame
On sale September 2017
About the Author
Mary Wine is a multi-published author in romantic suspense, fantasy, and Western romance. Her interest in historical reenactment and costuming also inspired her to turn her pen to historical romance with her popular Highlander series. She lives with her husband and sons in Southern California, where the whole family enjoys participating in historical reenactments.
Highland Promise
Wattpad author Alyson McLayne delivers bold, exciting Highland romance in the first Sons of Gregor MacLeod book
Darach MacKenzie vowed never again to let a woman near his heart after his betrothed betrayed him. It sparked an intense clan feud, and now he can’t be distracted…especially not by a sweet, charming lass who needs his help.
Caitlin MacInnes vowed never again to let misery rule her life after escaping a hell of her uncle’s making. Darach has saved her, and she’s desperate to stay safe. But when Caitlin is caught up in a rival clan’s trouble, Darach will need all his brawn and brain to save her life—even if it means losing his heart.
“What a fun read! A true page-turner.”
—Wattpad user Lucianologna
For more Alyson McLayne, visit:
www.sourcebooks.com
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