Page 10 of To Wed a Laird
Still, she reminded herself, no two people were the same, and everyone dealt with their grief in a different way. She was just about to express her opinion when Cormac said, “Perhaps it’s me. Perhaps I am the problem.”
They moved into the kitchen, and Rose looked around herself in awe. The room was massive, almost the size of the entire stable block in her own home, with lofty ceilings that almost reminded her of a cathedral.
A long table ran down the middle of the huge chamber, and she could see a fireplace at the end of the room, over which an enormous cauldron was suspended. There were a number of bread ovens and dozens of hooks on the walls for kitchen utensils, as well as shelves full of dishes, cups, and pots. She saw bunches of herbs hanging up to dry, lending their fragrance to the air, and she let out a gasp of astonishment.
Seeing her look, Cormac turned to her, smiling at her astonishment. “Have you never been in a castle kitchen before?” he asked.
“No,” Rose replied. “I have never seen anything like it.”
“It is the beating heart of the castle,” Cormac told her.
He moved over to set a pan of milk on the embers of the fire, then came back to stand beside her.
“Let me have a look at your foot,” he said. “It might need some attention in the morning.” Then, he brought over a rough wooden chair for her to sit on.
For a moment, Rose thought of objecting, but Cormac was already pulling off her shoe, and when she felt his hands on her flesh a moment later, all thoughts of pushing him away fled from her mind. His fingers were rough-skinned, but their touch was infinitely gentle, and she closed her eyes and sighed softly as he searched her foot for any sign of an injury.
“Quite a bad bruise,” he announced at last as he picked up her slipper to put it back on. “But no broken bones. You can ask Flora, the healer, to put some arnica on it in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Rose said, smiling, even though she already missed the soft touch of his fingers on her skin. She tried to get to her feet, but Cormac stopped her, putting his big hand on her shoulder. “Try not to stand,” he instructed, before he went to fetch the milk.
He poured the milk and sprinkled some cinnamon on it, then handed it to Rose.
Her eyes widened with pleased surprise, and she bent down to her cup to savour its delicious aroma. “Mmm… My favourite spice,” she told him. She got to her feet, helped by Cormac’s hand under her elbow, and they left the kitchen.
As they reached the door, Rose said, “I want to assure you that I will do everything in my power to help Elspeth. She is but a child and I can see how much she is suffering. I lost my own mother, so I understand.”
Cormac looked at her for a long moment, but said nothing, merely nodding in acknowledgement. Rose thought she saw something in his expression—hope? Perhaps this man with the iron exterior was softer than he appeared. She suspected that he was, but he dared not let the wall around him crumble in case anyone saw the sadness that was concealed inside him, curled up like a frightened animal.
In a way, Elspeth was more fortunate because as a child she was free to express those emotions, whereas a man, particularly a man in Cormac’s position, could not. He had to be seen to be invulnerable, made of iron.
Cormac led Rose back to the door of her bedchamber, then, with another brief nod, he left her without another word. Rose watched him till he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight, then entered her chamber.
Her foot still hurt a little, but the touch of Cormac’s rough fingers had magically soothed the pain somewhat, and after she drank her milk, Rose was finally able to drift off to sleep.
Unbeknownst to Rose, Cormac was as distracted as she was by the touch of her skin. It was so soft, her flesh so warm and tender, and her foot was so small and dainty, just as Catherine’s had been. At once a spear of guilt shot through him as he realised that he had just compared this woman, who was still almost a complete stranger, to the woman he had loved more than life itself.
What kind of man am I?he thought.Having my head turned by a pretty face like that. I am so weak and disloyal!
It was still early, but Rose wanted to speak to the healer before she saw Elspeth, so she made her way to the sick room, passing many maids and manservants on the way.
She was surprised to see that her appearance seemed to be provoking not just curiosity, which she had expected, but downright hostility, judging by some of the looks she received.
However, Rose was neither hurt nor intimidated. She had learned the dubious art of meeting an aggressive stare with one of her own, and could hold her adversary’s gaze for as long as it took for them to look away, which they always did.
Accordingly, she stared back and ignored the muttering which accompanied her passage down the corridors. Rose had no idea what she had done to merit such malice, but she was determined not to let it dissuade her from her mission. It might give her a feeling of unease, which was natural, but she could rise above it.
She was not here to be liked, she was here to do a job, and she was determined to do it to the best of her ability. What the staff in the castle thought of her was of no account. Their opinions did not affect her in any way, so she would ignore them.
However, it was not in Rose’s nature to make enemies, so she was determined to keep a level head—she had enough trouble on her hands.
She went into the sick room, where a brisk young woman looked at her bruised foot and prescribed an arnica salve, as Cormac had told her she would.
Rose was impressed with the young woman’s friendly attitude and devotion to duty. It was so unlike the rest of the staff, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she left the room.
Now was the moment she had been dreading. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin and thrust out her chest as though she were a soldier going into battle. She certainly felt like one.
CHAPTER FIVE
