A cynical sounding snort rumbled from the chambermaid’s nose. “Do not count on the chieftain having a change of heart.”
“Glenda,” Helen chided.
The outspoken servant dipped her head in a bow. “Apologies, m’lady. I’ve never known anyone as hopeful as you. I’d wager most noblewomen would have given up by now and returned to their kin.”
Helen wouldn’t admit that she’d considered it. She’d even gone so far as to wonder if her brother, John, now Bishop of the Isles, would help her approach the Pope to enquire about an annulment. But such action would bring disgrace to the Campbells of Glenorchy. She had put the ghastly notion out of her mind and had tried not to think on it again.
The ram’s horn sounded with three consecutive blasts. Glenda hastened to the window as voices rose from the courtyard. Helen stood and carried Maggie to the embrasure and squeezed in beside the chambermaid.
Fortunately, the nursery was on the fourth floor—an advantageous position from which to view the wall-walk surrounding the keep. Built of stone, Mingary was a sturdy fortress, sitting proudly atop a rocky promontory. The castle presided over the region of Ardnamurchan, flanked by steep cliffs on three sides.
Helen peered down into the courtyard and then out over the sea. Her smile faded. Alas, her time of peace had come to an end.
“It looks as if the chieftain has returned,” said Glenda. “And there’s an additional galley in his wake.”
“Look at that.” Helen leaned further toward the window. “King’s men?”
“You’d ken better than I, m’lady.”
Though Helen couldn’t make out the design on the pennant flapping in the wind, it was white and blue with no likeness to the king’s yellow and orange colors. “Whoever they are, I suspect they’ll be hungry.” Peeking through the heavy clouds, the sun indicated the hour was late morning. She must make haste.
Glenda reached for Maggie. “I’ll stay with the bairn until Sarah returns. Go meet the ships, m’lady.”
Helen smiled. “Thank you.” She quickly pattered through the stone passageway and down the stairwell. The great hall was empty, all except for Robert, the cruel guard who always seemed to be sharpening his weapons. With a scrape against the whetstone, he looked up and offered a yellow-toothed sneer. “M’lady,” he said without the least bit of reverence in his voice.
Helen tried not to shudder, nodded, and hastened straight for the kitchens. Stepping inside the enormous chamber, the smell of onions and turnips filled the air. “Peter! Sir Aleck has returned with an additional galley in his wake and they’ve arrived just in time for their nooning.”
The cook turned, four plucked chickens suspended from his fingers. “I heard the ram’s horn.”
She hastened across the flagstone floor. “What can we feed them?”
He tossed the fowl on the butchers block and snatched a cleaver. “I’ll add these to the pottage I’ve set over the fire.”
Helen regarded the raw meat—hardly enough for an army. But at least the enormous cast iron pot suspended above the hearth was boiling. “We’ll need more than a few hens.”
Peter attacked the chickens with violent hacks of the blade. “The maids are plucking a half-dozen more. I’ve bread and oatcakes aplenty, and cheese.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “Sir Aleck won’t like being met with such simple fare, but it will have to do at short notice.” Helen pointed toward the cellar. “Set the lads to turning the venison on the spit.”
The cook didn’t look up from his work. “There’s hardly enough time for that, m’lady.”
Helen affected one of her pointed stares. “If they start now, the beast will be roasted through by the evening meal, and your chieftain will be happy.”
Peter stopped chopping. “Right. I hadn’t thought past the midday meal. I’ll fetch the young fellas as soon as I’ve added these to the pottage.”
“Very well.” Helen smoothed her hand over her veil to ensure no tresses were loose. Then she pinched her cheeks and straightened her skirts and apron. Her appearance would have to do—not that Aleck ever noticed when she made an effort to look her best.
The incident in the great hall with Mary had her hackles up for the past month. Helen never considered herself unattractive, but it surely seemed as if she’d contracted a case of leprosy where Aleck was concerned. He made no secret of the fact he preferred larger women and Mary certainly fit that bill. The widow had enormous bosoms and a full body to support them. Forever seeing the logical side of things, Helen