“Well?” she snaps. “What’s got you so tickled?”
“I’ve decided…” I don’t know if I should be honest, though really, what’s the harm? “If I ever get home, the first thing I’m going to do is put Janet in charge of the chicken coop.”
Donag’s throaty chuckle surprises me. “Would that I could see that. Shame ’twill never happen.”
An urge seizes me. I need to try with her one last time.
“Please help me,” I plead into the darkness. “You said I remind you of Gregor, so do it for him. A father would want his child to be safe, and I’d be safer in my own time.”
“You’ve asked already,” she says curtly. “And I’ve answered.” She rustles for a full minute, sounding like her bed’s on fire, ending with a snap of her blankets. “Nowhaud yer wheesht so’s I can sleep.”
She may be blowing me off, but I can tell she’s not angry. Though—wow—she would be if she knew what I’m planning. How I’ve begun to dream of taking Callum when I go.
Ihaud my wheeshtand dream of kissing him among acres of yellow flowers.
It takesa conscious effort to keep the dopey smile from my face as I weed the garden the next day. I’m in my dreamy daze when I spot something strange nestled in the dirt.
I shuffle on my knees to get a closer look.
Metal glints among the turnips. I dig my fingers in and pull free a dagger, my heart swelling. This could only be from Callum. A blade suitable for a lady, just as he’d promised.
Brushing away the soil, I shift it from hand to hand, marveling at his handiwork. The grip is wrapped in leather soft enough to have some give in my hand. But it’s the very top of the handle that gets me—a delicate ruffle of steel that couldn’t be anything but gorse.
“Ye awake there?”
I startle at Aoife’s voice and briskly hide the dagger under my skirts.
Her eyes gleam, like she knows she caught me at something. “Mm-hm. Daydreamin’ through your chores, I see. Has this aught to do with young Callum? Though nae so young anymore, is he? I glimpsed him in my garden this morn. Stable lads have no cause to be in my garden, ye ken, and in particular no’ before the sun’s had a chance to rise.”
My cheeks burn. “I, um, was that a question?”
She shakes her head with a good-natured smile. “Och, don’t mind me. You do as you like wi’ the lad. I’d ride that horse myself, were I nae so long of tooth.”
Now my cheeks are on fire. “There’s no, uh, riding…”
“Calm yerself. I’m only here to ask that you fetch a bowl of my broth up for the Campbell. The gout is troubling him, and he should drink it at its hottest, but I’ve no’ the time.”
“The Campbell?”
She gives me an exasperated look. “Aye, you ken the Campbell. ’Tis the man whose keep we tend every day?”
“I should bring him soup?”
“Are ye addled?” Her face hardens. “Up, up, while it’s hot. Or would ye rather a thrashing?”
I spring to my feet, muttering, “Yes, I mean, no. No thrashing. I’m going.”
Once she leaves, I tuck the knife in my stocking with trembling hands. I have to face the laird. Alone.
I take off my dirt-spattered apron. Dust off my hands. Shake out my skirts. Smooth my hair. But there’s no more delaying.
I can do this. It’s just a man and some broth.
Callum’s dagger presses into my calf, warm against my skin. A reminder. A promise.
I lift my chin and set off.
A ferocious wee thing.
