“The floor is lava.” She fidgeted in place, seeming suddenly uncomfortable. “Children love it.”
“Indeed.” He studied her, wondering what was so terrible in her past that made her uneasy about sharing the truth of something as simple as a child’s game. Jasper had reported that not a soul in Thurso had ever heard of Lorna Merriweather. Nor was there any shop or trade that came remotely close to resembling such a thing as a used bookstore, as she had mentioned to the driver of the coach. “How did ye come to know about such a game?”
She shrugged. “I thought it up while we were looking over the book of maps ye gave Bella. The child loves studying the names of all the places.” She started picking up the scattered linens, pillows, and cushions. “She is a brilliant lass. Ye should be quite proud.”
“I am quite proud, indeed.” He hurried to help push the chairs and stools back where they belonged.
Lorna opened a bedchamber door. “Ebby?”
“Aye, mistress?” The maid popped her head out another door farther down. Her eyes widened, and she bobbed a clumsy curtsy in Gunn’s direction. “My chieftain.”
“Yer mistress wants ye to share in the bread and jam if ye wish,” he said.
Ebby shook her head, stole a glance at Lorna, then bobbed another curtsy at him. “Oh no. I must not. It wouldna be proper.”
“It is more proper that ye share in the treat than it is for food to be wasted.” Gunn sternly tipped his head her way. “Ye ken how I feel about wastefulness, and Mistress Lorna says Cook always sends up a generous tray.”
“Ye dinna wish to get Cook in trouble, do ye?” Lorna said.
Gunn picked up on the slyness in her tone but refrained from smiling.
“Never, mistress! Cook and Mrs. Thistlewick are always kinder than kind to me.” Ebby glanced back and forth between the two of them. “Ye are certain it would be all right?”
“Aye,” he and Lorna said in unison.
Ebby giggled, then covered her mouth, embarrassment tempering the mirth dancing in her eyes. “The two of ye sound perfect together. In that case, I might enjoy a wee taste.” She hurried across to the solar and quietly closed the door behind her.
“She is always so afraid of doing something wrong.” Lorna smiled at the door as if able to see the maid through it. “Ye have a true and loyal person right there.”
“Mrs. Thistlewick has tried to tell her if she wouldna try so hard, she wouldna bumble so much.” He moved to the window seat and sat, hoping Lorna would choose his company over that of jam and bread. He patted the cushion beside him. “Tell me, mouse. What do ye think of Thursa now that ye have had several days to judge it?”
Her expression told him the seemingly innocent question did not fool her. Rather than sit beside him on the window bench, she chose the chair next to it. “Are ye asking me about those within in the castle, the structure itself, or”—she shot a shrewd look his way—“the one who tries his best to rule it all?”
“I dinna rule,” he said quietly. “I lead.”
The smile she gave him warmed his heart. Dangerously so.
“A humble man,” she said. “Ye are a rare beastie, Gunn Sinclair.”
“Perhaps. So, tell me, mouse. What think ye of what could verra well become yer new home?”
She stared downward, worrying a fold in her skirt. “In all honesty, I canna imagine living anywhere else right now.”
“Right now?”
“Aye.” She lifted her head, the careful smile she often adopted firmly in place. “Much has changed since the last time I was in Thurso. I dinna think I can ever return to what I once knew.”
“Ye speak in circles, lass. Obscure as an unsolved riddle.” He studied her. Instinct told him everything she said was true, but that was just it. When she spoke about herself, she did it yet managed to reveal nothing.
She rose from the chair, meandered over to the hearth, and stared down at the flames. “Maybe ye will just have to accept that about me, ye ken?” She turned and pinned him with a fierce gaze. “As I have accepted yer choices about yerself.”
“Well played, mouse.” As he stood, he decided to test her further. “Lady Murdina’s behavior has improved. Mellowed, even. Do ye not agree?”
Lorna arched a dubious brow. “I agree snakes hypnotize their prey before striking the killing blow.”
“Were ye not the one who informed me I should give the woman a second chance?”
“Because I did not wish ye tossing poor Frances and Hesther from the frying pan into the fire.” She bit her lip. “Or griddle. Or whatever Cook fries with.”
