Page 4 of Married for a Highland Debt
At last, she sat back, sated. “Thank you. I was very hungry.”
“Aye, an’ it’s shameful how much good food that gets wasted around here,” Lizzie said angrily. She put a linen bag on the table and filled it with bannocks, cheese, dried meat, vegetables, and a flask of ale. “None o’ these are very fresh, hen, but they can a’ fill yer stomach.”
Bettina’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you!” She hugged Lizzie then picked up the bag. “I will take this home before I do anything else. Thank you again.” Then she turned and fled, leaving Lizzie, Moira, and Ina to gaze after her, their faces full of sympathy.
2
When Bettina burst through the doors of the house, she found Kairstine sitting in the parlor mending a pair of socks. When her sister saw Bettina’s face, however, she ran up to her and threw her arms around her.
“You got it!” she cried, laughing in relief.
“Indeed, I did—and I got this, too.” Bettina held up the bag, and Kairstine’s eyes widened. “The cook says that much of it is not too fresh, but you can still eat it. It will keep for another few days.” Then she looked around. “Where is Da?” she asked, puzzled.
“Gone to look for work,” she replied. “I told him there was no money for ale or food, and especially not for gambling. I think he may have seen the light at last.”
Bettina said nothing and was careful not to let her doubts show on her face. Her father had made this promise many times before.
“I have taken on a new name since Da has blackened ours so much,” she said. “I have come to terms with Campbell McDade, but there will be others. My name is now Bridie Henderson, and I am a kitchen maid at Inchgarvie Castle.”
The work was hard, and before long, Bettina’s hands were callused and chapped. She had a myriad of scratches and cuts from the sharp knives that she used when chopping the vegetables, but she was proud of herself. She was working to help her family, even though she thought privately that her father was not worth the effort.
“How are ye farin’, Bridie?” Lizzie asked one day as they were both kneading bread on the big table. “I saw that Myra McGuire havin’ words wi’ ye the other day.”
Bettina nodded slowly. “She was making fun of the way I speak,” she replied. “I thought it was better not to start an argument, so I walked away.”
“Nasty bit o’ work, that yin,” Lizzie growled. “Always wantin’ tae act the lady an’ be better than she is. Thinks she is above everybody. Ye did the right thing, Bridie. Take no notice. Her an’ that Fiona Broon are as thick as thieves, an’ I dinnae know which one is worse.” She tutted.
“Aye,” Moira joined in, “an’ neither o’ them works as hard as our Bridie. An’ another thing. They are both jealous because she is better-lookin’ than they are! Our Bridie is the prettiest lady in the whole castle!”
Bettina was dumbfounded for a few moments, amazed at how quickly she had become “our” Bridie.
“Thank you, Moira!” she said gratefully. “That is very kind of you.”
Her cheeks were flaming. She realized that although her fellow kitchen staff were her friends, many of the chamber and parlor maids were not. The guards favored her, however, not because of her beauty, but her kindness, and this caused rampant jealousy among the female servants, particularly those who were plump or unattractive. Another thing that counted against her was the fact that the laird did not speak to her in the offhand way he talked to everyone else. However, that was about to change.
One day he met her in the courtyard as he was passing through it on his way to the stables, and he stopped her. Once again, Bettina began to quake inwardly.
“The cook speaks very highly of you,” Ninian Ogilvy remarked. It was obviously a compliment, but he was wearing his usual scowl as he said it. Bettina had never seen him smile.
“Thank you, M’Laird,” she replied. “She is a very kind lady.”
“Do you like working here?” he asked, studying her.
“Yes, I do,” she replied. “It is hard work, but I do not mind that.”
“You are not a woman accustomed to working with her hands,” he observed.
Bettina immediately tucked them into the pockets of her skirt.
“What brought you to this?” he asked curiously. “You are obviously an educated woman who can read and write. Why are you here?”
“Why are you interested, M’Laird?” Bettina was puzzled. “I am doing honest work to support my family.”
“I am merely trying to solve a mystery,” he answered. He planted his feet apart on the stone floor and put his hands on his hips. He looked enormous. “I am interested, that is all.” He stared down his nose at her. “Are you going to answer my question?” he demanded.
“No, M’Laird,” she answered, now absolutely seething with anger. How dare this arrogant pig stick his nose into her family’s business? “I am not. I work hard for you. I do my duty, and that is all I owe you. You have no right to pry into my or my family’s affairs. If you are afraid that I am going to steal from you, let me assure you that I am not a thief. Neither am I a whore or a murderer. If you have a problem with the way I speak, then perhaps you should not talk to me!”
“Then perhaps you should not work for me!” he roared. They glared at each other, and for a moment, there was a silence that was almost deafening in its intensity.
