In Scot Water - Caroline Lee Page 0,12
knees weak. And my mouth water.”
She’d put just enough wickedness in her tone to cause his eyes to widen.
“By St. Thomas’s sacred bollocks, lass,” he whispered, “ye’re a surprise.”
“Bollocks! Mama, if he says bollocks, may I?”
“Nay, laddie,” she corrected, still trying to control her smile. “The man is clearly devout and was merely praising the saint’s anatomy.”
“His sausage,” Malcolm muttered. Then Nanny snuffled at something again, and he let out a muffled yelp and jerked.
“Dinnae move,” Liam reminded him.
This time Malcolm sounded exasperated when he glared at her son. “I’d appreciate it if ye could convince her to stop investigating my sausage.”
“Ye have a sausage under there?” the lad asked with wide eyes. “Nae wonder she’s—”
Malcolm gave another yelp and a jump.
“Her tongue’s cold, is it no’?”
He glared. She smiled.
“Nanny, cease!”
The big dog obeyed her command, thankfully. With another snuffle, the beast removed her head from under his shirt and sat back on her haunches.
“Nanny, this is Malcolm. He’s our friend.”
The dog lifted one of her front paws, offering it for him to shake.
Malcolm let out a breath, then glared down at the animal. “I’m no’ shaking yer paw, wee beastie. We’re verra well acquainted already.”
As Liam began to giggle, Tomas released her nipple with a happy grunt. She lifted him to her shoulder as she tucked her breast back in and noticed Malcolm’s gaze following her movements.
The thought made her heart as light as the teasing had.
“Liam, sit with yer brother on the bed please.”
As the lad shot up the ladder to his loft, she patted Tomas’s back. After he let out a loud, satisfied burp, he spit up a good portion of what he’d just drank.
Luckily, she’d thrown a rag over her shoulder for just that reason. The bairn didn’t seem fazed by his habit of spitting up, but she knew it meant he was drinking more to make up for it and wished he’d learn to love porridge, as his brother did, instead of merely throwing it about.
“Do ye need help?”
The offer surprised her, and she found herself smiling as she shook her head. Tossing the rag into the pile near the hearth, she patted the bairn’s bottom and made her way to the bed.
“ ’Tis just an annoying habit of his, but all bairns are different, I have heard.”
She’d birthed Tomas without a midwife, the same as she’d done with Liam. There were times she ached for female companionship, but there was none to be had way out here. No neighbors and no friends.
During her market visits, she’d become friendly with one or two merchants, and once, the baker’s wife had asked her to move to the village. ‘Twas Evelinde’s own stubbornness and fear of the unknown which kept her living in the croft Robert had made.
Sighing, she arranged Tomas to sit upright on the box bed, the only clean place she could leave the bairn, surrounded by his blanket nest.
Liam scrambled up beside his brother, holding some of the wooden toys his father had carved.
“Dinnae let him fall off,” she cautioned.
“Ye can trust me, Mama,” her oldest son promised, then held up a toy. “Can ye say cow, Tomas? Coooooow?”
When the bairn babbled something which sounded nothing like cow, both Evelinde and her eldest smiled happily.
But then she had to turn away and swallow down the lump lodged in her throat as sudden tears caught her by surprise. She’d come so close to losing both of these treasures today, and she vowed never to take life for granted, no matter how hard it got.
Reaching around the babe, she pulled another blanket from the bed and turned back to Malcolm. She’d had Robert buried in his plaid, or she would have offered the length of wool to him. As it was, the blanket would be a very poor offering, when she felt she owed Malcolm so much more.
“Here,” she said softly, offering it to him with a blush. “ ’Tis no’ much, but ‘twill keep ye warmer than that wet shirt.”
He nodded once in a dignified manner as he took the blanket, and she realized she knew naught about his character other than the fact he was obviously honorable.
He’d saved her. She’d been certain she would die, and he’d saved her.
He was a warrior—the strength in his shoulders said as much—and his bravery was enough to recommend him. That…and the way he made her feel.
She knew without a doubt she and her babes were safe with him.
Chapter 3
If his brothers could see him now, they’d probably