Part 8 (1/2)
”Oddly enough, I thought it was Miss Murdoch.”
Alexsey halted. ”Da?”
”I'm sure I was mistaken. It's far too early for a visitor, and why would she enter the castle through the kitchens? That makes no sense.”
I'm not so sure about that. ”I think I must see this mysterious lady for myself.”
Strath shrugged, though his eyes twinkled. ”Off with you, then. I'm to breakfast, for I'm famished. Just don't forget to tell me the outcome of this tryst, whoever the lady is.”
”Do not eat all of the bacon.” With a wink, Alexsey set off across the lawn. He quickly reached the gate, unlatching it and pa.s.sing through.
The kitchen garden rested against the back of Tulloch Castle, enclosed by three tall stone walls. Neat rows stretched before him, left fallow for the fall, although a few straggly greens near the castle door proved the stubbornness of the cook.
It was a pretty garden even without the benefits of full bloom, with neat paths of white rock and a wooden bench set under a tree. And there, walking quickly to a door leading into the castle, was the woman Strath had seen. She was cloaked head to foot in a familiar cape, and she held a large basket. He caught up to her just as she reached the door. ”Roza.”
Bronwyn, her fingers already on the iron door handle, jumped, her heart thundering. Surely not. She'd done nothing but think about him since their dance last night, but she'd never expected to run into him this morning.
Strong hands closed over her basket and lifted it from her grasp. ”I will carry this.”
As usual, he didn't ask. He rarely does. That must be fixed. There were many things about this man that needed fixing, now that she thought about it.
”You are not going to wish me a good morning? I think that is the required courtesy, nyet?”
She straightened her shoulders and pushed off her hood as she faced him.
The second she did so, she realized she'd made a grave error. It wasn't that she was underdressed-for though she wore her oldest gown, her hair carelessly knotted in a bun at the nape of her neck, he was equally attired. Once again, he wore the loose-fitting, far-from-fas.h.i.+onable clothing she'd first met him in, his brown jacket slightly worn at the elbows, his neckcloth tied with just a simple knot at the base of his throat.
No, her error was in thinking for an entire night that if she tried hard enough, she could stop responding to the breathtaking handsomeness of this man. That, apparently, was an impossibility, and it would be in her best interests to stop pretending she had control over a purely human reaction-to appreciate beauty in whatever form one happened to find it. I'm sure I'd be just as breathless if I were facing a gorgeous statue, or a- Her eyes met his. Heat raced through her, a jolt so strong that she wondered if it could be seen like a flash of lightning. She'd never react this way to a statue.
His grin was as wolfish as the gleam in his eyes. ”Happy to see me?”
”I thought you'd be sleeping,” she blurted.
”I was. I dreamed of you.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Oh, the things she longed to ask! But did she really wish to know? If he'd had a good dream, that wouldn't help quell her body's reaction every time he was near. And if he'd had a ridiculous dream, where she'd fallen down stairs and turned into a sea monster, or something equally as silly, she'd feel a disappointment she didn't want to have to explain to herself.
”Come. We will sit on the bench.” He turned toward the bench, but she grabbed the basket with both hands.
”I need to take these eggs and jams to Mrs. Durnoch.” When he didn't look enlightened, she stifled a sigh. ”She's the housekeeper here at Tulloch.”
”Why would the housekeeper here ask you for supplies?”
”She sent word to Mrs. Pitcairn, who serves as our cook and housekeeper at Ackinnoull, that the castle larder was woefully short of various items. Sir Henry didn't give poor Mrs. Durnoch enough notice that he was coming, and with such a large party, she's been scrambling to keep the tables filled.”
”There doesn't seem to be a lack of food. It's been quite abundant.”
”Lamb is available locally, and Selvach and his huntsmen had quite a bit of meat already dried and salted. They've been bringing in fresh catch every day, too. They were out this morning hunting duck, for I saw them heading toward the loch.”
”I will have to say my thanks to both Mrs. Durnoch and Selvach.”
”I'm sure they would appreciate it. We have over twenty hens at Ackinnoull, and Mrs. Pitcairn's jams are famous locally, so we keep them supplied. In return, whenever Selvach has extra game, he sends it to Ackinnoull.”
”That is very kind of him. I have seen this Mrs. Durnoch, I think. She wears a ring of keys at her waist the way men at war wear armor.”
”She is at war. A war against disorganization and dirt.”
”She is winning; the castle is very well run. Even my grandmother has been pleased, and it is not often she is so.” He turned toward the kitchen door. ”Come. We will deliver your basket.”
”You can't go into the kitchens!”
But it was too late. He was already stepping through the door.
Bronwyn hurried to catch up to him, arriving just in time to see the shocked expression on the cook's face when she realized who was carrying the expected basket.
”Gor, 'tis the prince!”
Instantly every maid, cook, undercook, and kitchen boy stopped what they were doing and stared, the noise dying from a clamor to silence in one second.
Cook began bobbing curtsies as if she were made of them, while one of the kitchen maids toppled to the floor in a swoon, drawing another maid to her side, who fanned the woozy girl with an ap.r.o.n. A kitchen boy who'd been turning a roast on a spit fell into a fit of the giggles, while another maid turned so red, Bronwyn feared the girl would die of an apoplexy.
She couldn't blame them. A prince like Alexsey, so handsome and das.h.i.+ng, his black hair falling over his brow, his green eyes agleam in a ballroom, was potent. A prince like Alexsey, standing six feet two in a smoky, crowded kitchen looking totally devastasting, was the stuff of fairy tales.
”Welcome, Yer Highness!” Cook stopped curtsying long enough to wipe her hands on a cloth and take the heavy basket from the prince. ”I . . . we . . . that is, I . . .” She cast a desperate glance at Bronwyn.
”His Highness saw me struggling with the basket in the garden, and he kindly offered to carry it inside.”
Cook placed the basket on a nearby table and dipped another curtsy, this one much longer and far more dramatic. ”Thank ye kindly fer bringin' the basket, Yer Highness.”
Alexsey inclined his head. ”It is Miss Murdoch who deserves your thanks. She carried the basket from her home. I merely brought it inside from the garden.”
”Aye, but ye carried it inside wit' yer own hands. Tha' is no' somethin' to ignore!”
As Alexsey started to disagree, Bronwyn grabbed him by the elbow and propelled him to the door. ”Thank you, Cook! Please tell Mrs. Durnoch we should be able to send even more eggs tomorrow.”
As soon as the door shut, Bronwyn released his arm. ”Next time, just say 'thank you.' ”
”But I did nothing.”
”You visited the kitchen. That was enough. They were honored you graced them with your presence.”
He snorted.
”If it helps, I wasn't impressed with your efforts at all.” She walked past him toward the gate. ”I must bid you good-bye; I've many things to do today.”
He lengthened his stride and stayed at her side. It was annoying how easily he kept up.
When she reached for the gate handle he caught her hand, lifting it to his warm lips for a kiss. ”Surely you have ten minutes to spare.”
She did, she supposed. But talking to him, as innocent as it was, felt illicit, as if she were doing something she shouldn't be. After all, there was no one here to act as chaperone. But what could be wrong with talking?