The Highlander's Destiny (Highland Rogues #2) - Mary Wine Page 0,15
reason feeling the need to meet the man head-on. It was a strangely intense flare of emotion. One which had her heart thumping hard.
Faolan stepped toward her. “I make the rules here, lass.”
“Not the ones in the kitchen when I am cooking,” Cora shot back. “I loathe kitchen work the most, so ye will be minding me.”
Their gazes had fused in some insane contest of wills. Cora could feel an awareness of him flowing through her veins like the finest French wines. She was hot and flustered, and her grip on her common sense was eroding.
“Washing up…” Gainor spoke up from behind Faolan. “A fine idea.”
There was a scuffle of booted feet behind Faolan.
Faolan didn’t miss it either. “Isn’t it just like a woman to enjoy upsetting a man’s house?”
“Isn’t it just like a man to think he does nae need any opinion except for his own?” she countered.
He grunted. It might have been a chuckle, but she wasn’t sure. His eyes flashed with temper, though, sparking a flare of enjoyment that raced through her.
“Wash up,” she pressed him, unconcerned with just how thin she was spreading her luck.
He suddenly grinned. Faolan showed off his teeth as he backed up. He even reached up and tugged on the corner of his knitted cap. “Aye, Mistress. I will do as ye say.”
He turned, giving her a look at his wide back, but he paused before leaving the kitchen, looking over his shoulder at her. “I conceded authority to ye over the kitchens.” There was a glint in his eye as he delivered his last words. “And will be right happy to have ye serve me supper in front of me men.”
*
It had been a stupid argument to pick.
Ye’re thinking the matter through far too late…
That little voice inside her head was correct. Cora reached up and rubbed her forehead.
What the devil was the matter with her? It was one thing to run a bit wild on Mackenzie land, but baiting the McKay in his own tower was something entirely different. She should have worried that he’d harm her, for she was in his domain.
Somehow, though, she’d only been focused on meeting the challenge he represented.
What the devil does that mean?
Cora truly wished she had a good answer to that question, but the truth was, she had no idea what had taken hold of her. And the honest truth was, she was itching to take him on again.
Ye lost your wits in that river…
Perhaps she had. There really wasn’t another explanation she could come up with besides thinking her head must have collided with a rock hard enough to jar her mental capacities loose.
At least there was work to throw herself into. She gathered up the fare for supper and filled a tray before leaving the kitchens. The McKay men were sitting at the three tables in the middle of the floor of the keep. Her agitation dissipated as she looked at the way they smiled at her.
Or there was likely not a more disreputable-looking group anywhere in the Highlands. For they were all rough, not a shaved face among them. Their jerkins were coarse and ragged. But most of them had faces shining with the remains of the water they’d used to wash up. Hair was swept back from their faces, and they watched her with giddiness. It was the truth that they appeared like a bunch of lads, all anticipating a treat.
Their efforts warmed her heart. They hadn’t bent to her demands out of fear of her wrath but from the desire to enjoy the simple joy of hearth and family. Something their duty kept them from enjoying. Cora discovered herself appreciating the way they waited for her to deliver their meal. They seemed to be holding themselves on a tight leash. That self-discipline ended the moment she touched the tray onto the tabletop. They reached for the dishes, handing them down the table in a flash.
But it was Gainor who stopped them from digging into the fare.
“Ye’ll wait, ye bastards…lads,” he corrected himself.
“For what?” A younger Retainer asked.
“The blessing,” Gainor informed him. “Tonight, we’ll be having a proper supper, which will begin with the breaking of the bread. We should have begun the tradition when the keep was finished. The lassie is good to bring it to our attention. We’re no’ heathens, and this is to be a proper McKay holding. A standard should be set. Elsewise, no decent women folk will ever want to call it home.”