Page 82 of In Search of a Husband
“Hmm, yer Ma,” Gabriel said. He glanced up at the ceiling, searching for a memory. The truth of it was Tavish had loved hisbride, but Gabriel had been desperate to shed his brother’s shadow. “I remember yer da asked yer ma to bake him a special pie for ages. Finally, she broke down and spent the day baking it. And when yer da arrived home, she ran about searching for the pie that had gone missing. Ye’ll never guess where I found it.”
“Where?”
“Well, I walk in and see everyone tearin’ the place apart like, and I think, a pie canna walk. Except I was wrong.”
Lorna scrunched her face, laughing at her uncle. “What do ye mean?”
“I left the kitchen to head to the stable and there, in the middle of the stable block, was Ben dragging the pie along, then eating a bit, and dragging it a bit farther, as if he were going to hide it up in the hay loft.”
He rubbed his eyes, surprised he was laughing.
Tavish had been furious the pie was missing, and Morag had sworn up and down she had baked it. And after spending the past few days running whisky to the coast, Gabriel remembered being so hungry he could have eaten his own arm.
But he wouldn’t forget Morag bent in half, laughing so hard she was crying. Or how Tavish tried taking the pie from the cat, who hissed and snarled at him. Or how Gabriel had returned to the kitchen and asked Morag how to bake the pie, so he could make it himself. And how Tavish had mocked him in the kitchen for aiding his wife in baking another pie.
“Sounds like Ben. The old grouch.”
“He was a hundred years old then.” Gabriel caught her gaze, and still, she was much too far away from him.
“I believe it’s time for you to show me the Harvest Festival, is it not?”
Lorna jumped up and raced to the armoire and ruffled out a tartan shawl. “Are ye prepared to lose, Uncle?” She winked, then raced out of her room, and shouted behind her, “Hurry.”
“Well”—Kate gestured for him to follow—”you heard the girl.”
“How long has she been reading?”
“About a week or so.”
He nodded, approaching her. “She likes ye.”
“Oh, she tolerates me as does most anyone.”
“I dinna tolerate ye, lass.”
She grinned. “No?”
Gabriel reached for her, but she darted quickly to the left, spinning around and tossing her head back to laugh, revealing the slip of skin at the base of her neck and collarbone that he craved to nip at. She made the most delicious moans whenever he did.
“Tolerate ye?” He walked up, gazing down upon her. “Kate, I burn for ye. I think about ye night and day?—”
“Gabe.” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, as if trying to stem the smile threatening to burst. “Have you hit your head?”
“Listen, woman,” he grabbed her and gently tossed her over his shoulder. He chuckled as she grumbled, striking her fists against his back. “I’ll tell ye more later, but I’m expected to toss the caber.”
“Put me down, you beast.” Kate swatted at his arse and wiggled against his shoulder. “Is it true what they say about kilts?”
The cheeky woman fluttered the fabric, as if she would lift it to reveal his arse.
“If I win today, ye’ll marry me, and ye can find out.”
“If you win…what?” Her body went rigid. “I will do no such thing.”
“Why no’?”
“You didn’t ask me.” She whacked his shoulder once more. “You can’t march in here and pick me up and order me to marry you.”
“I should warn ye,” he said, descending the stairs with her over his shoulder, as if he had just plundered a village. “My odds of winning are verra good today.”
