Never Seduce a Scot (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #1)(69)

Her attempts weren’t as well shaped as Mary’s had been, but they should suffice and it would taste the same. She couldn’t imagine anyone quibbling over the appearance of something as unappetizing as an oatcake.

When she looked up after finishing as many as she had mixture for, she discovered that the kitchen was empty and that the women had disappeared.

Frowning over that oddity, she wiped her hands on her skirts and glanced around to be certain she hadn’t missed anything she was supposed to have prepared for the breaking of fast.

A moment later, Nora and Mary reappeared and hurried over to begin piling the oatcakes on serving trays while one of the other women took care of the bread.

Nora frowned over the misshapen oatcakes and then cast Eveline an impatient look. It was a look that said, “You’re hopeless.”

Disheartened, Eveline’s shoulders sagged, but then she quickly squared them and held her hands out for one of the serving trays.

Mary readily handed over her tray and then shooed Eveline in the direction of the hall.

Suddenly nervous, Eveline hesitated at the doorway and peered into the hall. It was only half full, but the men were filtering in at a steady rate. Graeme and his brothers had yet to make an appearance, so Eveline started toward the first table to serve the warriors already seated.

She was greeted by looks of surprise and more than a few raised eyebrows. A few even scowled in the direction of the kitchen. Eveline had no idea what to make of that. Perhaps they preferred to be served by women of their own clan. Montgomery women. It only made her all the more determined to be the one to serve each and every one of them.

She was through the first table and was heading to the one opposite when all activity ceased. Several men at the table she was facing looked nervously behind her. One even dropped his goblet, spilling ale all over the table. Eveline winced, sure she’d somehow be blamed for the mishap.

She turned to see what all the fuss was about and met the gaze of her husband, and he looked furious. He stalked in her direction with such a black look that she hastily took two steps back, bumping into one of the seated warriors behind her.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She was sure he roared the question because the vibrations were strong in her ears.

Without waiting an answer, he yanked the tray from her hands, shoved it into the hands of a nearby serving woman and then took Eveline’s arm to herd her toward the table where he always sat.

He sat her down and then immediately took her hands in his, turning them over so the blisters and raw skin on her palms were readily visible.

He waited until she lifted her gaze to him, and then he said so clearly that she couldn’t possibly misinterpret his words, “Who did this to you?”

Her brow furrowed. “No one did this to me.”

Graeme glanced up, and Eveline saw he was looking at Bowen and Teague, who’d arrived at the table. They must have asked him what was amiss because he held up her hands so they were visible to all, and his lips curled into a snarl.

“This is what is amiss. Look at her hands. Look at what they’ve done.”

“But, Graeme, no one did this to me,” she protested. “I scraped them when I was bringing wood into the hall yesterday morning and the blisters are from the washing and cleaning.”

Bowen took the seat directly in front of her, his frown as fierce as Graeme’s. She glanced nervously to where Teague had taken a seat next to Bowen. He didn’t look pleased either. His mouth was set into a firm line.

“I don’t understand,” she said in bewilderment. She turned to Graeme. “Have I offended you in some way?”

Bowen’s hand came down on the table, jerking her attention back to him. “What on earth were you doing trying to carry those logs in? Not even the lads can hoist those pieces of wood. ’Tis why we have one of the men do it, so none of the women incur injury trying to start the fires in the mornings.”

Eveline’s cheeks heated as realization struck her. The other women had well known that one of the men had the duty of carrying in the wood. Why then would they have wanted her to attempt it?

Her lips trembled, but she was determined that no one see her upset. She wouldn’t give the women the satisfaction of knowing they’d made her feel foolish even for a moment.

Now she wondered just what else Nora had fabricated when she’d instructed Eveline on her duties. For the last couple of days, Eveline had worked harder than she’d ever worked in her life. She’d performed tasks that surely had to belong to the lowliest member of the clan. And yet she hadn’t complained. She hadn’t balked.

How they must have laughed behind her back as they watched her struggle to perform every single job that had been assigned to her. All that talk of leading by example. Eveline felt like the simpleton she’d been accused of being for so long.

She glanced down at her sore and torn hands and slipped the cuffs of her sleeves even farther over her palms.

Graeme touched her arm, but she refused to look up at him. She didn’t want him to see the shame and humiliation in her eyes nor did she want to give in to the tears that threatened. Instead she stared down at the ill-formed oatcake in front of her and was tempted to hurl it across the room.

The table shook, and she glanced up in time to see Graeme stalk away from the table. Those hated tears she fought so hard shimmered in her vision. How she hated them all right now. Everything had been so perfect between her and Graeme and now he was angry and she was miserable and so humiliated, she wanted to die from it.