She'd heard murmurs since her arrival that he was the devil himself.
Though Ilysa had been only seventeen when she began managing the castle household at Dunscaith, everyone there knew her and had known her mother before her. For the most part, they had accepted her authority easily enough. Her Trotternish clansmen may know her brother and may have seen her at gatherings when she was a child, but that would not gain her much.
The cook, a sour-looking man in his fifties, glared at her the moment she came through the doorway to the kitchens.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"I'm called Cook," he said as if he expected an argument.
"Cook, I fear we find ourselves in a desperate situation," she said, standing before him with her hands folded. "The reputation of the clan depends upon you."
That brought a snide laugh from him. "The reputation of the clan depends on my oatcakes?"
"Alexander of Dunivaig and a hundred of his warriors are about to land," she said. "Ye know very well that a chieftain is judged by how lavish a host he is, so we require a grand feast."
The cook let out a long string of oaths, which Ilysa let pass without comment.
"'Tis important we not embarrass our chieftain," she said.
"'Tis no my fault," he said, raising his hands into the air, "that I don't have the supplies I need to create dishes to impress an important guest."
"As I'm sure you're aware, the MacLeods are waiting to pounce on us and take back this castle," she said, keeping her tone calm. "The safety of the clan is at stake. We must do our part to make our clan appear stronger than we are."
"I'd need the help of the faeries to make that kind of feast," he sputtered.
"Tell me what ye need, and I'll see what I can do," she said.
His face grew redder still as he attempted to stare her down. After a long moment, he appeared to accept that she was not giving up or leaving.
"I have venison, oysters, and fish," he said, giving a calculating glance around the kitchen, "but I have no spices to make fancy sauces."
"I brought spices with me from Dunscaith."
The cook broke into a smile that seemed to surprise him even more than it did her.
"What else do ye need?" she asked.
"I can't cook a special feast without more help." He glared at two young girls stirring pots that hung over the huge kitchen hearth. "I only have these two, and they're useless."
"They're MacDonald lasses, so I'm sure they're hard workers," she said, casting an encouraging smile at them.
The castle had just been taken from the MacLeods three weeks ago. Former servants were drifting back day by day, but with no one in charge of the household, they were left to make their own choices. Ilysa suspected Cook had no other help because he was unpleasant to work with.
"I'll find ye some help, but ye must promise ye won't scare them off."
She did not wait to hear his response. A quarter of an hour later, she returned with four helpers and her precious store of spices. The cook, who was slicing venison with such speed that his knife was a blur, looked up and gave her a curt nod.
Her first victory, and an important one.
Chapter 4
Ilysa's face was burning from the heat in the kitchen. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve and then brushed her gown.
"I must go upstairs now," she told Cook and peered over her shoulder at the back of her skirts. "Have I spilled anything on me?"
The cook gave her a look that said no one would notice. Ilysa sighed.
When she entered the hall, Ilysa paused to give instructions and encouraging words to the servants before slipping into a seat at the end of the high table next to Niall, Ian's younger brother. Bowls and trays of food crowded the table, and the savory smells of the venison and stews filled her nose. She was relieved everything appeared to be in order.
When she glanced toward the center of the table, her breath caught at the sight of Connor. He looked so handsome and at ease in the ornately carved chieftain's chair. She recognized James, the eldest son of Alexander of Dunivaig, in the seat of honor to Connor's right. James must have come in his father's stead.
To Connor's left was a lass with golden hair woven into a thick braid that hung over her shoulder. Ilysa could not see her face, which was