Page 21 of Highlander's Wild Lass

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Anthony snuck into the castle kitchens, the sun wouldn’t be up for another few hours. The four fireplaces were still smoldering from dinner but provided barely any light for him to find his way.

He stepped carefully along the flagstones, wary of bumping into anything and disturbing Mrs. Duncan’s tidy kitchen. He felt his way around, turning the corner and seeing a light on in one of the small back rooms.

Probably a forgotten candle.

Anthony felt his way in that direction, keeping one hand on the solid wood table in the center of the room that was used for preparing meals.

He stumbled forward when his boot connected with a large crate, nearly toppling on top of it.

“Who’s there?”

Hurried footsteps rushed toward him, and a candle loomed in the air far below his nose. The glowing outline of Mrs. Duncan’s face, her hair covered in a night bonnet, was looking up at him.

“Mother of God, Anthony! Ye scared me half to death,” she scolded him, placing the candlestick onto the wooden table, the flame flickered wildly as she did.

“Apologies, Mrs. Duncan,” Anthony said, watching the older woman dash around the dark kitchen lighting candles so that the large room was lit just enough for them to see one another. “What are ye doin’ up this late?”

“Mendin’ one of my skirts, I tore it on a delivery cart that came through earlier,” she told him. “What are ye doin’ gettin’ in so late?”

“What do ye mean?”

“Daenae play the fool with me, Anthony Moore,” she said. “Ye weren’t here for the midday meal or dinner.”

“Ye daenae miss a thing, do ye?”

“Ye ken I don’t,” she said, plating a few pieces of cheese and dried meat for him. “Now, are ye goin’ to tell me where ye have been disappearin’ to these last few weeks?”

Anthony sat on the crate that nearly laid him out as Mrs. Duncan placed the plate in front of him. He ate a piece of cheese before answering, “Well…I have been visitin’ with Brannan McLean and his family. He’s not been well.”

“Aye, I have heard of Mr. McLean’s illness. That’s sad business, that. First their precious maither and now…I’ll miss that man’s whisky.”

He ripped a piece of meat in half. “Well, ye ken—”

“Do not chew with yer mouth full. Good lord, ye have better manners than that.”

“Sorry,” he said, midchew.

Mrs. Duncan shot him a glare, and he swallowed. “I ken that ye love his whisky, but I daenae think ye will need to be worryin’ about never havin’ the pleasure of tastin’ it again.”

“What do ye mean?” she said, leaning to rest on the wooden table, eyeing him eagerly.

“His eldest daughter—”

“Celestia?”

“Aye. Will ye let me finish, Mrs. Duncan?” he said, frowning.

“Oh, aye, aye,” she said, frantically waving her hands at him to continue.

“Celestia is takin’ over the business for him.”

“And how do ye know that?” she asked, scrunching her nose.

“I was helpin’ the family and one of Mr. McLean’s rivals showed up. There was a bit of an argument between him and Celestia—”

“Oh, that girl…she has always been a lively one, even as a wee lass.”