Moira beamed at her. “Well, I am glad ye came, Me Lady, if it means anything. Enjoy yer tea.” She took the empty tray and left.
Lilliana picked up the cup and took a sip. The tea was fragrant and gave her an idea of how she could proceed with the treatment of the mysterious malaise.
“I could invite the women and children for a tea party on the grounds. We could have some lavender and lemon tea. Hibiscus too. Then we could talk about what ails them in more detail.”
“That is a good idea. Ye should do that.”
She looked up. Kayden was standing in the doorway, looking impossibly handsome in a kilt with a plaid draped around his shoulders.
He has no right to look that good.
She cocked an eyebrow at him, taking a sip of her tea, and said nothing.
He walked into the room, looking around. “Ye have transformed this place.” He sounded impressed.
Lilliana shrugged. “It has simply been cleaned a bit, and I have hung my wares.”
“Indeed, ye have made yerself quite at home.”
Lilliana frowned. “You say that as if you disapprove.”
He turned to meet her gaze for the first time since he entered the room. “Why would ye think that?”
“Because you look as though I have rearranged your war room,” she replied lightly. “And I should hate to be accused of insubordination in my own quarters.”
His gaze flicked to the small desk where her books lay open. Instinctively, she reached for them and began stacking the loose pages, sliding her notes between the covers before he could step closer. She rose and crossed the room to place the stack on a taller shelf.
Kayden noticed. Of course, he did.
“Secrets already?” he asked mildly.
“Notes on recipes for tinctures and drams,” she corrected. “Nothing that you would understand.”
He took a slow step towards her. She matched it by stepping aside, placing the table between them as she adjusted a jar that did not need adjusting.
“I had thought,” she continued smoothly, “that with so much unrest, you might prefer I keep busy rather than idle.”
His expression sharpened slightly. “Unrest?”
She poured more tea, though her cup was still half full. “We passed soldiers on the road,” she lied. “English uniforms.”
“When?”
“In the village. They did not appear to be merely traveling.”
His jaw tightened, but only slightly. “Redcoats are always traveling. Or prowling.”
“Near your borders?” she asked, as though it were idle curiosity. “Surely that must be… inconvenient.”
He braced one hand against the back of a chair, studying her. “Why the sudden interest in patrol routes?”
“I am married to the Laird,” she said calmly. “It is prudent to understand the circumstances into which I have been delivered.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Delivered.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Escorted.”
“Smuggled.”
