“It is? How?”
“When you are in a London ballroom speaking to a beautiful lady, you must pretend that you are here in Scotland, dancing and speaking only to me.”
Christian lifted his chin and glanced away. Why did he have the feeling that when the time came, that was precisely what he would wish he were doing?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
By the evening the snow seemed to have stopped, but it was already halfway up the windows and the wind continued to blow mercilessly, howling between the trees in the nearby forest. Fergus II returned from his business outdoors with a fine layer of ice resting atop his coat. Sarah removed the little garment to dry it by the fire and rubbed the dog vigorously with a blanket to warm him. He yipped and stuck out his tongue, clearly happy for the attention.
When Christian came in from doing his chores, he smiled at her. “My apologies for myself and this dog being your only company, my lady.”
“Nonsense. You are both excellent company. In fact, I was just thinking of how peaceful and lovely it is to be able to sit and enjoy myself in a room with another person even though no words are shared between us. You’re obviously comfortable with silence.”
“Perhaps too much so,” Christian replied.
“It’s so different here from my life at home,” Sarah said. “Father and Mother and Hart are always talking. There’s a constant bustle in our houses either in London or in the country. But here, with you, I can just be quiet and relax without feeling… alone.”
“I understand,” Christian said quietly.
“I’ve never felt that way before. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else comfortable with sharing silence.”
“Nor have I,” Christian murmured.
“What was that?” Sarah asked.
“Nothing. What say we have dinner? I’m famished.”
They had cured meat and cheese and wine for dinner. Afterward, Christian brought out the wood pieces he’d been working on and set them on the table along with his knives and small chisel.
“What is that?” Sarah exclaimed. She was wiping her hands on her apron, having just finished cleaning the dishes from the meal.
“A chessboard.”
“I can see that,” she said, rolling her eyes but smiling. “What are you doing with it?”
“I’ve been slowly carving it over time. I was planning to work on it more this evening.”
She came over and stared down at the board. “Youmadethis?”
“Yes.”
“The entire thing? The pieces, too?” She picked up one of the rooks and turned it over in her hand, examining it carefully.
“That’s right,” he said. “I’ve always enjoyed fashioning things out of wood. I made this table. And the coatrack too.”
“What is it made from?” Sarah asked, setting the rook back down and running her fingers over the checkered board.
“The dark pieces are made from cherry and the light, hawthorn.”
“It’s so well done.” There was an unmistakable note of admiration in her voice.
“Thank you.”
“You’re just going to let this sit up here? With no one to see it?”
“I don’t get many visitors here,” he replied. “Which is how I like it. Present company notwithstanding, of course.”
She twisted a dark curl over her finger. “I love to play chess,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes.
