Free Sutherland's Secret by Sharon Cullen

brows lowered again. “Why would ye want a gown like mine if ye can have a very fine gown like these?”
    Eleanor stepped in front of the cupboard and put her arms out to the sides as if blocking the cupboard, then pointed to Cecilia’s gown again.
    “Very well,” Cecilia said with doubt in her voice. “I’ll fetch ye a plain gown like mine, but I think yer daft.”
    She went to fetch the gown, and Eleanor smiled. That had been taxing, but she had accomplished what she’d wanted.
    Cecilia returned and helped Eleanor dress. The gown was made of light gray linen and was very simple, with a belt at the waist and no adornments. Immediately Eleanor felt better in it. She forsook shoes, having noted that most Highland women didn’t wear shoes unless they were going to church. That was fine by her, since she had none. Her feet were healing nicely, and she enjoyed going barefoot, something she would never have done in her old life.
    She paused at that thought. Her old life. Yes, that’s what it was. For the life she had led was gone, forever out of reach. Another one awaited her, even though she had no idea what it would be. She felt a stab of grief that she would never see her mother and father and brother again, never step foot on English soil. But she could not dwell on that for long. Maybe sometime in the future, when she deemed it safe, she would write to her family and let them know that she was alive and well. If luck was on her side.
    Eleanor made her way down to the great hall. She didn’t stop to hide in the shadows. Instead, with sure steps and her head held high, she went straight through the great hall and toward the back stairs to the kitchen. At least she hoped it was the kitchen she was heading toward. She’d never been anywhere except her rooms and the great hall.
    No one stopped to look at her, and she knew her idea had been a good one. Wearing those beautiful gowns had marked her as someone different, an outsider, and it had separated her from the rest. She
was
different and an outsider, but now, dressed as an average Highland woman, she was less so.
    It was approaching mealtime. The servants were milling about in the kitchen, waiting for the trays of food they would take to the great hall. She knew she would be serving the warriors and it made her stomach flutter. She still wasn’t comfortable around the big, fearsome men, skittish at the thought that one of them would discover she was English and toss her in the dungeon.
    The servants looked at her oddly, but no one told her to get out, so she didn’t. They grabbed trays and began to file from the hot kitchen. The cook was yelling orders to servants who scurried about. Eleanor wiped the sweat from her forehead and ignored her own grumbling stomach, reminding herself that she was no longer a highborn lady. If she was to make it in this new world on her own—and eventually she would have to—then she needed to learn as much as she could and acquire as many skills as she could. There were plenty of positions for hardworking servants. She knew that from helping her mother try to staff several of her father’s estates.
    You can do this, Eleanor.
    She grabbed the next tray available and made her way up the circular stairs to the great hall. Her courage faltered when she was faced with Sutherland’s men. He had taken a small contingent with him, but quite a few had stayed behind.
    She set a bowl of some sort of soup in front of the first table she came to and continued down the line. Most ignored her, intent on their discussions. Some eyed her appreciatively. Those she ignored, knowing not to encourage that type of flirtation.
    The noon hour flew by. She didn’t know how many trips she made between the kitchen and the tables, but it was many. Her feet hurt and her arms ached from carrying the heavy trays, but when the great hall cleared, she experienced a satisfaction she hadn’t felt before. She smiled, looking at the tables strewn with bowls and