“How did ye learn how to make it, then?” Livie piped up.
“Well, it didn’t stay secret forever. Soon there were competing bakeries lining Drayton’s high street. Some two hundred years ago, a gingerbread feud tore the village in two. The leading rival bakers were each determined to prove that their gingerbread was superior to the other. In an act of spite, one baker revealed the recipe of the other’s cake, convinced that once the secret was shared, it would be his rival’s ruin. He told the town gossip, and before he could blink, the entire village had heard.”
Livie’s eyes rounded in shock. “What happened next?”
Suppressing a grin, Amelia spoke gravely. “Both bakers were ruined, for the exposure of the recipe meant that anyone could make it themselves. It might have been the destruction of not only the rival bakers, but the whole town. Yet a strange thing happened instead.”
She couldn’t help herself. She stole a glance at Blair before continuing.
He looked strangely at ease perched on a stool opposite her at the cook’s table. He’d long ago discarded his coat and had rolled up the sleeves on his shirt to decorate their gingerbread castle. A lock of coal-black hair fell across his forehead. His eyes were lit with something she couldn’t quite name without blushing.
Amelia swallowed to ease the tight warmth in her throat. Focusing on Livie, she returned to her tale.
“Word spread beyond Drayton—the residents were so mad for gingerbread that the whole village smelled of sugar and spices at all times. Those in surrounding towns and cities flocked to us for their cakes, especially around Christmastime. But the town had learned a lesson from the rival bakers. We kept our secret this time, so that our unique recipe was ours alone. Outsiders could buy our cakes, but not the way to make them.”
“Does that mean ye willnae tell us the recipe, either?” Livie asked, nibbling on a leftover corner of gingerbread.
Amelia feigned indignation. “Of course I won’t!”
“But I’ve seen ye make it every year at Christmastime,” Livie retorted.
“It’s not just the ingredients but their amounts and combination that hold the key.” Amelia exhaled, feeling suddenly wistful. “Even at the charity school we scraped enough together each year to celebrate Christmas morning with freshly baked gingerbread. You may eat gingerbread now all across England and Scotland, but it will never taste quite like Drayton’s—like home.”
“Do ye miss it, then?” Blair asked quietly. “England? Drayton?”
“No,” Amelia answered without hesitation. “It is where I’m from, but I have a new home now.” She gave Livie a warm smile. “And fortunately I can bring the taste of Drayton’s world-famous gingerbread with me.”
Livie nodded her approval, but then she glanced at the gingerbread castle they’d built. To Amelia’s surprise, the girl’s mouth sagged with disappointment.
“This is a verra fine likeness of Glenrose,” she said, eyes somber as she assessed their work. “But…”
“But what?” Amelia prompted.
Livie sighed. “It is too lovely to eat!”
Blair made a strange, gruff noise in this throat that almost sounded like a chuckle. “Perhaps we could eat the scraps that didn’t make it onto the structure.”
Livie’s gaze slid to the tray, which was now empty except for a few crumbs. “I already…there arenae any scraps left.”
Amelia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting into laughter at the girl’s guilty, mournful expression.
“Then what about all these crofts? Surely we can sacrifice one or two.” At Livie’s accusatory look, Blair seemed to realize what he’d just said.
Thankfully, he apparently wished to steer clear of that touchy topic just as much as Livie and Amelia did. He held up his hands in surrender. “A poor idea, obviously. Perhaps the stables on the side of the manor can go. Or the kitchen addition.”
Ironically, they currently stood in the add-on he was suggesting tearing down and devouring. Yet in the gingerbread version of the manor, it could be easily removed without affecting the enchanting appearance of the castle as a whole.
Livie brightened. “Aye, that will work.” She set about prying off the extra walls and passing them around.
Amelia brought the dense cake to her nose and drew in a deep whiff, savoring the spicy-sweet smell. But she hesitated before taking a bite, her gaze flitting to Blair. In a moment of vane pride, she longed to watch his reaction as he took his first taste of her gingerbread.
As Blair’s teeth sank into the cake, his features, usually set like Highland granite, flickered with a rapid series of impressions. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t help imagining what each meant. Delight at the soft yet firm texture of the cake. Surprise at the sharpness of the ginger. And most of all pleasure at the warm sweetness of the medley of flavors.
“This is…” He looked at her, and suddenly she was aware of the tightness of her corset. “I have never tasted its equal. It is perfect.”
Though the kitchen was warm, it did not entirely account for the wave of heat that washed over her.
This isn’t part of the plan, some sane voice in the back of her head reminded her. Yet held fixed under Blair’s gaze, pale and clear as a winter sky, she couldn’t seem to care.
Chapter Twelve
The next day, the snow stopped falling and a crisp wind blew away the clouds to reveal a brilliant blue sky as vibrant and dazzling as a sapphire. A foot and a half of fresh, downy snow blanketed everything. It sparkled nigh blindingly under the thin, sharp sun.
Despite the breathtaking beauty all around, Blair stepped from the manor in a sour mood. This morning, they were setting to work on Livie’s selected tradition—cutting and gathering greenery to decorate the manor.
Livie stood beside a sledge that had an ax strapped to
