Marian went still. If the air weren’t so dusty, she would have inhaled deeply.
“All right,” she sighed, slowly dipping her hands into the bag of grains.
Her scoops were smaller than Lachlan’s, and the grains felt rougher than expected, their dry edges scraping lightly against her skin as they slipped between her fingers.
She pressed her lips together, adjusting her grip as she tried again. This time, she curled her fingers tighter, willing the grains to stay put as she moved toward the bowls. A few fell, making a small mess on the table.
Lachlan’s lips curled into a smirk as he watched her.
“Do ye need help?” he asked.
She frowned, rolling her eyes at him. “I can do it,” she muttered under her breath.
Just then, a door opened in a corner, and Mrs. MacBride came in, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Marian.
“Me Lady!” she greeted cheerily. “Have ye come to set our stores right, too?”
Lachlan scoffed loudly, and Mrs. MacBride turned to face him, her expression turning neutral. “Me Laird.”
“Where is young Jamie?” Lachlan asked her in a stern voice, his back stiffening slightly.
Marian frowned. She removed her hands from the bag and dusted the sleeves of her gown.
“Here he is,” Mrs. MacBride replied as the boy came in through the same door, smiling once he saw Marian. “He was just finishin’ somethin’ for me.”
Lachlan nodded, his eyes softening slightly. “Ye go on, then,” he urged. “Ye need to rest yer knees.”
So, the Laird can be kind.
Mrs. MacBride turned to Marian. “Good luck with this one, lass,” she said, smiling before leaving through the door.
Marian turned to face Lachlan. “Is there a secret door leading from the kitchen to here?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I never noticed.”
“Ye cannae,” Lachlan uttered sharply. “’Tis none of yer business,Sassenach.” He then turned away from her, facing Jamie. “Lad, fetch me some sacks from the shed. Enough to go around the families for winter.”
Jamie nodded before leaving the room through the main entrance.
Lachlan turned his attention back to Marian, his eyes following her hands as she carefully dusted the remaining chaff off her sleeves.
“Ye arenae ready,” he said.
Marian pouted. “I do not want to ruin this dress. It is delicate embroidery.”
Lachlan looked at her, his lips twitching. “Perhaps ye can roll up yer sleeves,” he suggested, his voice barely a murmur. “Get it out of the way.”
Marian’s eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed. “And bare my arms?” She was almost too loud.
Lachlan cleared his throat. “Ye didnae have a problem doin’ so at the fence,” he pointed out, avoiding her eyes. “Even around all those lads.”
Marian blinked.
Is he perhaps… jealous?
“That was different,” she argued, her tone slightly defensive. “We should get on… with the… grains.”
“And yer embroidery?”
“It is not that important,” Marian said. “This dress belonged to my mother.”
