Page 17
“Home. Loch Awe. ’Tis south from here.”
“What is it like?”
He sighed. “I…I havna been there in many years. I dinna ken how ’tis now, but I remember the vast loch, the mountains, the woods. Our house. Crazy Mary would cook haggis…”
She stopped abruptly as an image flashed in her mind—roasted leg of lamb in an ovenproof glass dish, glazed in honey—mustard sauce, with a filling of oatmeal mixed with minced vegetables and herbs. With the image came a feeling of home, of comfort, of security—and anxiety. Questions, doubts, the feeling of inadequacy…
“What is it?” Ian said, stopping as well. “Are ye well?”
“I remembered something,” she said, turning the image in her mind again and again, holding on to it as though it were a lifeline. “Crazy Mary—it’s the lamb roast, isn’t it?”
“Nae. Crazy Mary is our cook.”
“Oh…it’s not the name of the roast?”
“Crazy Mary makes a great lamb roast. Aye.”
“Yes! I know that lamb roast. When I think of it, it brings me a feeling of home. Maybe Crazy Mary knows where my home is. Or even someone in my family?”
Ian studied her. “I’ve kent Crazy Mary my whole life. I havna met ye before.”
The steward walked out of the tower they had been heading towards. He threw an angry, suspicious glance and Kate, making her shrink inwardly, but she only raised her chin. Whatever the man thought, she knew for sure she wasn’t a thief. He greeted Ian, then turned to her.
“What are ye still doing here?” the man asked Kate. “I dinna want thieves in the castle.”
“I am not a thief, mister,” she said.
“Ahearn, ye dinna ken she’s done what ye’re accusing her of. The woman needs help. Clearly, she’s been unwell.”
“I had thought ye left.” He glared at her.
“It’s the first day I can stand on my feet.”
“Good,” he said. “That means ye can go. Ye must leave the castle immediately. Ye’re nae welcome here. Go home, wherever ye came from.”
Unwanted tears prickled Kate’s eyes. She was now being chased away from the only place she knew. Where would she even go? She had no idea where “home” was.
“Ahearn, dinna ye think ’tis a little too harsh on the lass?” Ian said.
“These days, ye never ken who to trust, lord. I’ve been careful with people my whole life. And it’s served me well. I must insist ye leave the castle today, lass. We have given ye enough kindness already. I canna risk thieves, spies, or whores.”
“Ahearn!” Ian cried. “She’s none of those things.”
“My apologies, lord. Mayhap nae. Still. No one kens the lass. I canna take risks. Nae in the war.”
Ian shook his head and looked at Kate.
His warm brown eyes under thick, ginger-tinged eyelashes seemed like the only familiar and dear thing she knew in this world.
“If she must leave, she’s coming with me.”
“What?” Ahearn and Kate said at the same time.
Ian swallowed hard, the hazy, pained gaze returning. “My father just passed, Ahearn. I was looking for Kenneth to make arrangements, borrow a cart for his body. I want to leave on the morrow and take him with me.”
The man clasped his hands together. “I am so sorry to hear yer father passed, lord. But the lass?”
Ian didn’t break eye contact with her, and that sad yet warm gaze gave her hope. Gave her strength. Told her she wasn’t alone.
