Page 73 of All Scot and Bothered
Cecelia studied him as she ate with as much vigor as her manners would allow. He’d never seemed quite so preoccupied before. Had never stayed silent for so long, at least not in her presence.
Granted, this was the first time they’d ever been alone together when he wasn’t either cursing her… or kissing her.
For some reason, she ardently wished he’d do one or the other now. Anything but this dour, distant silence.
She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from him as he worked. The cords and muscles of his forearms flexed and shifted with his intricate motions. The movements swift and sure, as though he’d done this thousands upon thousands of times.
Arrows, Cecelia realized around a particularly delicious mouthful. He was crafting arrows. What an odd hobby. Odd and… handsome in a rather masculine sort of way.
Cecelia had often caught herself wondering what it was Ramsay did with his free time, being a man without vices and all.
Now she knew.
Captivated, she hungered to learn more. To learn everything. Was this where he’d built a body such as his, tromping about the Scottish countryside? Had he brought her here simply to ignore her? Were they still at odds in his estimation?
She chewed on her thoughts through the entire bowl of stew. Once her hunger had been sated, she could stand his silence—his indifference—no longer.
“You have a lovely home here,” she ventured.
He snorted out something that would have resembled a laugh if it hadn’t contained such derision. “Ye doona have to be kind,” he told the arrow.
His answer troubled her. “I’m not being kind. I’m partial to simple quietude and much prefer cozy houses to grand ones. I find I’m eager to explore the countryside.”
That brought him to look up sharply. “Doona go into the woods or venture onto on the moors without me. It’s mainly bogs interrupted by patches of swamp and I’d not have ye get lost. Or worse.”
“I won’t,” she promised. She didn’t say that the terrain hadn’t seemed particularly swampy. Nor did she mention that she’d noticed more agriculture and grazing land than bogs.
She supposed it was best she remain indoors. It made his keeping her safe and hidden a great deal easier. However, if she were locked in here with his current attitude, she might well go mad.
Perhaps they could at least take Phoebe out of doors and allow her to wade by the little dam she’d seen in the river.
Had Ramsay swum in the pond as a boy? she wondered. What had his childhood been like? Certainly not carefree and happy, or he’d be some other sort of man.
He gained his feet abruptly, startling her out of her reverie. “Are ye finished?” he asked, gesturing to her empty bowl.
“Oh. Yes.” She made to rise, but he retrieved the bowl from in front of her and took it to the bucket beneath the water pump.
“It was wonderful, thank you. Let me help you clean,” she offered. “It’s the very least I can do.”
“Nay.” He abandoned the dirty dishes and went to theneat stack of trunks and supply boxes by the doorway. “Not until after dessert.”
She perked up instantly. “Dessert, you say?”
Cecelia did her best not to admire the very taut view of his backside as Ramsay bent to riffle through one of the smaller crates. He extracted a little flat box wrapped with a ribbon, and an unmistakably sized bottle.
Cecelia clamped her teeth over her bottom lip nearly humming with anticipation.
He didn’t.
The box landed before her with an unceremonious thunk. “I believe ye once said ye couldna go without truffles and wine.”
A smile broke over her that seemed to spread through her entire body. Were she a spaniel, she’d have wagged her tail until it fell off.
Ramsay’s expression stalled for a moment, going carefully blank.
Cecelia did her best not to do something inappropriate to express the depth of her gratitude because the impulse to leap up and kiss him was almost overwhelming. “And here I thought you condemned my affinity for such indulgences.”
He gave her a droll look she ignored as she tore into the box.
