Iain guessed their visits were secret, but when they left and never returned, Iain forgot about them as he grew older. He spent the next hour trying to remember their names.
The rabbit still hadn’t ventured out of the grass, but another hopped toward the clump. He held his breath and threw the knife.
Picking it up, he said, “We have need of ye, my friend, and I thank ye.”
On the way back to the blackhouse, he wrapped his tartan around his hands and carefully picked some nettles and then collected some mushrooms. Once he’d skinned and cleaned the rabbit, he pushed the door open.
Abigail turned startled eyes to him and then smiled. “Did you find anything?”
Iain held up the rabbit. “Ye can make a stew with half the rabbit, and the other half I will cut into strips to dry by the fire until we leave.”
Abigail stood staring at him, so he pushed the rabbit forward. “Take it.”
“No. I don’t know how to make rabbit stew.”
“Ye don’t? Ye must be highborn to have servants do your cooking.”
“I can cook, sort of, but I haven’t cooked rabbit before.”
Iain frowned. Rabbits were an abundant food source; how could she never have cooked the animal? He mumbled, “Mayhap I should have tried to get a deer.”
Her eyes widened in surprise or fear, Iain didn’t know, but she didn’t say anything.
He deposited the nettles and mushrooms on the floor, moved to the fire, and added some more water to the cauldron.
“Make sure the nettles and mushrooms are clean, cut them into pieces, and put them into the pot. I’ll look after the rabbit.”
Iain began cutting up the rabbit as Abigail reached for the nettles.
“Stop!” Iain shouted. Abigail froze with her hand just above the pile of nettles. “Not with your bare hands. They are stinging nettles.”
Abigail sat back. “Oh, of course.”
Eyeing her, Iain had the strangest feeling she had never seen a stinging nettle before, let alone cooked with it, although she appeared to understand when he spoke. Had she eaten nettle soup before? He knew it was a popular dish in England, and he assumed it would be so in the Americas.
He kept silent, however, and added her actions to the list Iain was storing in his mind of the strange things Abigail did and said. He would find out the truth of her appearance on the moor and why she spoke differently from any other person Iain had met, be they Scottish, English, American, or French.
He would not risk the safety of his sister or his people by allowing her onto his lands. His only thoughts thus far were, was she a witch or worse, an English spy? If he could get word to her grandparents, he would learn the truth. Once he reunited her with her family, he could travel much more quickly to Dorpol alone.
When he was sure she was safe from the stings, he set about his work but watched her closely. He cut half the rabbit into chunks and put them into the pot. The other half he sliced into thin strips and hung above the fire along a length of chain he’d fitted there.
Soon, the aroma of rabbit stew filled the cabinand they both watched the pot. While waiting for the stew to finish cooking, Iain glanced at Abigail, who was looking at him with a curious expression. Their gazes met, and Iain, thrown by the blush that came to Abigail’s cheeks, pulled his gaze from her and leaned forward and stirred the pot. It was eitherthat or kiss the woman.
Chapter 9
Heat rose to Abby’s cheeks each time her eyes met Iain’s deep, dark orbs. He was as impressive as he was handsome, and she guessed his confidence came from being a laird of a large clan. Having people listen to him and follow his every order had to build character, and it was obvious he didn’t lack self-assurance. Although she imagined some leaders grew power hungry, she suspected Iain was a considerate chief of his clan. He was, after all, cooking them a meal.
“It’s ready,” Iain said.
His voice filled the room and Abby gave a little start. “Good, I’m starving.”
A frown creased Iain’s forehead, and Abby wondered what she had said to make him irritable. It seemed to her every time she spoke, he became annoyed, angry, or exasperated. She couldn’t quite tell which emotion his present expression showed.
The way he had looked at her when she’d reached to pick up the stinging nettles with bare hands nearly made her recoilin surprise. His furious eyes would have made someone less confident than her cower.
She glanced at him. Maybe he was just worried. If she’d touched the nettles, she would have been in pain for sure. She quickly looked away and hid a small smile. Itwas a stupid thing to do. She’d forgotten about the sting those plants would give, but only for a second. She suspected she would have caught herself before she actually touched them.
Her smile grew. If she wanted to keep him from changing his mind about going after her lost orb, she should just shut up. He was decidedly more relaxed when she kept quiet, so she accepted the bowl of stew and ate in silence as the darkness of a moonless night crept into the room.
