Dark Side of the Laird (Highland Bound) by Eliza Knight

stinging eyes. Emotions I’d never felt bombarded me, overwhelmed me. This couldn’t be happening.
    I doubled over, u nable to help upending the contents of my belly onto the floor.
    I couldn’t tell Emma. She’d never believe me.
    And I didn’t even know what happened. I couldn’t tell her, because what would I say? I picked up the chair and threw it toward the hearth, watching the wood splinter against the stone.
    ’Twas time I sought an audience with the king. I’d leave at first light.

Chapter Eight
     

     
    Emma
     
    “ O ver here with that, my lady,” Cook called.
    The cellar smell ed… I couldn’t quite describe the scent. Musty wasn’t the right word, it wasn’t damp, but cool and dry. Maybe earthy was a good word for it. I walked as gingerly as I could toward her, dodging women and men who helped us fill the cellar storeroom. Each of my arms was wrapped around a large sealed jug. We’d been preserving food all morning, an endeavor I’d never imagined before, but with winter coming, it was a task if not completed, the castle inhabitants could very well starve.
    Then again… the amount of salt and brine we used in various jugs was giving me a serious case of salt-hate.
    I stumbled, jerking forward, but righted myself before I dropped the jars. Cook leapt forward and grabbed one of them from me as I looked down to see what tripped me up. A large piece of cracked pottery. Someone must have dropped it and not cleaned it up. Free from one jug, I picked up the broken piece and put it on an empty shelf—which only made Cook glower at the spot. I’d have to remember to grab it on my way out.
    “Careful, lass, wouldn’t want to drop the beets now.”
    “Thank you.” And I wouldn’t want to. I’d only just discovered how much I liked them. We’d worked hours that morning pickling vegetables, salting fish and meat, hanging herbs and garlic to dry. We’d sliced up what was left of the fruit and preserved them in jars with honey. Baked a thousand oat cakes, and made strips of meat to be dried for jerky, and beans and peas were laid out to dry. Root vegetables and cabbages were all put in baskets with layers of burlap between. My fingers were raw, and my mind blown. All the work we’d done already still wouldn’t be enough. Cook said that preserving the food for winter would take a week with all hands on deck—and she had over two dozen clanswomen chipping in to help.
    The day’s work had to be lugged down to the cellar where it would be stored in the cool room for all of winter. Looking around, everything appeared the same to me. There were no labels, and all the jars were identical. No printed pictures to tell us what was inside.
    But I watched as cook tapped her finger along the top shelf until she seemed to find the spot she wanted and then put the pickled beets on top of it. If the woman knew where everything went by counting shelves, than the clan would be in trouble if something happened to her. Without Cook, every meal would be a guessing game.
    If Cook thought it odd that I’d never been involved in preparing food for winter, she said nothing. The fact that Logan gave me the title of lady probably helped with that as I was sure there were plenty of ladies who didn’t think it their place to do chores. One in particular who stalked the halls of Gealach. God , how I hated her.
    Amazing how the presence of one woman could totally destroy my confidence in my position here. There was no doubt in my mind that Logan still loved me, but I knew he , too, struggled with how to deal with the situation, and now it was certain that she was spying, or something along those lines.
    “How many more jars of beets?” Cook asked, readjusting the way I’d put my jar up.
    “I think five more.”
    I hoped she’d tell me that was it. I desperately wanted to go back up to my room and tap on the door to see if Logan was next door. I wanted to search the halls until I found him and pull him into a darkened