Page 7 of The Outlaw's Bride
“Aye … and no more.”
Adaira picked up a sweet bun and took a bite. It stuck in her throat as she swallowed.
Fighting the urge to gag, she turned to the young woman with thick brown hair and hazel eyes who stood at a work bench before her. “How’s Gordon faring these days?” Adaira asked.
“Much better, thank ye, milady.” Greer twisted her head and flashed Adaira a warm smile. “I appreciate ye asking.”
Adaira forced a cheerful smile back. Truthfully, it was difficult to concentrate, hard not to look at the two trays behind Greer, where she was setting out food and drink: cups of apple wine and dishes of mutton stew served with oaten dumplings.
Supper for the men taking their watch in the dungeon tonight.
“I was relieved to hear he’ll keep his leg,” Adaira continued. She felt bad feigning conversation with Greer, although her concern for Gordon MacPherson was real. The warrior had taken a serious injury to the thigh during the battle against the Frasers.
“So was I,” Greer admitted, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “He’ll bear a limp for the rest of his days though … and he won’t stop grumbling about it.”
“Better a limp than a peg leg,” Adaira replied, keeping the smile plastered on her face.
Greer snorted. “Aye, that’s what I tell him when his complaining gets too much.”
Adaira laughed, although to her ears it sounded like a nervous titter. Until this evening, she’d always felt comfortable in this kitchen. Greer and her mother, Dunvegan’s cook, had been good to her over the years. She’d spent a lot of time with them after her mother died. Tonight, Greer’s mother, Fiona, was poorly with a bad head. Greer had overseen the day’s food preparations.
Swallowing hard, Adaira tried to calm herself. It was hard though as her heart was beating so fast it felt as if it might leap from her chest. She felt sick.
Maybe I should have asked Rhona to do this.
No, her sister had already taken a great risk on her behalf. Adaira needed to complete this task—no one else. She just hoped her nerve wouldn’t fail her.
Next door to the kitchen, Adaira could hear the lilt of female voices and laughter. The servants in the scullery were hard at work, washing up after supper had ended in the Great Hall.
Adaira’s attention shifted to the haunch of venison that hung from the rafters on the far side of the kitchen. Noting the direction of her gaze, Greer’s face turned serious. “It’s for the handfasting feast.”
It was the reminder Adaira needed. The wedding was looming now. If she messed this up, she’d never escape it. “I imagine ye will be busy with the preparations,” she said, her voice suddenly brittle.
“Aye.” Greer favored her with a sympathetic look. All of Dunvegan knew she didn’t want to wed Aonghus Budge. “I’ve got a lot of baking to do over the next two days. Hopefully, Ma will feel better tomorrow so she can help.”
Taking another bite of bun, Adaira widened her eyes. “I love these, Greer … ye really are a talented baker.”
Greer was, although if Adaira took one more bite, she felt as if she’d throw up.
Greer grinned, her cheeks flushing at the compliment. “Take some away with ye, if ye want, Lady Adaira.”
“Can I?” Adaira took a small basket and placed four more buns inside. She cast Greer a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose ye have some butter to go with them … and some of that blackcurrant jelly ye made at mid-summer?”
Greer huffed. “For a wee thing, ye have quite an appetite.” She cast a glance behind her at where the trays were waiting. Adaira was interrupting her chores, although she couldn’t deny one of MacLeod’s daughters. “Very well … wait here. We’ve got plenty of butter left over from today, but I’ll have to dig out a pot of jam.” She moved toward the pantry, wiping her hands upon her apron. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
A moment was what Adaira had been waiting for.
As soon as Greer disappeared, she set aside her basket, withdrew the bottle from her sleeve, and approached the two cups of apple wine.
This was a stressful situation. Rhona had told her that tincture of nightshade could be deadly. She needed a steady hand and really didn’t want to be rushed. Yet this was the only chance she’d get. Crouching down, so her gaze was level with the cups, she unstoppered the bottle.
To her horror, Adaira saw her hands were shaking.
Calm down. If ye fail in this, it’s over.
Carefully, holding her breath to catch a tremor in her wrist, she tilted the bottle.
One, two, three.
