He grinned. “I’ve spent time at court and been around the English enough time to learn to speak the language. I’ll translate for ye when ye need it.”
She beamed at him. “Thank you. That would be most kind.” All at once the kitchen felt warmer than before. The air swirling about him seemed softer; charged with something as sweet as honey.
He watched her scrape up the last of the porridge from the bowl and, as she delicately licked her plush red lips, his mind flashed to thinking of how those lips might taste.Christ almighty. Now he could scarcely breath for picturing his tongue tracing her shapely mouth. An unholy twitch started in his groin.
He proffered his arm, doing his best to dismiss the lusty thoughts from his mind. “I’ll happily walk ye back tae yer chamber lass.”
Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to speak but he pressed a finger to her soft lips.
“Lady Selene. I shall accompany ye along the darkened passages. Ye dinnae ken what ghost ye might encounter on yer way. I’ll keep ye safe.”
She laughed, a soft tinkling sound that he found quite intoxicating, and took his arm.
He walked her back through the quiet corridors, enjoying the feel of her arm tucked into his. Outside her door they hovered a moment longer than necessary – too close, breathing the same air.
“Goodnight, Lady Selene,” he murmured.
“Goodnight… Laird Kenneth.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Entering the chamber, Selene stoked the fire to bring the remaining embers back to life. She placed a good-sized log on the flames and plopped into the chair. She was half dizzy with all that had happened, her fingers and toes were frozen and she held up her hands and raised her feet to capture the warmth.
A smile played on her lips as she recalled the outrageous time she’d spent with Laird Kenneth. She laughed out loud as her thoughts roamed over the blow she had dealt him and his reaction – part amused, part agonized, and part angry.
But then, he’d got his revenge in his wicked teasing with the ghost story he’d related, tongue-in-cheek. She breathed a quiet sigh, her cheeks flushing with warmth as she recalled their strangely intimate connection. How pleasant it was to feel his warmth and the strength of his arm as he’d walked her back to her bedchamber.
When the log had burned down to embers and her eyelids began to droop, she made her way to the bed, shrugged off the old blanket wrapping her and wriggled down under the covers, still buzzing with thoughts of the kitchen and Laird Kenneth.
Although she was certain that the tumult of thoughts playing through her mind and the sound of the storm would never allow her to sleep a wink, she fell at once into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, waking in surprise to the grey morning light seeping through the high windows in her chamber.
The wind still howled and rain beat savagely against her window panes so she rolled over, tucked the fur coverlet under her chin, snuggled into the warmth and dozed fitfully.
She was awakened by a knock at her door.
“Enter,” she called, half afraid at who might be there.
The appetizing aroma of baked bread and porridge filled the air as a small maid entered, bearing a tray which she then placed on the table.
Turning to Selene, she curtsied. “Sorry tae disturb yer hurkle-durkle, milady, but Laird Kenneth said I should bring yer breakfast tae ye and spare ye the visit tae the dining hall.”
Selene sat bolt upright in bed, struggling to understand what the girl was saying.Something about breakfast. And Laird Kenneth.
“I’m sorry, I am not altogether used to your Scots language. Whatever is ahurkle-durkle?”
The maid’s cheeks reddened. “Beg pardon, milady. It is sleeping abed after rising time had passed. That is what we Scots call a hurkle-durkle.”
Selene laughed. “My goodness. I shall never get used to these strange words.”
As she stepped out of the bed in her shift and reached for her cloak, the maid hastened to re-light the fire. Once the flames had started up, she turned tail and scuttled out.
Selene dressed hastily and set about consuming her breakfast. It consisted of a bowl of porridge accompanied by buttermilk in a silver jug, a boiled egg and smoked salmon, followed by bannocks lavishly spread with butter and marmalade.
She poured herself some tea from the silver teapot and grudgingly granted that, at least, a civilized breakfast was served in this part of the Scottish Highlands. Still, she could not help but note that the porridge was not half as delicious as the bowl she’d been served by the laird in the wee hours.
She was brushing her hair when there came another knock at her door.
Maureen swept in without waiting for Selene’s response, her mouth turned down, looking the picture of misery. She took the seat next to Selene’s and managed a smile.
