A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,121
heart-shaped face lit as a smile pushed at her pink lips.
She was not alone. A more petite woman with dark hair stood at her side. That must be her aunt.
Tavish left the bar and went toward them. “Good morning, ladies.”
“Good morning, Mr. MacLean,” Miss Marshall said smoothly. Tavish inclined his head slightly in appreciation that she went along with his alias. She flicked a glance toward the woman at her side. “Aunt Leah, this is Mr. MacLean, whom I told you about. Mr. MacLean, this is my aunt, Leah Craig.”
Tavish took her hand and bowed. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Craig.”
“Oh, he is as charming as you said, dear.” Mrs. Craig gave her niece an approving wink.
Carrie had arrived and was now staring at Tavish with something that might have been desire. “Very charming,” she murmured.
Miss Marshall, her aunt, and Tavish all looked at the serving maid.
“Do ye want breakfast?” she asked.
“We do,” Miss Marshall answered.
“Take a seat, then.” Carrie waved toward the tables.
“Shall we sit near the fire?” Tavish asked. “The dogs are not about.”
“That would be lovely,” Aunt Leah said.
Tavish offered his arms to both ladies and then guided them to the table. He held a chair for Miss Marshall’s aunt first and then Miss Marshall.
“It looks like we’re going to be here another day,” Mrs. Craig said. “What about you, Mr. MacLean?”
“The same, but I can’t say I mind.” He smiled at Miss Marshall, whose cheeks tinged pink. “I enjoyed your story about Culloden very much.” He wanted to say more, that her descriptions had evoked his memory of the day in a visceral way. Hopefully, he would have a chance to tell her so later. Reading it had made him want to tell her his story of the day. Perhaps someday he would.
Mrs. Craig looked between them. “You read Elspeth’s story?”
“I gave it to him last night,” Miss Marshall explained. “We encountered each other on the landing and spoke for a while.” Which was the truth. At least part of it.
It wasn’t as if they had something to hide. Yes, he’d gone into her chamber, but nothing untoward had happened. That didn’t mean he hadn’t considered it. Standing with her in the small quarters, the firelight making the reddish strands in her blonde hair glow and her spicy floral scent taunting his senses, he’d almost been moved to kiss her. Indeed, he’d had to talk himself out of it.
Carrie arrived at their table with a tray of food. She placed trenchers of kippers, fried eggs, and oatcakes in front of each of them. Then she deposited a crock of raspberry jam in the center of the table. “Fer yer oatcakes,” she said. “I’ll bring ye some ale.”
“And tea, please,” Mrs. Craig requested.
Nodding in response, Carrie took her leave.
“The jam looks delicious.” Miss Marshall reached for the pot just as Tavish did the same, intending to move it closer to her. Their fingers touched, prompting their gazes to connect.
A frisson of longing swept through him along with a jolt of electricity. She was the first to look away, and she withdrew her hand.
Tavish picked up the crock and set it near her trencher. “My grandmother adores raspberry jam. She has a recipe for it that she refuses to share.”
“That’s too bad,” Miss Marshall said as she dolloped some of the bright red jam on one of her oatcakes. “If she changes her mind, you must let me know.”
“You make jam?”
“I’ve helped our cook, Mrs. Fisher, on occasion. However, I think I’d prefer to collect recipes and stories about them and combine them into a book.” Her eyes twinkled with enthusiasm.
“What a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Craig said. “Have you started this project?”
“No. I thought of it recently, and Mr. MacLean’s mention of his grandmother’s recipe has reminded me. Perhaps I will pursue it.”
Tavish thought it a brilliant idea. “I hope you do. You’ve a gift with words. While the recipes will be helpful, the stories behind them will make the book a treasure.”
Mrs. Craig cast a loving look at her niece. “Our Elspeth can do anything she puts her mind to.”
Tavish didn’t doubt that. Though he had only known her briefly, she had a sense of purpose and an inner strength that were impossible to miss. He recognized those things because he possessed them himself. “And what is it you put your mind to, Miss Marshall?” He took a bite of the smoked kippers.