Free Mary Reed McCall by The Sweetest Sin

them.
    “Ach, watch it there!” the portly man hooted. Then he winked. “But clumsy or not, you’re a fine piece with that red hair. The MacRae’s a lucky man.”
    “Not bad,” the second one admitted, smacking his lips. He reached out to pinch Aileana’s hip. She gasped and backed away. “Though I think she needs a lesson in the manners of a serving wench. Spilling half the oatmeal is no way to feed a man!”
    Aileana’s gaze flew to Duncan; she expected him to at least upbraid his men for their rudeness. But he simply returned a look of level contemplation before leaning back in his chair.
    Heat crept from her neck to the roots of her hair. Howdare he sit there and let these ruffians abuse her without speaking nay against it? Impotent fury wound through her, so strong that her throat felt squeezed shut with it. But the rage was quickly followed by a swell of desolation. She’d gain no help from Duncan MacRae; she was foolish to have even hoped for it.
    Duncan watched Aileana’s reaction, seeing her emotions clear in the depths of her eyes. An odd ache unfurled in his belly at the fierce color in her cheeks and the sight of her hands twisting in her skirt. The surge of satisfaction he’d expected to feel when his plans for her humiliation began to bear fruit failed to surface. And it annoyed him. She was supposed to take the place of Gavin MacDonell in his revenge, and yet how could she, when he wouldn’t allow himself the pleasure of her discomfort?
    Disgusted with himself, he averted his gaze and broke a piece from the chunk of bread that had served as his trencher. He popped it in his mouth and concentrated on chewing, pretending not to notice when Aileana slipped from the hall, as soundless as a ghost. The conversation around him continued at low pitch, though the two men who had insulted her had finally gone quiet in favor of nudging each other and grinning. Duncan felt someone’s stare boring into him, and he turned to see Kinnon; his cousin’s head was tilted, his brow raised in a condemning expression reminiscent of that moment when he’d first noticed Aileana’s nakedness in the glen.
    The bread lodged in Duncan’s throat, and he stopped chewing. Kinnon’s accusing stare grew more intense.
    Duncan muttered a curse, throwing down the last bit of trencher. “What did you want me to do, then? Cleave them in half for speaking to her?”
    Kinnon only looked at him, reproach heavy in hiseyes. Then he shook his head with a snort and went back to his food.
    Duncan tried to shrug off the gloom and concentrate on his meal, but he found that the crude conversation that had begun again between the men at the end of the table suddenly irritated him to the point of distraction. Throwing a baleful glare at Kinnon, he lurched to his feet and growled, “Enough! You two—” he pointed at the plump Dougal and his wiry companion. “Get out to the courtyard and polish the rusty swords. Now!”
    The men leaped to their feet, bits of bannock cake and oat broth dribbling from their beards. They had the temerity to look ill-used, blinking and mumbling in feigned innocence, until Duncan followed his command with a wordless bellow that sent them tripping and scuffling out of the great hall.
    Sitting back in his chair, Duncan picked up his bread again. He paused with it halfway to his mouth, then threw it down again. Tilting his mug to his lips, he drank deep before slamming it to the table.
    Kinnon brushed a few crumbs from his fingers, taking time to sop up the last of his broth before tilting his gaze to Duncan. “A bit testy today, are we?”
    Duncan made a scoffing sound. “Eating tasteless food tends to have that affect on a man.” He cut him a glare. “Of course you’re an exception to that.”
    Kinnon skirted the gibe. “It’s not Bridgid’s fault that the larders hold little more than oats and kale. The men have become lazy for the hunt. And the MacLeods have not been properly intimidated by your