“What have you done to yer hair?”
It appeared to be wadded onto her head somehow, with a stick protruding from a spray of golden curls.
“I stuck it up out of the way.” She shook her head, dismissing his question. “The whole concept is brilliant in its simplicity. I should have guessed. It totally explains the tang I tasted in the bread. Here I was thinking sourdough. I can’t believe I wasn’t able to identify it.”
“I’ll take those, lass.” The old cook reached for the pots Dani carried, tucking them close to her chest. “You’ve had yerself a busy day. Best you go grab a bite to eat now, aye?”
“Iamhungry,” Dani agreed, her wide grin belying any discomfort she might have felt.
“Lady Danielle and I will adjourn to the gardens. Have one of the serving girls bring something to her there. And send along a wrap as well.”
Though the weather had cleared, there was still a bite of chill in the air.
“Aye, Laird Malcolm. Right away.” The cook agreed with a dip of her head before hurrying inside, shuffling all the gawking women ahead of her like a mother hen with her chicks.
“Thank you, Ada!” Dani called out as she took the arm he offered, allowing him to direct her toward the gardens.
“Is that Cook’s name? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard it used before.” No one had ever dared address the woman as anything other than Cook, so far as he knew, not even in the days when she’d served in his father’s home.
“We’ve had this discussion before, haven’t we? You really need to get over the whole call-you-by-your-job-not-your-name thing.”
Yes. He should have remembered. If there was anyone out there who could convince Cook to use her given name, it didn’t surprise him that it would be Dani.
He led her to the garden, bidding her to take a seat on the bench in the corner while he relaxed on the ground, his back against a tree.
“So.” She had clasped her hands tightly together in her lap, looking everywhere around her except at him. “What do you grow here in your garden?”
He didn’t really know. “Whatever is needed in the kitchens, I suppose. Herbs, greens.”
It was impossible to tell now, with the first frosts of autumn already past. All that remained were dead brown stalks and stems.
She turned to look at him at last, a hint of a smile in her eyes. “You’re more forager than farmer, huh?”
“So it would seem. And you? What were you doing in the kitchens so early?”
At this she laughed, as if he’d said something amusing. “Early is the only time to be in a kitchen if you want to find out how things get done. And if I’m going to stay in this time, as Elesyria says, I need to learn how things are done.”
“You’ll no be working in the kitchens, Dani. You’ve my word on that.”
Since she’d been taken from her own world and sent here because of him, he’d never see her spend her life as a servant. He’d marry her himself before he’d allow that.
The thought flittered through his mind, shocking him even as it did.
He’d sworn he’d never marry again, never be responsible for another woman. But, as he already seemed to be responsible for her, he could think of worse things than to spend his life with a woman such as this.
She leaned down toward him, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. “That man of your brother’s is watching us. You know that, right?”
Rauf. He had expected as much when he’d left Dermid with Patrick.
Flour smudged her nose and cheek and, this close, it felt only natural to wipe it away. He reached out a finger, stroking it down her nose, cleaning the powder from her skin.
The dark centers of her eyes enlarged like those of a doe he’d happened upon in the forest and he was sure he heard her breath catch.
With his thumb, he gently stroked the fine dust from her cheek, his fingers resting at the base of her jaw where her pulse beat against his skin like a drummer in the heat of battle.
Before he knew it, he was on his knees, his mouth lightly covering hers. She made no move to pull away and he deepened the kiss, his tongue running across the contours of her lips, sampling the taste of her.
She might have groaned, but he couldn’t be sure; the rhythmic pounding of his own blood echoed in his ears, driving out all sound.
