“Yes. You’re perfectly welcome to stay there. I’ll be in the other bedchamber.” He wasn’t about to tell her she’d been sleeping in his bed. “With the door firmly shut and perhaps locked so that I won’t have to defend myself against a sword-wielding woman in the middle of the night.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him up and down. “You shouldn’t have a thing to worry about as long as you don’t do anything that would make me grab my sword.”
She was playful, this Lady Sarah. She made him feel younger, lighter. He’d smiled and laughed more tonight than he could remember having done in the last six months.
She stood, stretched, and moved over to the kitchen, where she set her teacup on the countertop. “Tomorrow we’ll begin by examining your clothing.”
“My clothing?” Christian glanced down at his attire. Not particularly his finest hour, he acknowledged.
“Let’s go, Fergus.” Lady Sarah clapped her hands and the little dog’s brown eyes popped open. He scrambled up from his spot and hurried over to her.
Christian watched as an English earl’s daughter went to bed with a Scottish dog wearing a red coat in his hunting lodge. A piece of wood snapped and crackled in the fireplace. Christian rubbed the back of his neck and cursed silently to himself. It was the first time in his life he was jealous of a dog.
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning, Sarah woke to the smell of bacon. Bacon and… coffee? Yes, coffee. Mrs. Goatsocks must have returned! Sarah pushed herself out from under the pile of quilts, pulled on a dressing gown, and hurried toward the kitchen. Fergus II scampered at her heels. Awaiting her in the kitchen was a delightful sight: a platter of crackling bacon, a pot each of coffee and tea, and a plate of golden-brown biscuits, with syrup and honey set out beside them. But where was Mrs. Goatsocks? And Mr. Fergus? Sarah turned in a circle. She was quite alone. Who had made this? Surely not…
“Good morning,” Mr. Forester said in a cheerful voice as he came through the door with a pile of wood braced against his shoulder. Fergus II took the opportunity to trot through the open door to see to his morning needs.
Sarah gasped, from both the rush of cold air that found her bare skin and the fact that a man was seeing her in her dressing gown. She pulled the gown tighter around her neck and held it together with one hand. What in heaven’s name was Mr. Forester about? First of all, the man looked far too good for this hour of the morning. He’d clearly cleaned himself up a bit, and even though his hair was still longish and his beard hadn’t been shaved, he looked even better in daylight. His broad shoulders were outlined in a rough plaid shirt and the coarse linen breeches he wore outlined his backside in a way that made Sarah swallow unintentionally. He’d surprised her in another way as well. A gentleman, even one of the gentry, wasn’t normally up at this hour. Why, her father and brother slept till well past noon. And cooking breakfast? She couldn’t imagine her father preparing any sort of meal. Perhaps the gentry were more different than she realized.
“Would you like some tea? You don’t strike me as the coffee-drinking sort.” He dropped the stack of wood into a pile near the fireplace and brushed the dust from his shirt, his hands moving against his flat abdomen. Forcing her eyes away from the sight, Sarah struggled to breathe evenly.
“Don’t you have any servants?” The words left her mouth before she had a chance to examine them. “Oh dear. Forgive me. That was terribly rude.”
He laughed. “I’m sorry, my lady. I’m certain it’s more rustic here than you are used to, but Mr. Fergus is the only one in my employ up here, and as you’ve informed me, he is unavailable at the moment.”
“I’ve just never known anyone like, er, you to cook and—” She couldn’t bring herself to admit that she’d just assumed a maid or someone else would arrive in the morning to see to such things.
“You cooked last night, didn’t you?” he asked. “Besides, I’ve not only been cooking. I’ve seen to Oberon and cut this wood for the fireplace.” He gestured toward the stack near his feet. “If I don’t miss my guess, this storm is only going to worsen. We’ll be quite snowed in before nightfall.”
“Snowed in!” She froze. Her hand tightened at her throat till it ached.
“Yes. Don’t look so alarmed. We’ve plenty of food and wood for the fire. I always ensure the lodge is well stocked before coming for the winter.”
Sarah’s heart raced. “It’s not that. It’s…”
“Don’t much like the idea of being snowed in with me?”
“It’s not proper—” Her voice cracked.
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you took off into the Highlands alone.”
She gave him an unamused look. “I had Mrs. Goatsocks.”
“By accident.” He pushed the curtain aside and looked out the window at the rapidly falling snow. “At any rate, by the looks of things, Mrs. Goatsocks won’t be journeying back here today or anytime soon. You’ll just have to make do with me.”
Sarah bit her lip. “Yes, yes, of course. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful and I’m…” She glanced down at her dressing gown. “I’m sorry for my… my… lack of proper attire.”
“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”
She couldn’t squelch her smile.
He winked at her. “And Fergus Two only speaks Gaelic.”
“Is that right?” Releasing the garment at her throat, she put her hands on her hips and stared through the snowy window at the little dog outside. “No wonder he hasn’t listened to a word I’ve said.”
“Would you care for some breakfast?” Mr. Forester asked.
