Page 41 of Highlander’s Captive

Something warmed in her. “You also grew up on a—”

Oh damn.

She shut up. The truth had almost slipped out. She wasn’t a great pretender.

“I mean, like many other people. You grew up on a farm—that’s great!”

He narrowed his dark eyes, studying her. For a few moments, they grew cold and suspicious. She laughed nervously.

“If you can start on the bread, that would be great. Do you know where Craig is?”

He nodded slowly. “Aye. Seen him near the eastern tower.”

“Great. Thanks, Hamish.” She nodded to him, smiled, and walked away as quickly as she could. But she felt his eyes on her back.

Chapter 14

The next day…

“Fergus, could you peel the parsnips better, please?” Amy said. “Look, you’re leaving such big patches of skin unpeeled.”

Fergus, one of the two middle-aged warriors helping her, stopped peeling the parsnip and threw her a heavy glance from under his eyebrows.

She’d organized the cooking like a conveyor belt. She had no idea how big kitchens worked, really, but her common sense told her they’d be faster and more efficient if one person had one job, just like Henry Ford had intended. One washed, the other peeled, and Amy cut. One of the older men butchered recent game that hunters had brought. And the other two—a teenager and an older man—kneaded dough and made bread.

“Ye mean, like this, mistress?” He threw the half-peeled parsnip to Amy.

Instead of landing on or near the cutting board, the parsnip hit Amy right in the head. The men snorted and then laughed out loud. Tears burned the backs of Amy’s eyes, but she ignored the pain. She’d be damned if she’d let these jerks see her cry.

The parsnip rolled on the floor towards Fergus.

Keeping her face cool, Amy blew a strand of her hair off her face, then wiped it to the side with the back of her hand.

“Please pick it up, Fergus, and finish the job,” she said.

He held her gaze for a moment, then turned to Angus who stood by his side washing the vegetables in a large pot. “Do ye ken the story of Kenneth MacDougall, who fecked a goat because he thought it was his wife?”

Rage hit Amy in a hot wave, and her cheeks burned.

“Nae,” Angus said.

“Aye, ’twas because the goat smelled just like her.”

The kitchen exploded with the laughter of all five men. Amy stood with her hands on her waist, watching them coldly.

“Very smart and funny, Fergus,” she said when the laughter died out. “Now, finish the parsnip, or I will shove it up a certain part of your body you’d least want it to be.”

Fergus’s smile died. “Dinna threaten me, mistress. Ye’re not the one commanding me. I’ll be damned if I take orders from a MacDougall. ’Tis my lord I answer to.”

Amy straightened her back. “Well, your lord told you to work in the kitchen under my orders.”

“He said work in the kitchen, so I work in the kitchen. He didna say a word about pleasing the little red MacDougall arse.” He pushed the parsnip with his boot, and it rolled back to Amy. “Now finish yer own peeling if ye dinna like my work. Or find yerself another cook.”

He spat the last word and returned to peeling another parsnip.

The men threw dark glances at her and returned to their work while Amy stood speechless, fuming.

She was just about to pick up the parsnip and acknowledge her defeat in front of her staff when a movement from the door caught her eye, and she turned to see Craig.