In Scot Water - Caroline Lee Page 0,23
desired?
But this morning he’d kissed her. Not a demanding kiss, but a sweet one. A kind kiss.
And she wasn’t sure she knew what to make of that.
The afternoon passed quietly, after he’d wrapped himself in his kilt. It was dry now, but she warned him not to go out in it if he could avoid it. Instead, he built up the fire—he seemed to have no qualms about using her firewood, but mayhap he planned to cut more before he left?—and settled back to whittling.
She noticed he occasionally would be lost in thought, staring at the roof, and she wondered if he was thinking about more ways to fix up the home. She liked the way he was so introspective. It was a separate quality from his obvious education, but one she appreciated. Both were qualities she’d always wished Liam would cultivate.
Suddenly, he hummed. “Do ye have any sand? Or mayhap course flour?”
“Aye.” She nodded toward a bag hanging from a peg. “The dry sand I collected, which I spread across the table so Liam can practice drawing his letters. Why do ye need it?”
He smiled and dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “For that very reason. Ye are brilliant, Evie.”
She smiled softly in response to his praise, but it did make her insides all warm, to know she’d impressed him.
With the bairn sleeping, she had time to pour the dry sand across the table and sit with Liam as he used his finger to draw designs. Slowly, she quizzed him on his letters and numbers, and saw Malcolm watching them.
He was grinning.
At dinner, both Liam and Malcolm praised her bread so highly Evelinde felt herself blushing with pleasure. The simple fare—more peaches and the last of Malcolm’s sausages—still felt like a feast to her, with how much her family enjoyed it.
Her family.
This was only her second evening with Malcolm, but already he felt part of…of…part of her. Part of them.
As she settled down with Tomas on her lap, the handsome man across from her winked and held up a finger. “I have something for the bairn.”
“Is it something to keep him from spitting up all the milk he just drank?”
“Mayhap!”
With a flourish, he presented her with his whittling project; a spoon with a long handle and a small scoop, rubbed smooth. She could do no more than gape at the gift, as his expression slowly changed from pride to uncertainty.
“See?” He turned the spoon to show her its merits. “The handle will allow ye more freedom of movement, so ye dinnae have to occupy both hands in feeding Tomas. And I made it small enough that he’ll be able to get a full bite’s worth of porridge, if he’d like. And I—”
“Ye designed it for him?” she whispered, her awe seeping into her voice.
His nod was jerky, and she blinked.
“I dinnae…I dinnae ken what to say, Malcolm,” she managed as she reached for the utensil with shaking fingers. “Nae one has done aught so kind for me in…”
She shook her head.
“He fixed the roof,” Liam pointed out matter-of-factly, his cheeks bulging with bread.
“Aye.” She smiled as she dipped the spoon into Tomas’s porridge and peeked up at Malcolm. “That he did. Of course, he’s living here now, so it behooved him—”
His chuckles interrupted her as he reached for more bread. “Aye, that was why I spent all day fixing the thatch.”
Liam smirked. “No’ because of that kiss ye gave her this morning?”
Malcolm shot him a mock glare. “No’ just that. And dinnae speak with yer mouth full of food.”
Her son shrugged. “Why no’?”
Evelinde was about to answer when Malcolm responded, “Because ye’re likely to spill food out, which would be a waste.”
“Tomas does it all the time,” the lad pointed out pragmatically.
His mother sighed. “And because ‘tis rude to spit at the table. And because a gentleman doesnae do it in front of ladies.”
Liam rolled her eyes, but he didn’t speak again until he’d finished chewing. “I dinnae think I like being a gentleman.”
“Och, aye?” Malcolm’s attention was on his meal. “And what would ye be instead? A fish?”
“At least then I wouldnae mind all this rain. But I think I’d like to be a duck.” He turned to Evelinde. “Ye ken they have funny-shaped male confractory organs—”
“Liam,” Malcolm barked, and when the lad turned to him, looking guilty, he lowered his handsome brows. “I told ye no’ to speak of penises to yer mother.”
Her son gasped. “Ye did it! Just now! Ye said it!”
“Said what?”
“Ye said penis! I want