Once she confirmed that she was not with child, Connor had handled the situation as efficiently as he handled most things in his life. The man involved was never welcomed in Lairig Dubh again, indeed, never welcomed by any of the MacLerie allies or friends or branches of the clan.
Though certain very few knew the true reason, Elizabeth knew exactly how Connor MacLerie worked—a touch of genuine concern for his kin mixed with ruthless determination to make things the way he wanted them to be. She’d witnessed it many times as she grew up and knew of even more times through Ciara, as her friend worked at Duncan MacLerie’s side as peacemaker and negotiator for the earl’s business interests. Connor got what he wanted and made whatever he wanted to happen happen, and rarely was he thwarted.
Elizabeth swallowed deeply as she realized she and Jamie had done exactly that. And the price that they would pay for their defiance was yet to be known. She reached down and dropped some of the crushed betony into the pot, enjoying the aroma of the herb. A cup of hot tea would feel good right now.
She wrapped the edge of her skirt around her skirt and lifted the steaming pot from the fire. Carrying it over to the table near the shelves, she poured two cups. A drop or two of honey would make it the way she liked it. When she finished, she turned to find Jamie watching her.
“I think I like this,” he said, as he lifted his arms out from under the blanket and stretched. Leaning up on his elbows, he accepted the cup she offered him. “It will be no hardship having you as my wife.”
“You haven’t tasted my cooking yet, so do not rush to judgment,” she teased. He sat up, sipping the steaming tea with a care, and nodded to her.
“Well, I have yet to experience that, but this is wonderful. What is in it?”
“Betony from the lady’s garden. A drop of honey.”
“‘Tis good. I like it. My thanks for making it.”
He stood then, holding the blanket around his hips and holding his cup out to her. She took it, her mouth dry in spite of a mouthful of tea. That tea sat on her tongue and refused to be swallowed. Jamie reached for his trews with his free hand, testing their dryness.
“How long have I slept?” he asked as he dropped the blanket and pulled the trousers on.
She would have answered if she was able to, but the sight of him, even from the back, took her breath away. Worse, her hand lifted to touch him before she realized it. To glide her hands over the strong muscles of his back, to let them drop down over his sculpted buttocks and to touch the hard muscles in his thighs... Lost for a moment in desire, she forgot he’d asked her a question. When he turned and met her gaze, the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. Elizabeth let her hand drop and tried to think about what he’d asked.
“How long...?” he prompted.
“‘Tis past sunset now,” she replied. “You were exhausted so I did not wake you.”
She watched as he found his shirt and pulled it over his head. Now, she wanted to run her fingers through his hair, smoothing the tangles and feeling its texture. Pulling her thoughts away from his body, she cleared her throat.
“Since it was still raining, I did not think you planned to leave yet.” Elizabeth gave him his cup when he reached for it. He shook his head.
“Traveling the muddy path would be dangerous in the dark. By morning, hopefully the rains will cease and the roads will dry out.” He stepped past her and looked at their store of food on the shelf. “Are you hungry?”
Her stomach chose that moment to let him know exactly how hungry she was, grumbling loudly enough to be heard by both of them. She covered it with her hands, but it was too late. Her mother always said she a healthy appetite and she would admit to loving a good meal. “I suppose I am.”
Jamie laughed then, taking the two remaining pies from their cloth wrappers and placing them on the table. He moved the stools next to the table and waited for her to sit. She filled their cups with the remaining tea and sat. They ate their plain meal in companionable silence.
“The unavoidable will happen,” Jamie said as she cleaned up the crumbs from their food. She stopped in motion and stared at him, thinking he meant to bed her now. “You will have to cook for me in the morn.” He laughed then and nodded. “With your mother’s pies done and needing some of the leftover food for our journey on the morrow, you must make us some of those oatcakes I keep hearing about.”
She forgot that he was a Lowlander by birth and that, other than this and two other journeys north, he spent little time away from the area of his birth. The language that they now spoke should have reminded her, but she could slip in and out of Scots easily. He spoke little of her Gàidhlig and struggled with it.
“Every Highland boy and girl is taught to make oatcakes,” she said, smiling at him. “I can teach you how to, if you would like?”
“Is that so I cannot blame you if they burn or are too dry?” he teased.
“Aye,” she admitted. “I mean, nay! I have mastered the simple oatcake, sir. ‘Tis the more involved baked foods that escape my abilities.”
“Very well,” he said, gazing at her with a new intensity in his blue eyes. “If you promise to teach me how to make an oatcake in the morn, I will teach you something this night.”
Her body reacted before she even realized the sensual promise in his words, heat spilling through her belly and into her breasts. The deep tones of his voice made her want to peel off her gown and melt at his feet.
She should be ashamed at the way she reacted, without thinking first of her unmarried state, but she knew he was an honorable man and he would stand by his promises to her. Well, she prayed he would when he discovered her secret.
But, really, all the time she spent examining her conscience seemed to matter little, or not at all, when he lifted his hand and traced the outline of her mouth with his finger. And it mattered less when that same finger slid down and touched her breast, drawing a circle around the sensitive tip before rubbing it with his thumb. Her body ached and arched toward him. Before he could touch her any other place, she covered his hand with hers and asked the question she wanted to.
“What will you teach me, Jamie?”
Chapter Six
