The Highlander's Destiny (Highland Rogues #2) - Mary Wine Page 0,13

built it were here out of duty to their kin.

The kitchen had one table, and the hearth, an ample size. There was a large iron hook arm that could be swung in and out on one side.

The unpleasant smell had grown much stronger.

Cora wrinkled her nose as she looked at the table. The top was scored from knife cuts, and it appeared that no one cleaned it. Instead, whatever liquids were deposited on it were left to dry.

Filthy was sufficient enough to describe the scene.

A pot was hanging over the coals in the hearth. Cora pulled it out and peered into it. There was a thick layer of blackened food coating it.

“Peas, porridge, in the pot…nine days old,” Cora muttered disapprovingly. The men of the McKay had simply dumped in the new day’s food without cleaning out the pot. The coating around the edges was everything they’d consumed, and it was souring the current meal.

“Aye,” Gainor spoke from behind her. “We’re no’ much in the way of keeping the kitchen the way it should be…”

His voice trailed off as he appeared to be trying to decide just what was off in the kitchen. His expression told her he knew something was not right, but he didn’t have the knowledge to say just what.

“Well, now…” The McKay Retainer flashed her a grin. “There is a well-stocked storeroom. That is one thing we do no’ suffer from, a lack of ingredients. We’ve the chickens now, and two good milk cows. But the women were to be heading up here soon. With the snow, we’ll no’ be setting eyes on them. ’Course sometimes, they do nae come at all, for this is a lonely outpost and rough. No one is going to allow their unmarried daughters up here, and most husbands are no’ happy to see their wives gone through the season either. But sometimes, there is a widow or two.”

His disappointment was clear. For a moment, he appeared to be about six years old, looking to her for deliverance from soot-filled stew.

“Ye’re a laird’s sister?” the McKay Retainer muttered with disappointment. “It’s the truth that I wish ye were more common-born lass.”

Grainer placed an earthenware pitcher on the table; it was full of fresh milk, but he shook his head after looking Cora over again before he turned and left. Cora discovered herself alone in the place she’d spent the better part of the last few years attempting to escape from. She ventured closer to the milk. Grainer didn’t think she knew a thing about what to do with it.

Women’s work.

Well, Fate wouldn’t have the last laugh. For she was stubborn, and it would seem the kitchen needed someone with a spine of iron. And her brother’s Head-of-House had been insistent that Cora know everything about running a house.

And so, she did have the skills Grainer thought she lacked.

‘A noblewoman will find herself cheated by her staff if she does nae know how to turn the bread with her own hands… Only then will ye know if the maid is lazy or overworked… An overworked staff can sell ye out to yer enemies and hide poison so that no one will question yer death…”

Her brother’s Head-of-House, Fenella, had many pearls of wisdom that Cora discovered herself truly grateful for now that circumstances had delivered her to a place where she was on her own to prove her worth.

Aye, indeed, she was more grateful than she’d ever imagined.

She pulled a rough-looking apron off a hook and secured it around herself. The kitchen was warm, so there was no need to go looking for her overdress. Lifting the cauldron up, she carried it out the back door to empty and clean it.

Women’s work?

Aye.

But the state of the kitchen demanded a Valkyrie, for there was a battle to be fought.

Cora found that idea one she was quite willing to be labeled with.

*

The daylight waned too quickly.

Cora raced each hour, trying to bring the kitchen into order. Or at least to clean away enough working space to produce a respectable meal. The men didn’t seem to expect much. She could hear them working with the stone. An endless clunking and groaning of ropes as they labored to build what would become a formidable defense for their clan.

It all came at the expense of their personal comfort.

The sun never really broke through the clouds. Instead, the dark mass swirled around above their heads. Every now and then, sleet would blow in the wind. But the men never