Remember yer place.Do ye want to go back to the McCade?
She shuddered at the memory of that place.
“A headache?” Emma said finally, forcing all thoughts of the McCadeand its hideous customers out of her mind. “What for?”
Thomas chuckled. “If I have to tell ye what for, I’m nae sure ye should be treating anyone.”
She rolled her eyes. “Och, I just wanted to know if ye were partying all night. If so, I think there’s something else ye could do to ease yer headaches.”
“And what’s that? Tell the ladies that I am unavailable? They’ll nae like that, I can tell ye.”
Emma leaned forward. “Nay. Go to bed earlier.”
He snorted, shaking his head. “Ye know, some people ask to speak freely before me. Nae you, eh, Butterfly?”
“Dinnaecall me that, or I’ll mix hemlock with yer medicine.”
Thomas seemed to have lost interest. He was now inspecting a ring on his index finger. It was a hammered silver design ofa wolf, or a dog, or something. Emma hadn’t spotted that ring before.
Not, of course, that she spent much time looking at Laird MacPherson’s hands.
She turned to the herb shelves, picking up a tub of herbs. Ground briar’s tears ought to take the edge off his headache, mixed with a mint tea to hide the taste. She was tempted to measure out the herbs into a cloth, as they did for everyone else, and hand him the wrapped parcel and send him on his way.
But Delphine wouldn’t like that. She always said that the Keep healers needed to keep the Laird on their side, and perhaps there was some sense in that.
So, Emma made quick preparations to make up a tea.
While the kettle boiled, she ground up the briar’s tears even finer than before and sifted them into a chipped mug. She would steep them in the tea for a least five minutes, then strain out the pulp. It wasn’t the most pleasant of drinks, but it would handle a hangover well enough.
She glanced up from her work and found Thomas’s eyes on her. He was watching her work, his expression mildly curious.
She didn’t like seeing him without his usual wolfish grin and crafty expression. It made him look… human, perhaps? Either way, it bothered her, and she did not like it.
“What?” she snapped.
“How long will it take the tea to be ready?”
“Ye know what they say about a watched pot never boiling.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Have ye been eatin’ wormwood? Because ye are bitter today.”
That was almost funny, but Emma bit back her smile just in time. He was like a naughty child, you couldn’t smile or laugh at him or you’d encourage him.
“It’ll take as long as it takes. If that bothers ye, then ye will just have to put up with yer headache.”
“I’m a busy man, ye know.”
Emma raised her eyebrows sarcastically.
“Busy doing what? Romancin’ innocent young lassies?”
“There is nothing innocent about the lassies I romance, let me tell ye.”
Emma flinched back. “Is that meant to be a joke?”
It sounded too much like the sort of thing she’d heard back in McCade.
“These women arenae innocent, trust me. They want it, all of them.”
