Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“But, my lady, there is stil much to do,” said a girl Ali didn’t recognize.

“Wel , you won’t be getting it done if you pass out, now wil you? Come on.” She waved them up the steps. “We have to get you out of this heat and get some fluids into you.”

Once outside, Ali lowered Cook to the ground and propped him against the outside wal of the kitchens. The girls stumbled into the bright sunlight and sank down alongside him. Ali went back in and stirred what looked to be a thick stew. She wrinkled her nose at the pig on the spit. She cranked the handle, but barely managed to get it halfway around.

A low cackle from behind her startled Ali and she jumped. A stooped old woman, her face as wrinkled as a prune, appeared at her side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was here,” Ali apologized.

“Ye canna’ do it yerself, lass.” The woman placed gnarled hands over Ali’s and between the two of them they managed a ful turn of the spit.

Beads of sweat dripped from Ali’s forehead and she lifted her arm to wipe it from her face. “Has any of the water been boiled or heated? I have to get Cook to drink something.”

“Aye.” The woman pointed to an iron pot that hung toward the back of the flames.

“Thank you. You should get out of this heat, too, at least for a little while,” Ali suggested as she carried the pot to the table, her hands wrapped in linens. Although, despite her age, Ali thought the old woman looked in better con dition than the rest of them.

“Nay, I’m good, lass. I’ve no’ been here long.” She gave Ali a gap-toothed smile. 140

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“I’l be back in a few minutes to help,” Ali said as she fil ed the last of the mugs. “I just have to get them to drink this and find some way to cool them off.”

“There’s a wel at the back of the kitchens. Throw a big bucket on Cook. It should do the trick.” Cackling, the woman walked to the other end of the room, wel away from the open flames.

Ali managed to get the mugs to her patients without spil ing more than a few drops. The girls drank greedily. She held the mug to Cook’s mouth, trying to get him to drink, but had little success. “Girls, you make him drink, slowly though, and I’l get some water from the wel .”

“I can help ye, my lady,” the petite girl with the curly brown hair offered. Ali noted her flushed cheeks. “As long as you think you’re up to it.”

“Aye, I’ve been workin’ in the kitchens fer a long time. This day’s worse than most, but I’m more accustomed to it than the other girls.”

“Thank you . . .”

“Katrina, my lady.”

With Katrina’s help Ali wet down Cook, the girls, and un

intentional y herself. They helped to settle Cook beneath the big oak tree she’d spotted not far from the wel . The girls in

sisted they were fine and accompanied her back to the kitchen. In companionable silence, Ali and the young girls, along with the old woman, worked together. Ali was regu

lated to more of a fetch-and-carry position, which suited her just fine. Their assumption that her lack of knowledge was a result of her being a lady worked in Ali’s favor. Drenched with perspiration and splattered with grease, her cornflower blue gown hung on her like a rag. Ali sank onto a stool and surveyed the three trestle tables that groaned under the weight of the food. “That’s it, ladies. There’s enough here to feed an army.”

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“But . . . but, my lady,” one of the girls sputtered, “Lady MacLean wil no’ be pleased. ’Tis no’ al of her menu.”

“Katrina, you said you’ve worked in the kitchens a long time. Is this enough food to feed the numbers they’re expecting?”

“Aye, more than enough.”

“But Lady MacLean wants it special.” The other girl was clearly upset, winding her apron around her fingers. Ali sighed. With a hand to her back, she rose to her feet.

“You leave Lady MacLean to me.” She heard a familiar cackle from the back of the room and smiled. Removing the apron one of the girls had given her, she set it on the stool.

“You’ve al done a wonderful job, and I’m sure it’s a meal Lord MacLeod wil be proud to serve his guests. I’m going to head back to the keep now. Leave Cook to sleep for a bit longer, but if he takes a turn for the worse, come and get me.”

“My lady,” Katrina cal ed out as Ali went to leave.

“Thank ye fer al yer help. ’Tis no’ often a lady would lower herself to aid the likes of us.”

Ali’s throat tightened, and she swal owed past the bal of emotion. “It was my pleasure and, Katrina, in no way did I lower myself. Don’t ever think that.”

“Lady Aileanna, have a care around Lady MacLean,”

the old woman advised, her pale blue eyes piercing even from across the dimly lit room. “Laird MacLean as wel . The two of them have it in fer ye. I’l do what I can to help ye, lass, but it would be best if ye had a care.” Having said her piece, the old woman slipped out through a back en

trance Ali hadn’t noticed before.

“Who . . . who is that?” Ali asked, turning to the girls.

“’Tis old lady Cameron. She holds sway over much of the clan. A good one to have in yer corner with what—”

Katrina began before she clapped a hand over her mouth. The frame of the door creaked when Ali leaned against 142

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it. “Obviously Lady MacLean’s accusations have spread far and wide.”

“We doona’ believe them, Lady Aileanna, and we’l tel as many who wil listen,” Katrina promised. The other girls chimed in their agreement.

“Thank you. Now why don’t you al go out and sit under the tree with Cook for a bit.”

The four of them smiled, but it seemed they chose to ignore her suggestion as they busied themselves with one task after another. Ali left them, her protest dying on her lips. She might object to their being treated like slave labor, but it was obvious they didn’t feel the same. They were proud to provide for their clan, and it wasn’t Ali’s place to disabuse them. She wouldn’t, but she was going to make damn sure their efforts were appreciated. Exhausted, Ali barely managed to shove the heavy doors to the keep open. The air in the cavernous entrance was de cidedly cooler than the kitchens—a welcome relief. She lifted her hair to shake out some of the dampness and noticed the gleaming floors and the high sheen of the wood paneling. Ali rol ed her eyes—Moira MacLean. She wondered how Mrs. Mac and Mari had fared. Hopeful y they’d had the good sense to hide out in her room. Two serving girls smiled wanly at her greeting. Just as she was about to take the stairs to her room, she heard Mari cry out. Ali rushed into the great hal , fol owing her young maid’s panicked cry. Mrs. Mac swayed on top of a very tal wooden stool, broom in hand. “For God’s sake, Mrs. Mac, what are you doing up there?” Ali cal ed out as she hurried across the room.

Ali reached her side and steadied the makeshift ladder.

“You get down from there, right now.”

“Och, I’m fine. I’ve only one more of the banners to clean,” Mrs. Mac protested in a tired voice. LORD OF THE ISLES

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Ali took the broom from her and handed it to Mari. “I’l do it. I’m tal er than you are. Come on, off you get.”

Mrs. Mac sighed. “’Tis a bossy one you are,” she said, climbing down from her perch. Ali reached out to steady her. “Look at the two of you. You’re exhausted.”

“You doona’ look much better yerself, my lady. I didna’

think her highness would put you to work as wel .” Mrs. Mac raised a brow.

“She didn’t. It’s a long story,” Ali said as she careful y climbed to the top of the stool, steadying herself with a hand on the stone wal . “And where is her ladyship? ”