He shrugged. “Mayhap no’, but one can ne’er ken.” He pushed himself up to his feet, towering over her. “Why are ye out in the hall in your nightclothes?”
Her cheeks heated as his eyes traveled slowly down her body and she cinched her robe tighter.
“I canna sleep. I am after a glass of warm milk.”
“I can help ye with that.”
“Nay, I can go to the kitchen on my own, thank ye.” She couldn’t even imagine the rumors that would spread if they were seen together in the middle of the night. Her in her nightclothes and no chaperone anywhere in sight.
“I insist.”
She looked back and forth down the hall. No one was about. The chances of them being caught were slim. Everyone should be asleep in their beds, which is where she wished she was. The sooner she could get some milk, the sooner she would be.
“Fine,” she huffed, heading toward the stairs.
The earl followed silently behind her, holding a lantern he’d grabbed from a table in the hall. How someone so massive could be so quiet, she had no idea. She thought about him sleeping in the hall. Was he really doing that to ensure she stayed put? It seemed excessive to her. Overbearing even.
“The kitchen is this way.” At the bottom of the stairs, he took her elbow and led her to the left.
The soft glow of the lantern lit their way, casting shadows on the walls as they padded quietly down the hall.
Thankfully the kitchen was empty when they entered. She watched as the earl found a jug of milk and grabbed a saucepan and set it on the stove. After he poured in some milk, he lit the flame to warm the milk and turned toward her.
“Have a seat, Lass.” He pointed to a chair at a small table that Lizzie assumed was where the cook sat when she needed a respite or to eat.
She sat as instructed. The care he was showing for her took her by surprise. One minute he was gruff and the next he was making her a glass of warm milk, sweet as ever.
“Do ye have a wife, my lord?” The question was out of her mouth before she even thought of what she was asking. It also wouldn’t be abnormal for him to be married. He was titled, attentive, caring, and handsome. She hadn’t been around manymen what she presumed to be his age, but it seemed that those were traits that he would attain with a wife.
“Ye asked me that earlier, before the storm. But, nay, I dinna, Lass. And, please, stop calling me lord or sir. Malcolm is fine.”
“My apologies.” She flushed at the repeated question. She had completely forgotten she had posed the question earlier. It was just when she saw him being so thoughtful and caring, she found it inconceivable that he was unmarried.
Cocking her head to the side, she studied him as he stirred the milk with a wooden spoon he’d snatched from a utensil holder. It didn’t feel right to call him by his given name. It felt too personal. They were not close acquaintances. Nor friends. Most definitely not. Right now, she was pretty much in his custody.
“’Twouldna be proper for me to do so. Sisters then?”
“Nay. What are ye fishing for, Lass?”
She lifted a brow in surprise. She was certain he’d learned his behavior from a female in his life, but it appears she was wrong. His mama could have taught him so well, she supposed. His ire at her questions was interesting. Was he trying to hide something from her?
“I am no’ fishing for anything, S-er, Malcolm.” It felt odd to her to address him as such. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.
“If ye are no’ looking for information than why the barrage of questions regarding my relationships?”
She folded her hands in her lap, rolling her fingers together. “I just thought I would like to ken ye. It appears that we will be spending at least a few days in each other’s company. I was only trying to find common ground betwixt us.”
He turned off the flame and poured the milk into a mug before handing it to her.
“Thank ye.” She blew at the liquid before testing the temperature with a tentative sip. It was perfect. She should have known. It seemed the earl—Malcolm—could do no wrong.
“Whilst I agree our time together will be lengthy, I dinna think ’tis a good idea for us to get too personal.”
“Well, I do apologize for prying. I was only trying to be cordial. I shall refrain from doing so in future conversations,” she snapped.
Leaning against the counter, he sighed, pushing his hands through his honey hair.
“How is your milk?” he asked.
“’Tis perfect. Thank ye.”
He nodded and looked quickly away.
Malcolm Kennedy was surely a mystery. The question that needed to be answered was if it was a mystery she wanted to solve.
