Free Highland Passage by J.L. Jarvis Page A

which they bit off in large chunks from the sticks.
    She looked away and murmured to herself, “What’s that, Fergus, a smile? That must have hurt.”
    After they had all finished eating in silence, Mac looked around, searching for anything that might serve as a napkin. She soon gave up and wiped her hands on her skirt. When she was done, she turned to the men. “So, gentlemen.” She was not going to let them get the better of her. If she could manage obstinate five-year-olds, she could manage a crusty old Scot and his constable. “You must have a plan. What is it?”

9
    To Balnagown Castle
    Balnagown Castle looked wondrous and grand until Mac remind herself that the man whom she thought she might love was a prisoner there. Having been warned that Clan Ross would be watching, she proceeded on foot all alone. When a guard stopped her at the gatehouse, she told him she was looking for work.
    “What sort of work?”
    Judging from the look in his eyes, he seemed to have something in mind, but Mac did her best to ignore it. She had another sort of work in mind, for Hamish had told her that one of the kitchen maids had recently come down with a stomach ailment after spending some time in the tavern with him.
    Mac said, “I’ve been a dairymaid and a cook’s helper.” She paused and watched his eyes travel the length and the breadth of her slowly.
    “Go inquire over there at the kitchen.” He tilted his head to indicate where. “I’ll come along later to see how you fare.” His lips spread into a smile.
    Mac lowered her eyes as she curtsied and moved on. The guard turned and watched her walk away for a moment before he was torn away to resume his duties.
    Mac arrived at the kitchen to find it aflutter. She stopped at the doorway and tried to get someone’s attention. Having no success, she took a step inside. The cook saw her and said, “Not now. Can’t you see that we’re busy?”
    “I was told you needed help.”
    The cook sized her up in seconds and thrust a large basket at her. “Take this out to the garden and fetch some turnips and kale.”
    Mac nodded, concealing her stunned reaction, and took the basket. It was the shortest job interview she had ever had. A few inquiries got her out to the vegetable garden. “Excuse me, sir,” she asked a man she assumed was the gardener. “Which row is the kale?”
    He rolled his eyes and then nodded toward a row of curly green leaves and went on with his work. After filling her basket, Mac went back to the kitchen.
    As the evening wore on, she wore out. It was grueling work, and as fit as she once thought she was, she was no match for eighteenth-century kitchen labor. When she was at last permitted to rest, she was given a plate of food to eat outside in the twilight. She had eaten but half when the cook came to the doorway. “Take this to the room at the top of the tower.”
    One of the kitchen maids took in a sharp breath and then crossed herself. Seeing this, Mac asked, “What is it?”
    The maid’s eyes darted toward the cook but then returned to her work, taking great pains to avoid Mac’s gaze again.
    Before she could inquire further, the cook thrust a tray at Mac, saying, “Dinnae be all day about it.”
    “Aye, mistress.”
    At the top of the stairway, Mac paused. There was no one around. She did not need to ask where to deliver the food, for there was only one door. It was locked. “Hello?” she called.
    Someone stirred from the other side of the door. “Aye.” The voice was deep but ragged.
    “I’ve your dinner here for you.” She had been told to slide the tray under the door. There was a space of just a few inches between the door and stone floor. Mac set down the tray and did as she had been told.
    The cloth cover slid off to reveal a thick slice of bread and a shallow bowl of water, there being no room for a cup to pass under the door. A hand shot through the gap and clutched hers, and she gasped. The grip tightened.
    “Please, sir. I was