The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,17
her to a table. “Sit on the stool, and I’ll put together a snack.”
“You?”
“Why not me? I’m no stranger to castle kitchens in the middle of the night.”
Emma tapped the seat with her cane and sat. She’d merely hoped to find a bit of bread or a brick of cheese. “Thank you.”
“Let’s see. A loaf of bread…and what’s in this pot?” He sniffed. “Elderberry jam. How would you like slices of bread and butter with jam?”
“Delicious. And here I thought you’d dish up a bowl of the pottage over the fire.”
“Would you prefer pottage?”
“When there’s jam and fresh bread in the offing?” Emma rubbed her hands. “You cannot tempt me with a tasty treat and then suggest something as bland as pottage.”
“I thought as much.” Plates and silverware rattled. “Who taught you to play the harp?”
“The vicar’s wife took me under her wing when I was quite young.”
“I’ll wager you were drawn to it like a duck to water.”
“I suppose. It wasn’t always easy, but music touches the soul in a way nothing else can.”
“After hearing you play, I believe you are right.”
Emma rocked back as a bubble of happiness filled her. “Did you enjoy the recital?”
“Very much. I was disappointed when it was over. I would have told you, but the dais was swarmed by admirers.”
“You flatter me.”
“I am merely an honest man.”
He set a plate in front of her. “A bit of bread with your elderberry jam, m’lady.”
“Thank you. Are you having some as well?”
He sat across from her. “I’d never forgo a sweet.”
Emma took a bite. Bursts of flavor both sweet and tart swept over her tongue. “Mm. ’Tis divine.”
“’Tis nearly as good as plum tart.”
“I love plum tart.”
“It might possibly be my favorite, though I’m partial to strawberry, apple, raspberry…”
“Elderberry, of course,” she added. “And we cannot forget blackberry.”
He smacked his lips. “Who needs anything else?”
“I have no idea.”
“Agreed. Plum tart for breakfast, raspberry for our nooning, and what say you for supper?”
“Hmm. Perhaps a variety?”
“Perfect.”
Trying not to laugh with her mouth full, Emma pressed her fingers against her lips. “Och, chatting with you is always so diverting. If it weren’t so mortifyingly improper, I would become lost every night just to eat sweets and engage in riveting conversation with you.”
“Anytime—as long as ’tis after midnight, lass.” His sniggering grew infectious. “I suppose there is something daring about spiriting into the kitchens when no one else is about.”
“Agreed.” She delicately licked the jam off her fingers, even though doing so was quite brash. “Perhaps a bit mischievous as well.”
“Then we must ensure this excursion remains our secret.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Of course. Holy Moses, Emma would die if Robert found out about this!
Chapter Five
Emma’s expression grew intent while Ciar led her down the passageway dimly lit by a wall sconce. “Five, six, seven—”
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Counting the paces from the stairs to the door. I intend to never be lost in this monstrous castle again.”
“I think it was a boon that you were lost. After all, that was the best elderberry jam I’ve ever tasted.”
“Please. What if I’d walked in on Lochiel or any of the other guests?”
“That would have been a disaster.”
“Have you ever been lost before?”
“Many times, though Livingstone usually manages to set me back to rights.”
“He’s your man-at-arms, is he not?”
“Among other things. He carries out my bidding, and he’s a trusted ally, friend. He’s all those and more.”
“I’m glad of it. In these times, a chieftain must have men nearby whom he can rely upon.”
“Is that what Grant says?”
“Aye.”
Emma stopped. “Seventeen steps. I think. Talking can make me err, but this should be my chamber.” She pushed on the door and whispered, “’Tis still ajar, just as I left it.”
“Well, then you had everything right except for the wing.”
“One small error led to one enormous mistake.”
“I wouldn’t say that at all.” He grasped her shoulders, admiring the way her bottom lip was fuller than the top, pouting and begging for a kiss. “Any time you have a yen for a late-night snack, I do hope you’ll end up at my door.”
She curtseyed, and with her movement, long, thick tresses swung forward. “Thank you for being so kind, m’laird.”
Ever since she’d appeared in his chamber, her hair had beguiled him. Brushed out and flowing to her waist, it glistened like copper in the lamplight. “I must bid you good night,” he said, his voice suddenly husky.
He dipped his chin to kiss her cheek, but she turned, and her lips skimmed his. That