Page 57 of Kidnapped by a Rogue
“You cook?” Curstag asked, wrinkling her nose as if she smelled something foul. “The only time I enter the kitchen is when I find it necessary to reprimand the cook.”
Margaret suspected that occurred all too often and felt sorry for the cook.
“’Tis a useful skill,” Helen said. “Ye never know when it may come in handy.”
“Why wouldyouever need it?” Isabel said. “You’re a countess with a large castle full of servants.”
Goodness.Margaret regretted mentioning Finn’s talent with porridge. She began eating the lukewarm porridge with the goal of finishing it as quickly as possible.
“Is that Finn’s bastard?” Isabel asked, looking at Ella.
Margaret nearly choked on her porridge, then she pushed the bowl aside and lifted Ella onto her lap. Thankfully, Ella did not appear to understand what Isabel said.
“Isabel, this is my house, and you’ll treat my other guests with courtesy,” Helen said, which gave Margaret the moment she needed to gather herself.
Margaret was as shocked by Isabel’s lack of subtlety as by the insult itself. At court, insults could be just as cutting, but they were nearly an art form in their sophistication.
“My daughter is not a bastard. Nor is she Finn’s child.” Margaret paused to kiss the top of Ella’s head. “As Finn told ye last night, I’m a widow.”
“Hmmph,” Isabel grunted, and fixed her steely black eyes on Margaret. “Finn is a philanderer of the worst sort. He’ll bring ye no happiness.”
“Looks like a fine day, and Ella and I could do with some fresh air,” Margaret said, and stood up with Ella on hip. “Can ye suggest a walk nearby?”
“There are paths through the wood next to the castle,” Helen said. “Just don’t go too far and get lost.”
“I’ll ask Finn to take us,” Margaret said.
“I’m afraid he can’t today,” Helen said. “The earl has him practicing with his personal guard.”
Margaret was happy to hear it. Surely this was a sign Finn’s uncle was likely to ask him to join his guard. “I won’t disturb him then.”
“I’ve told my husband how pleased I am to have Finn back with us,” Helen said with a twinkle in her eye.
While Finn’s mother may not say a word on his behalf, his aunt was on his side—and she was the earl’s countess.
“Curstag,” Helen said, “would ye be so good as to accompany Maggie and her daughter on their walk so they don’t lose their way?”
Margaret expected Curstag to make an excuse, but she readily agreed. When Margaret excused herself to fetch their cloaks, Helen and Una came upstairs with her and Ella.
“I have a few gowns packed away from when I was young and thin,” Helen said, taking her arm as they climbed the stairs. “I don’t know why I kept them for so long, as there’s not enough fabric to let them out to fit me now. Would ye like to have them?”
The back of Margaret’s eyes stung with the threat of tears at Helen’s kindness. The countess evidently had noticed Margaret came with nothing. Instead of thinking worse of her for it, Helen took pains to offer the gowns in a way that would not embarrass her.
“That is most kind of ye,” Margaret said. “I’d be grateful if ye would lend them to me until I can make my own.”
“Keep them—consider them a marriage gift,” Helen said, with a wave of her hand. “And try not to mind Isabel’s sharp tongue. There’s no bride Finn could bring home who would please her, but I can see now he made a good choice.”
“Thank you.” Margaret felt like a fraud for deceiving this sweet woman.
“I could tell from the moment ye entered the hall that the two of ye were bound by true affection, and that counts for something,” Helen said. “My son speaks very highly of ye as well, and Alex has his mother’s good judgment.”
Before going back downstairs to meet Curstag, Margaret tied the pouch of broken onyx to her belt. Though it was foolish, Finn’s sister-in-law made her uneasy, and the onyx reminded Margaret of her mother’s strength and love. From the way Ella clutched her old rag doll and hid behind Margaret when they met Curstag downstairs, she felt apprehensive too.
Curstag was blessedly silent as she led them out of the castle and onto a path into the wood. The weather was still cool this far north, but the bluebells were lovely and thick beneath the trees, and the birds were chirping overhead. As they trailed behind Curstag deeper into the wood, Margaret began to relax and enjoy herself. But then Curstag came to an abrupt halt and spun around to face her.
“You’re one sly bitch,” Curstag said.
“What?” Margaret stared at her. Curstag might be more careful in public, but she was as rude as her mother-in-law.
