Page 21 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
She finished the pie and milk, her mind churning with everything Lilias had told her. Constantine was more complicated than she had realized, carrying wounds and responsibilities that would have broken a lesser man.
He had chosen to help her despite having no obligation to do so and had offered her protection when she had had nothing to offer in return. It made Rowena wonder, what could he want from her?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dawn broke cold and gray over Duart Castle, but Rowena had been awake for hours, staring at the ceiling as her mind churned with worries that sleep couldn’t quiet.
What lies had Alpin spun in her absence? Had he told her people she was mad, unfit to lead? The thought of her clan believing such poison made her stomach twist with anguish.
She knew her uncle well enough to understand that he wouldn’t simply accept her disappearance. Even now, he would be searching, sending men to scour the countryside, weaving tales that painted her as everything from a wayward child to a dangerous threat to clan stability. All while positioning himself as the reasonable choice, the steady hand needed to guide them through troubled times.
Rowena sat up with a weary sigh, pushing the tangled thoughts aside. She couldn’t stay there much longer, couldn’t continue toimpose on Constantine’s hospitality when Alpin’s reach was long and his patience finite.
I need tae find a way tae gather meself some power if I am tae go against Alpin.
She dressed quickly in the simple wool gown Lilias had provided the day afore and made sure her pendant was in place, adorning her chest the right way.
Rowena figured the best place to start was weighing the man standing nearest. Constantine had yet to speak of what he planned for her future, but that didn’t mean his intentions were ill. She knew well enough the power her clan’s name still carried in the halls of Highland politics. An alliance with the MacKenzies came with land, influence, and access to key trade routes.
If Constantine meant to help her further, it wouldn’t be without reason. And to see where she stood, Rowena needed to better understand the man.
I ken the perfect way tae dae this…
The castle corridors were still quiet, save for the distant sounds of servants beginning their morning routines. Rowena made her way toward the kitchen, following the scent of wood smoke and baking bread. She encountered a young maid carrying flour, her arms full and her step hurried.
“Pardon me,” Rowena said gently, causing the girl to pause. “Might I ask if there is anything I can dae tae help with the morning meal?”
The maid’s eyes widened with surprise. “Help, me lady? But ye’re a guest?—”
“I ken me way around a kitchen,” Rowena interrupted softly. “I would like tae contribute, if ye’ll have me.”
The girl hesitated, clearly uncertain about the propriety of a noblewoman working in the kitchens. But something in Rowena’s manner, earnest and without pretense, seemed to sway her.
“Well,” she said slowly, “the Sir often takes his morning meal in the library. Perhaps... perhaps ye could help with his breakfast?”
Rowena’s heart gave a small flutter at the mention of Constantine, but she kept her expression neutral. “Aye, I can dae that.”
The kitchen was a warm, bustling space that immediately put Rowena at ease. The head cook, a stern-faced woman with graying hair tied back in a practical knot, looked up from her work with obvious suspicion.
“What business have ye here, me lady?” The woman’s voice held a mixture of disbelief and wariness.
“I would like tae help with the morning meal,” Rowena replied. “I ken it is unusual, but I have learned a little in the past about cooking."
The cook, who she learned was named Moira, studied her with shrewd eyes. “Ye wish tae cook? Nae just watch?”
“Aye. I would like tae prepare the Sir breakfast meself, if ye’ll allow it. Daes he like porridge?”
Moira’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. After a long moment, she gestured toward the large pot hanging over the fire. “Go on then, lass. But if ye ruin it, ye’ll answer tae him, nae me.”
“Aye. I accept.”
She moved to the hearth with practiced ease, testing the consistency of the oats already simmering. The wooden spoon felt familiar in her hands, and memories surfaced unbidden. Standing on a wooden stool as a child, her mother’s gentle hands guiding her movements. Her mother had believed that cooking was an act of love, that food prepared with care nourished not only the body but also the soul, so they had spent a lot of time in the kitchens despite their station.
“A touch more salt,” Rowena murmured to herself, adjusting the seasoning. She added a drizzle of honey, watching as it dissolved into the creamy mixture. The kitchen staff had gathered at a respectful distance, their curiosity evident as they watched her work.
She tested the consistency with the back of the spoon, adjusted the heat without hesitation, and seasoned by instinct rather than measurement. Rowena had done this countless times before, and it was muscle memory at that point.
“Where did ye learn tae cook like that?” asked one of the younger maids, her voice filled with wonder.
