"Ada?" Magnus said as they climbed the stairs.
"Aye?"
"Next time ye cannae sleep and need milk, wake me. Dinnae wander around the keep alone in the dark."
"Why? Afraid I'll sneak up on ye again?"
"Aye. And afraid someone else might find ye first." Magnus squeezed her hand. "Promise me."
"I promise."
Magnus stopped.
"Actually," he said slowly, "I have a great idea."
Ada turned, her questioning eyes catching the dim torchlight. One eyebrow lifted slightly, curious. Waiting.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"There's nay reason tae go back hungry," Magnus said, a hint of something almost playful crossing his features. "Me maither used tae make this porridge—taught me the recipe when I was barely tall enough to reach the pot. Sweet oats with honey and dried berries. Takes nay time at all."
Ada's face brightened. "With cinnamon?"
Magnus blinked. "Aye. How did ye?—"
"Me nurse made it the same way. Well, almost. She added cream at the end. Made it rich." Ada's smile turned mischievous. "Sounds like ye need me recipe tae improve yers."
"Improve mine?" Magnus felt his own lips quirking upward despite himself. "Lass, me mother's porridge could make a grown man weep with joy."
"Then let's see if it's as good as ye claim."
The coals still glowed faintly in the massive hearth, enough to work by if they added a log or two.
Magnus moved to the pantry while Ada found a pot, their movements surprisingly synchronized. He returned with oats, honey, a small sack of dried berries his cook kept for special occasions.
"Ye need tae toast the oats first," Magnus said, pouring them into the pot. "Just until they smell nutty. Most people skip this step."
"That's the secret?" Ada moved beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm. "Me nurse always said the secret was in the stirring. Ye have tae stir it the same direction the whole time, never reverse, or it'll nae set right."
"That's superstition."
"Is it?" Ada's eyes danced with challenge. "Or are ye just afraid yer maither's recipe isnae as perfect as ye think?"
Magnus found himself grinning. "Fine. We'll dae it yer way. But if this turns out badly, I'm blamin' ye."
"If this turns out badly, ye're daein' it wrong."
They worked together in the quiet kitchen, their voices low and warm. Magnus heated water while Ada measured honey. When the oats began to toast, filling the air with that rich, nutty scent, Ada leaned in to smell them and her hair fell forward over her shoulder.
Golden strands catching the firelight. Close enough to touch.
Magnus's hand stilled on the wooden spoon.
"They're ready," Ada said softly, seeming not to notice his sudden stillness. "Add the water now, before they burn."
He did, the water hissing as it hit the hot oats. Steam rose between them. Ada moved closer to stir, and Magnus found himself very aware of how small the space around the pot had become. How her arm brushed his when she reached for the honey. How her hair smelled faintly of herbs and something floral he couldn't name.
"Same direction," Ada reminded him, her hand closing over his on the spoon handle. Guiding his movements. "Like this. Slow circles."
