Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(84)

No, they were starving.

And that was a shame.

A shame on the Gordon name and Diocail’s duty to rectify. He waved them forward. They came in a stumbling stampede, muttering words of gratitude as they reached for the platter sitting in front of him and Muir.

The platter was picked clean in moments.

Diocail stood up. The hall quieted as his men turned to listen to him. “I will address the shortage of food.”

A cheer went up as Diocail made his way down the steps from the high ground and into the kitchen. Muir fell into step beside him. The kitchen was down a passageway and built alongside the hall. Inside, the kitchen was a smoke-filled hell that made Diocail’s eyes smart and the back of his throat itch. He fought the urge to cough and hack. It was hardly the way to begin a conversation with his staff.

“The weather is fine and warm,” he declared. “Open the shutters.”

Instead of acting, all the women working at the long tables stood frozen, staring at him. Their faces were covered in soot from the conditions of the kitchen. Many of them had fabric wrapped around their heads, covering every last hair in an effort to keep the smoke from it. Muir opened a set of doors, allowing a cloud of smoke to roll out. Diocail looked at the hearths and realized the smoke wasn’t rising up the chimneys. No, it was pouring into the kitchen, and the closed shutters kept it there.

The staff suddenly scurried into a line to face him. They lined up shoulder to shoulder, looking at the ground, their hands worrying the folds of their stained skirts.

“Where is the Head of House?” he asked softly. It was God’s truth that he’d rather face twenty men alone than the line of quivering females who clearly thought he was there to chastise them.

Colum had truly been a bastard of a laird. He’d made his people suffer when the true duty of the laird was to serve the clan.

One of the women lifted her hand and pointed. Diocail peered through the clearing gloom and spotted the Head of House. She was seventy years old if she was a day. Whoever she was, she was deep in her cups and sitting in a chair on the far side of the kitchen as she sang and swayed.

“Sweet Christ, little wonder the supper is a poor one,” Muir remarked next to Diocail’s ear.

“Who is her second in charge?”

The women continued to look at the floor. Two of them were beginning to whimper. Muir took a step back, but Diocail reached out and grabbed the man’s kilt. “Do nae ye dare leave me here alone,” he muttered under his breath.

“Someone must be making decisions,” Diocail said as gently as he could in an effort to coax one of the women forward. What did he know of speaking to frightened females? Two more started crying, proving his knowledge was extremely lacking. Their tears left smears down their cheeks.

“Mercy, Laird,” a younger woman wailed. “I need me position. I swear, I will serve less, please do nae dismiss me.”

The entire group suddenly dissolved into desperate pleading. They came toward him, backing him and Muir up against the wall as they begged him not to send them away.

Diocail had never been so terrified in his life.

“No one is being dismissed.” Diocail raised his voice above the wailing.

It quieted them for the most part, which allowed him to see that a good number of his retainers had made their way into the kitchen after him. Those men were now glaring at him, making it plain that these were their wives or women and they didn’t take kindly to him upsetting them.

Diocail looked at the woman who had spoken. “Mistress?”

“Eachna.” She lowered herself but looked up at him, proving she had a solid spine, and while there was a worried glitter in her eyes, there was also a flash of temper that made it clear she thought his visit was long overdue.

Christ, he’d only been back at the castle for two days.

But he’d known that taking the lairdship meant his shoulders were going to feel the weight of the burden that went along with the position. He intended to rise to meet it.

He gestured for her to rise, and the rest of the women suddenly lowered themselves.

“Enough of that.” Diocail felt Muir hit him in the middle of his back because his voice had gained a frustrated edge. Diocail drew in a deep breath and regretted it as his lungs burned.

“I am here to resolve the issue of supper, no’ have ye all quivering. So…” He resisted the urge to run his hand down his face in exasperation. “If ye might explain the lack of food? There was no’ enough served, and I would see the men satisfied.”

He looked to Eachna, and her companions seemed quite willing to allow her to be the target of his inquiry. They shifted away from her, proving Colum had dealt harshly with his staff.

Not that such was a surprise. The old laird had been a bitter man who’d died with hatred in his eyes while his blood drained out of his body from stab wounds inflicted by a man hungry to take the lairdship.