Could a man change so quickly?
Impossible. And yet…after she was gone, he knew this Matty lass would become a ghost that would haunt him relentlessly.
It was a pity the storm was weakening, for there was no honorable way to keep her in Balnacoorie. And if he came out of hiding to pursue her, the traveler would find him, and he’d be sent back to Culloden to die.
“Joost enjoy the time ye have left,” he grumbled quietly. “And be grateful for that wee blue light that led her to ye.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Iwas giddy, and not just because I would soon eat an actual meal, but because I was in my element. The kitchen was exactly the opposite of the one at TLC. I didn’t have my usual tools, my chef’s knives, or the various machines that helped me create magic. But this was a great reminder that the tools were only tools. And good food came from love—love of cooking, love for the ingredients, and respect for those you fed.
A knife, heat, and a decent pan were all I really needed to turn good ingredients into happiness.
I waited for Kee-un to get inside and catch his breath, then told him, “I’ll need a sharp knife. Something much smaller than the sword, if you’ve got it.”
He glanced at the closed trunk, then nodded and moved in that direction. He reached up and pulled three knives from the top of the shelves. “I hid them back when I believed ye were the enemy.” He brought them closer, stopped short, and flipped them in the air, then caught all three by their blades before offering the handles to me.
“A knife juggler. Nice.”
“The deft handling of blades is m’ livelihood.” He pointed to one of the handles with leaves and vines carved into it.
“Pretty. I saw your collection in the trunk. I didn’t know you’d made them.”
“Ah, well, I cannae overwhelm the armorist I trade with. I always have a good store on hand.”
“Maybe you should find more armorists.”
He balked. “Never. A man without loyalties has little to offer the world.”
“Tell me about it.” I turned away before he could ask me to elaborate. “Do you have a cutting board?”
“Polished, aye?”
“So I won’t get splinters in the food.”
He took two quick steps that left our bodies just an inch or two apart. The air froze in my lungs and my heart stopped. He smiled into my eyes and then, just when I thought he might kiss me, he reached up, lifted onto his toes, and pulled something from the rafters. He took only a tiny step back before putting a thick board in my hands.
I took a couple of deep breaths, tore my gaze from his, and looked at the wood. A braid was carved all around the edges, but the center was polished and smooth.
“I can’t use this. It’s too pretty. Have you got something…less important?”
“Use it, Matty lass. ‘Tis right for the occasion.”
“It’s an occasion to have someone cooking for you?”
He backed away. “’Tis an occasion to have a visitor in Balnacoorie. No matter what led them here.”
I cleared my throat and hid my expression. I didn’t think he’d appreciate being pitied.
He wasn’t paying attention to me anymore anyway. He thought I didn’t notice when he pulled his sweater off his head, moved quietly to the door, and chucked it outside. I wasn’t goingto stop him, though, since I’d gotten a whiff of it when he’d reached for the cutting board and his armpit was only inches from my nose. I thought I’d done a good job of keeping a straight face.
I tried to concentrate on the blade in my hand while he sat on the bed and fidgeted. After a minute, he started sniffing himself—his shoulder, his arm—then made a face.
“Forgive me,” he said, then disappeared out the door, into the cold, wearing nothing but jeans and boots.
My stomach growled, hungry for all kinds of things now, and I was glad it hadn’t done so when he’d stripped his sweater off. I hurried with the rest of my prep, hoping I’d be done before I saw that chest again. The venison, already cured and dark from the smoke, only needed time to soften. I tasted the soup I’d been willing to settle for. The stock was fine, but I strained out the rubbery vegetables, opened the stove door, and tossed them into the flames. Then I found the bag of salt and sprinkled a few good pinches into the pot.
I cut the smoked venison into small pieces so the broth could draw the flavor from it. The smell of the meat warming helped me forget about that sad carrot I’d forced down earlier. I cleaned the leeks and sliced them thin, then peeled any questionable marks from the fresh carrots, parsnips, and a fat turnip. Everything went into the pot in order—meat first, then the roots. When they softened, I would add the leeks, thyme and parsley.
