Chapter 8
“Good morning, Sir Brodie.”Fenella wasn’t blushing this morning. In fact, her smile seemed downright mischievous.
Eppie looked up from where she was kneading dough and chortled gleefully as she looked from Fenella to him and back again. Brodie tried to scowl as he hobbled into the kitchens.
“I can guess why Lady Fenella is so happy, but what are ye cackling about, auld woman?”
“Me? Cackling?” She cackled. “The pair of ye look like ye’re cats who’ve found the cream, ye have!”
Fenella actually winked at him as she breezed barefoot toward the hearth to manhandle the spit into place. “A cat, eh? I could imagine Brodie as a lion, but me?”
He stumped up beside her and easily lifted the heavy iron implement into place.
“Thank ye,” she murmured.
“A lion?” he growled.
From her spot at the counter, Eppie hooted. “He even sounds like a lion! And ye, lass! Just as bad.”
Slapping a palm against her chest, Fenella opened her eyes wide in a picture of innocence. “I’m no’ growling.”
“Nay.” Brodie leaned down so his mouth was nearer her ear as he murmured, “Ye mew like a kitten.”
This time she did blush, but her smile stayed in place as she gazed up at him, and her eyes were still gleaming green.
Even knowing Eppie was likely watching, Brodie decided he couldn’t help himself; since he was already so close to Fenella, he captured her lips in a quick kiss which left her breathless…and the old woman laughing.
“So that’s why Fen’s been beaming, eh?” Eppie called out. “Ye said ye kenned why she was happy!”
Brodie glanced once more at Fenella—she was bemusedly tucking stray hairs back into her braid—before hobbling across the kitchen. “I ken she’s happy because she won yesterday’s round of yer cooking contest, auld woman! Sausages,” he finished in disgust. “She’s right; ye do have a terrible sense of humor.”
“Me?” Eppie gasped theatrically, then plopped her dough on a heavy board and threw a towel over it. “Ye think cucumbers and sausages are funny?”
“I ken they are,” Fenella said with a wink. “And I kenned I’d win yesterday’s round too.”
Propping his hip against the counter to take some weight off his injured leg—which surprisingly, ached less than usual today, Brodie crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised a brow in Fenella’s direction, encouraging her to explain.
Cheekily, she mirrored his pose. “My sausages were juicy and succulent and paired with yummy vegetables. Yers were dry and boring.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Did ye just call my sausage dry?”
Her grin grew. “And boring.”
“But easier to eat,” he pointed out. “If ye wrap it in pastry, ye can eat it without a knife, or getting yer hands greasy.”
“Sometimes, getting yer hands dirty is part of the fun.”
It was the sparkle in her eyes. The sparkle which told Brodie she knew exactly what she was saying, and how it sounded. That sparkle was what made his cock twitch beneath his kilt, although truth be told, his cock was often twitching when it came to Fenella Oliphant.
“Mustard!” declared Eppie happily.
“Mustard to ye too,” he shot back.
Fenella glanced between them. “Och, are we doing ‘mustard’ now? I’m still using ‘tarts!’”
“Tarts is fine, lass. I think yer tarts are more delicious than mustard—”
Eppie waggled a finger at him. “Mustard is what ye needed in yer dish last night. To flavor yer sausage and keep it moist.”