Page 67 of Desiring the Highland Laird
Malcolm was silent as he stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face. He looked a great deal like Callum with a hint of Hamish in his face. There were gold strands in his hair and full beard. Chloe wouldn’t like a full beard.
It was an odd thought to cross her mind.
“And he gave it to ye?”
“Yes, for safekeeping, he said. In case something happens to him.” She lifted her gaze to his.
Malcolm gave a low whistle. “Well, then, lass. Callum has decided to trust ye.”
He patted her shoulder as he walked by her. She spun to face him.
“Malcolm, is something going to happen to Callum?”
He paused, turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Dinnae fash yerself about him, lass. He gave ye the stone because he trusts ye, now. ’Tis all.”
Malcolm went on his way, leaving Evie alone in the great hall. She slipped the stone into the pocket of her dress. She walked to the table and sat as she contemplated everything that had happened. It was hard to shake the feeling that she was supposed to be here with Callum. Lately, it was difficult for her to get the dream she had of him out of her mind. The way he had sat by the hearth and she had moved from the bed to climb into his lap.
She wondered what those strong arms would feel like wrapping around her as she kissed him.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She pressed her cold hands against them and then rose from the table. She was starting to believein love at first sight, just as Callum was starting to believe in the prophecy.
Or she hoped.
She stood a long moment in the great hall, alone, wondering what to do with herself now that he had left her. She didn’t want to bother him since the loss of his father was still so new and raw. He might want some time alone. She understood that more than anyone.
She wandered her way from the great hall into the kitchen where she found Roslyn hard at work kneading bread. She, herself, wasn’t much of a cook so watching her do something that was nothing more than an ordinary task fascinated her.
“Back so soon from yer ride, lass?” she asked.
“Yes, I…well, that is to stay…” She didn’t want to talk to Roslyn about the keystone and standing there stammering was ridiculous. She pressed her lips together. Finally, she said, “Can I help you do anything?”
The woman paused and looked at her, a curious glint in her eye. “Ye want to help me?”
“If you need help, that is.” Evie twisted her hands together to keep them still so she wouldn’t fidget. “I know you’re busy so I don’t want to intrude.”
“Aye, I can give ye some tasks to do if ye want to help me.” She paused her kneading and reached for a towel to wipe her hands. “I’ve got to get the pottage on but ye can help me gather some of the ingredients I need.”
She had no idea what pottage was, so she merely nodded. Roslyn reached for a basket near the back door of the kitchen and handed it to her.
“Fetch me some eggs, lass. I need three or four, but best to bring them all in, aye? And then I need some parsley, sage, and mint from the garden. A handful of each. Can ye do that?”
Evie took the basket on her arm and nodded. Roslyn ushered her to the back door and set her on her way to the chicken coop as well as pointing out the herb garden. The door closed with a snap behind her, leaving her standing there in the cool late morning breeze with questions lingering in her mind.
She was no cook—parsley, sage, and mint were found in the spice aisle of the grocery store. However, she did know how they smelled, so she was going to have to rely on her nose to find them. She decided to tackle that second.
First, it was on to the chicken coop where she was faced with a few hens pecking the ground and one rooster who eyed her suspiciously as she approached. She had never in her life collected eggs from a hen. She was a city girl to the core. How in the world did she think she was going to gather eggs?
She approached the coop, keeping an eye on the rooster who walked with slow, methodical steps as if he were ready to fly into attack mode.
“I’m here for the eggs,” she told him, not that it mattered.
When she stepped into the coop, she was relieved to see it was devoid of hens and nothing more than a few nests. She spied several in the first nest and reached for one, picking it up as if it were made of glass. She placed it gently into the basket. Then she gathered the second and the third. By the time she got around the coop, she had solid confidence about gathering eggs. This was easy. She could do this.
Then on to the herb garden. As she headed away from the coop, the rooster still eyed her as though she were an intruder. She kept one eye on him as she left and headed for the herb garden, which was nothing more than a patch of greenery outside the kitchen’s back door.
She placed the basket on the ground out of the way and then proceeded to kneel on the ground and inhale the scent of the greenery in front of her. She recognized several familiarsmells—rosemary for one. But Roslyn didn’t ask for rosemary. She recognized the needle-like leaves on the stalks. Moving down, she spotted a plant with oval, velvety leaves that looked somewhat familiar. She plucked a piece of it, rubbing one of the leaves between her thumb and forefinger and then inhaling the scent.
She got a sudden burst of Granny’s cornbread dressing in her mind and was immediately transported back to her childhood on Thanksgiving. Her mother pulling a large, roasted bird from the oven and Granny fussing over the way the dressing still wasn’t brown enough on top. She recalled Grandpa telling Granny the dressing “needed more sage” and her shooing him out of the kitchen. She and Chloe would sneak into the kitchen while their mother and Granny were cooking their dinner, looking for snacks and hoping to swipe something to quiet their growling stomachs. They always got caught and were ordered out.
