Emma was already there, sitting in the chair opposite his. She wore a dark blue gown embroidered with thin silver at the sleeves. Her hair was pinned up, a few curls loose around her neck, and her face was set.
She looked relaxed, like she had not caused mischief and redecorated his room into a nursery. She looked calmer than anything he had ever seen in the past few days.
For some reason, that bothered him more than if she would admit her mischief up front.
He walked the length of the hall, each step measured. Heads turned towards him, and voices quieted almost immediately. Finally, he got to his chair and pulled it out.
“Me Lady,” he greeted, an edge to his voice.
“My Laird,” she responded, her tone matching his.Polite. The look in her eyes, however, was not.“You know, I have been thinking.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “Ye have?”
Emma let the slight slide. “Yes. And I have decided that I need to call for a truce.”
He stared at her. “For what?”
“For today.” She folded her hands. “No shouting. No goats in studies. I will not mention anything about your pirate life anymore, and you will not mention Margaret.”
His mouth twitched before he could stop it.
“I will never forgive that thing ye hung on me wall,” he said. “Those wee beasts glare at me.”
“I know.” Her smile was small and sharp. “That is why it stays. Think of it as penance for your deeds.”
“Medeeds?” A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.
Emma nodded.
Logan looked down at the table. He could have told her that she did not determine his punishment. Instead, he reached for hiscup and let the first sip of wine settle his thoughts. Soon, the plates arrived, and steam rose.
The smell of herbs and meat filled the hall. He had not realized how hungry he was until then.
However, he quickly saw it. The sauce was a little darker than usual along the edge, and one corner of the meat was charred.
Emma took a piece and chewed, her eyes widening for a second. Her hand twitched toward her napkin. Then she swallowed as if nothing was wrong.
Logan narrowed his eyes, his suspicion rising. However, he said nothing.The head cook, on the other hand, hovered further down than usual, hands clasped so tight that her knuckles whitened. Her gaze slid from his plate to Emma and back.
“New hand in the kitchen?” Logan asked mildly.
The older woman jumped. “Nay, me Laird. Well, aye. Of a kind.”
Emma’s back went stiff. Her fingers stilled around her fork.
Logan set his cup down, cut a slice of meat, and tasted it.
There it is.
There was smoke on one edge and a little too much salt where the sauce had caught. Under that was the rich taste he knew, only rougher, like a tune played by someone still learning where to put their fingers.
He looked at the cook, then at Emma.
She stared down at her plate as if she could will it to behave. A faint mark clung to the side of her dress, almost rinsed away.
Sauce.
Her hands bore a few thin red lines, the kind knives left when they slipped.
