for the relative safety of the stables.
“That’s enough from ye, hen,” Cook scolded, shooting a sharp look in the young girl’s direction. “Ye best break yer fast quick-like so ye can get back tae yer work. ‘Tisn’t fair that yer mistress gets her hands dirty while ye sit on yer backside.” Annella pretended to be hurt, but Catriona could see that her friend enjoyed the teasing, and could take as good as she gave.
Catriona wrapped her long, slender fingers around a steaming cup of coffee, enjoying the feeling of warmth as it spread through her. She hadn’t much appetite early in the day, and only ate enough to give her the strength she needed to see her through to the afternoon meal. “It looks to be the perfect day for making soap,” Catriona said, pausing to pick a few crumbs of bread off the serving platter. “It does no’ look likely to rain, and it’s cool enough yet that we will no’ have to worry about fainting from the heat of the fire.”
Cook rolled her eyes in response as she stirred the porridge that warmed over the hearth. “It is no’ fittin’ for the laird’s daughter tae be doin’ the work of a servant.” The argument was one the pair had engaged in countless times over the years, but Catriona refused to rise to the bait. With a resigned sigh, Cook turned to fix her daughter with a piercing gaze. “At least I’ve ne’er kent ye tae complain about doin’ an honest day’s work, my lady – no’ like some.”
Annella waved off the criticism, content to savor the remains of her breakfast. “Did ye say ye wanted tae add scent tae the soap, Catriona?” she asked, her words mumbled around bites of cheese. “It matters no’ tae me, but I ken how yer sister loves it.”
Catriona nodded, frustrated at her forgetfulness. In the weeks since the betrothal ceremony, she had been unusually distracted and unsettled. If only she could have a good night’s sleep – one that wasn’t plagued by foolish dreams and self recrimination. “Thank you for reminding me,” she replied sheepishly as she pushed back her chair and made her way to the door. “I picked some flowers yesterday that will serve, but I left them in my saddle bag. I’ll fetch them from the stables, and meet you outside when yer finished breakfast.”
With a quick word of thanks to Cook, Catriona left the kitchen, briskly making her way to the stables. Regardless of how deeply Lachlan had hurt her, and how her heart ached at the prospect of his marriage to Elizabeth, she could hardly have her dark moods affecting others. She was still distracted, her features drawn in a pensive frown, as she reached the stables. With a quick wave to Rabbie, she walked into the barn, carefully choosing her footing as she made her way to the stalls nearest the back wall, where Lily was stabled. Too focused on her own thoughts, she failed to see the stricken expression on Rabbie’s grimy face.
Catriona had left the saddlebag and other tack hanging on the wall of Lily’s stall. As she picked her way through the straw, Rabbie rushed to her side. “Excuse me, miss, but can I help ye?” The boy was out of breath, his pale features strained. He looked anxiously around the stables before he continued. “If ye be needin’ Lily, miss, I’d be verra happy tae go and get her fer ye.”
Catriona paused for a moment, finally aware of the young groom’s discomfort. “I only need my saddlebag, Rabbie. It will take me but a moment, and then you’ll be free of me again,” she said, smiling questioningly at the lad. Usually, Rabbie showed no hesitation when she visited the stables, but today he was behaving quite strangely.
Shaking his head in dismay, Rabbie raced by her side and stood determinedly in front of her, both hands on his narrow hips. He cleared his throat loudly before he continued. “Miss,” he said, his warm eyes pleading, “I think I best be getting yer things