Later that Day: In the Kitchens
“MacLeod is a nobcock. An artless, hasty-witted, scut.”
Whack.
Mrs. Mac laughed as Amelia devoted herself to the task of chopping carrots for dinner. They were supposed to be having beef stew…if Amelia didn’t ruin the vegetables, of course.
Whack.
By all appearances, Mel was preparing root vegetables for the stew, but in her mind, she was hacking away at one ornery Highlander.
Unfortunately, in her manic enthusiasm, she was making an utter mess of said vegetables; they’d end up with mashed carrots and mushy potatoes at this rate.
Regardless, Mrs. Mac did not chastise her for her zeal, and instead, commiserated with the sentiment. “Och, he can be at that, lass. He can be at that.”
Amelia looked up, gripping her knife and brandishing it about as she spoke. “Sometimes, I want nothing more than to punch him in the nose.” She punctuated her threat with a jab of her fist, then a mighty whack as she returned to her task.
Mrs. Mac chuckled with a smile. “Aye, lass, I’m sure ye do.”
Whack.
“Who does he think he is? He’s effectively holding me captive against my will.”
Whack. Whack.
“Och, lass…ye ken he wouldn’t do such a thing if he didnae have reason?”
Whack.
“No, Mrs. Mac. I don’t. Because he doesn’t confide in me about anything.” Whack. “Besides, I’m a woman grown. I have been on my own for many, many years and lived to tell about it. I don’t need his brand of protection.” Did she?
Whack. Whack. Whack.
In her state of anger? No, she didn’t.
Mrs. Mac put her hands to her hips, her stirring spoon still in one hand, and stared at her. “If ye truly believed that, then why are you still here?”
Whack. Whack. Whack. Whack.
Amelia threw down her knife after that last attack on the vegetables. Then sat back and considered the cook’s pointed question. Why didn’t she leave? Because she was afraid? Yes and no. This was as good a place as any to hide from her troubles, but she was a survivor. She would survive on her own. She could also go to Viscount Sharpe or Dansbury, if she so desired. She could find a way.
So if that wasn’t it, why?
Because she didn’t truly believe her own accusations. Because he was hurting, inside, and she understood that pain; she’d been there before. Because he didn’t trust easily, and she understood that, too. Because they had kindred souls, both having faced hardships many would never in their life experience and couldn’t fully comprehend—and because of that, until she explored this connection between them fully, she would stay.
But she couldn’t explain all that to the cook. So Amelia ignored the pointed question.
One look at Mrs. Mac, and she suspected she didn’t need to answer her anyway. Cook already suspected the truth. Instead, she returned to discussing MacLeod’s faults.
She picked up her cleaver. “Doesn’t he realize I might be more understanding if he would simply learn to trust me, to tell me what is going on? No, don’t answer that. But doesn’t he realize that over-protecting—not only me, but his brother, too—is wrong? It’s stifling. It makes one feel like a child. It’s practically asking for us to rebel. I don’t take too kindly to a man who feels he has the right to tell me what to do, to deny me access to my family.”
Whack.
Mrs. Mac simply mmm’d in response, a telling remark despite the lack of specific words to define her thoughts on the matter. Amelia had to hold still so as not to squirm in her seat with guilt.
She had no reason to fear her own culpability.
Fed up, Amelia threw her knife down on the table once again and turned on her stool to face the cook. “But why, Mrs. Mac? I mean, why is he this way?” She thought she understood, but she wanted to hear confirmation from someone who knew him better and who loved him anyway.
The cook sighed, and answered her, all the while continuing to stir the stew. “Och, lass. Alaistair is an intensely private man. Ye must ken that by now.”
Amelia snorted. “Oh, I know it, I do. And funnily enough, I even understand. To a point.” That was a little disingenuous. She understood it, a lot.
Mrs. Mac ceased stirring the pot and turned to stare at her, really stare. “Do ye lass? Do ye truly?”
Undeterred, Amelia responded honestly. She waved her hands as she spoke, as she was wont to do when she was passionate about something. “Yes, I do. He is the most remarkable man I’ve ever met. I can see this, even though he likes to keep that side of him buried deep. Even though he likes to posture and command—all to keep us safe, mind, and too overprotected for our own good.”
Mrs. Mac turned back to her pot and let loose another chuckle. “Aye, ye’ve the right of it, lassie. The man puts everyone else before his own needs, too.”
And like that it fully clicked for her. MacLeod was afraid. Afraid if he didn’t protect everyone he loved, he would lose them. Like he almost lost Alain.
Amelia stood and joined Mrs. Mac at the fireplace, leaning against the brick surround and rubbing her arms for comfort. “The truth is, I find myself wanting nothing more than to reveal that side of him, the man few people have the good fortune to see. Strangely enough, at the same time, I want it all to myself, which is not…me. Does that make any sense?”
Mrs. Mac threw her a knowing smile. “Aye, it does.” Then her face dropped, her kind eyes turned serious, “But lass, ye must be careful. Alaistair is not an easy man to care for. Not since…the accident. He—”
Amelia held up her hand. “Mrs. Mac…don’t. I don’t think…I mean…” Amelia sighed, her thoughts confused and chaotic, her emotions fighting with her head over this stubborn, ridiculous man. “Am I right? Isn’t this all a façade? A cover for a deeply caring man?” Never mind she was now back-stepping, contrary to her rant against him.
Mrs. Mac shook her head. “Aye. I know the truth of what ye speak. I’ve known the lad for a long time now. When he loves, it is profound. Unfortunately, he has a streak of stubbornness worse than an old ass to go along with it. But know this, if you betray him, he will never, ever forgive you.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
“But…” and Mrs. Mac smiled, a pleased, hopeful twist of her lips, “…I’m thinking ye may be exactly what he needs.”
But was she? She had plenty of her own secrets. Would MacLeod find her past a betrayal?
Unfortunately, Mel already knew the answer.
MacLeod stepped back into the darkened corridor outside the kitchen, ashamed of himself for eavesdropping, and for the truth they spoke of his faults. He even understood their feelings on the matter.
Regardless, he could not let go. He couldn’t put them at risk, vulnerable to his enemies. In his line of work, the people he cared for were at risk. Always there was risk. Alain’s disability was living proof of that. It was why he was so secretive; it was just to protect his own selfish heart from betrayal.
And if anything were to happen to either of them, he wouldn’t survive it this time. He knew this. He couldn’t bear the pain again.