Of course he was going to call out to her. Seeing her—seeing her smile—was what he found himself living for these days.
She turned and was waiting expectantly for him, and he was happy to jog over to her. The morning ride had left him feeling relaxed—more relaxed than he’d been a sennight ago—and he smiled when he reached her.
“Good morrow, Lara,” he offered softly.
She tilted her head back, his smile not dimming. “Good morrow, Alistair. Ye’re looking at ease today. Still thinking about my chicken?”
She was teasing him?
Feeling bold, Alistair snagged her free hand, bringing it to his lips there in front of all the clan’s wagging tongues. “Yer chicken was delicious, but ‘tis ye I’ve been thinking about, lass.”
He made her blush, which caused his smile to grow wicked, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she cocked a bold brow as her own lips twitched. “I’ve been thinking about ye as well. And about the menu. And ways to get ye to relax. And the decorations for the celebration. And yer lips. And pigs.”
Her list made him blink, but he didn’t release her hand. My lips? But instead, he cleared his throat and managed, “Pigs?”
“I’m on my way to the village to run some errands. I need to visit the butcher and see what he can offer us in terms of meat.”
Nodding now, and absolutely certain he wasn’t going to miss the chance to spend time with her—even if it did involve pigs, it might also involve lips and ways to make him relax—Alistair moved her hand to his arm and began to stroll toward the gates. As if it were completely natural that he’d take time away from his work to escort her to market.
“Is this for the celebration? I thought ye were planning on chicken for the menu.”
“I’m still considering our options.”
Nodding, he offered, “I’m looking forward to hearing all about them.”
“Really?” She glanced sharply at him, a little furrow between her brows. “Ye want to discuss the menu?”
He shrugged, focusing on taking shorter steps so she could keep up. He didn’t want to rush this, or their time together would be over much too soon. “Why would I no’?”
“Well, ye are so busy, and ye already spent yesterday morning with me.”
And it had been one of the best mornings of his life.
Aye, he was more relaxed now than he’d been a sennight ago, and ‘twas not because of his morning ride. ‘Twas because of her, and the way she pushed him to take time for himself.
“Ye cannae think I’d rather be stuck inside my solar going over charts and maps, than out here in the fresh air with a lovely lass on my arm?”
Another blush, which he found made him feel proud as they strolled toward the market.
“But ye have more important things to do.”
He thought of the correspondence waiting for him on his desk, and of her suggestion to give it to Kiergan to take care of. He thought of the ledgers and household accounts. He thought of the work he needed to do…and he thought of the woman at his side.
“Nay, lass, I dinnae,” he murmured.
The way her steps faltered, the way she tilted her head, just slightly away from him so he could see the tempting line of her jaw, told him she’d been affected by his confession. His lips twitched.
“Hello, Mistress Lara!” came the call from across the market square, and she seemed to remember herself. He watched as she directed her attention toward the plump woman hauling a heavy-looking washing basket.
“Have a good day, Gladys!” Lara called, and when the candle-maker shouted a greeting, she laughingly offered one in return.
Alistair didn’t release his hold on her, which meant she couldn’t wave, but he was amazed by how well she knew everyone they saw. He’d spent years working for these people, his clan, but he wasn’t certain he could name them all. Some, the merchants in particular, he recognized. But Lara knew everyone.
‘Twas remarkable.
“Where are we going first?”
“I have to order cheese.” She tugged him toward a wagon where a board-thin woman was haggling with a customer. Actually, referring to her as a board was an accurate description; the woman was tall and straight, as well as being thin, and looked about as weathered as the side of an old barn. “This is Melba.”
The woman merely glared at Alistair, so he didn’t introduce himself. Instead, he listened to Lara list her order and her explanation for what she planned on using the cheese for at the celebration. Finally, Melba’s dry, stern lips cracked, one corner lifting upward, as she inclined her head stiffly.
“Ye’ll have yer order two days ahead of the celebration, lass. I approve of yer choices.”
Lara reacted as if given a benediction from a queen. “Oh, thank ye,” she gasped, offering as much of a curtsey as possible, given she still held her basket and Alistair’s arm. “And I hope ye’re planning on attending the celebration?”
“We shall see,” the old woman muttered stiffly before turning to another customer and allowing Lara to tug him away.
“She was…prickly,” Alistair murmured.
“Melba makes the best cheese in the clan, but ye have to ken how to deal with her.”
“And ye do?”
She shrugged, leading him toward the smithy. “Of course. Who do ye think has been buying cheeses for yer menus all these years?”
Shaking his head, Alistair blew out a breath. “ ’Tis remarkable, lass. I’ve devoted my life to helping these people, but ye ken them so much better than I do. I feel as if I’ve been missing out.”
“Ye have been.” She offered him a little smile, then ducked into the smithy, leaving him
