Page 53 of Deception and Desire
“There’s a fine pony in Dunderave I’ve set my sights on. Brodie said if I could feed him for a week without putting him in an early grave, he’d buy it for me.” She turned and ran for the door, yelling over her shoulder, “Which reminds me, I left the tarts baking.”
“I suppose we can scrape off the black since they’ll most likely be burnt,” Lachlan said cheerfully. “But it’s no’ enough to kill a man, I suppose.”
“I’m this shy of Bedlam trying to make a proper female out of her.” His mother held out her thumb and forefinger, a sliver of light between them. “Brodie thought a bribe might do the trick.”
“Until ye run out of carrots and sticks.”
He beckoned to a young stable lad, waiting under a rowan tree, to take the horse. “Rub her down well. It’s been a long ride today.” The boy bobbed his head and trotted off with Charlie. Lachlan slapped his thigh, and Brownie padded into the castle behind them.
Inside, the thick stone walls held any heat at bay. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Large oak chairs with stuffed cushions and carpets scattered across the stone floor of the receiving room came into focus. On the wall hung ancient swords and battle weapons along with several large tapestries of a hunting scene, the MacNaughton crest, and a battle from centuries ago. He imagined this room looked much like it had when his ancestors had lived here but with a fire roaring in the gigantic hearth.
Following his mother up the narrow stairs to the first floor, they entered a large dining room. His grandmother’s and mother’s touch reflected here in the paneled walls, wool carpets, and silver and crystal candelabras. Portraits of past MacNaughtons graced the wall. Light flooded the west windows and the smell of freshly baked scones and cherries tickled his nose. His stomach growled.
“Sit down and eat, Son,” bellowed Calum from the table, waving a bumper of ale. “This batch of salted herring is braw, I tell ye.”
Lachlan sat next to his grandfather, noting his reddened skin and the added silver lining the sides of his black hair. But the cobalt blue eyes were still those of a young man. He’d passed the deep sapphire color down to his daughters and grandsons.
Wrapping one of the small fish in a piece of bread, he bit off a chunk and poured himself some ale. It was good to be home. His grandmother arrived, carrying a plate of extremely brown tarts, cherry oozing from the crusty seams. She sat it on the table with a glare of her bright green eyes that dared either man to say a word.
“Brigid has made us some tarts,” she announced, smoothing her graying auburn hair back under her cap and arranging her long braid over one shoulder. “I believe I shall need some ale.”
Calum opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together. Even the head of the clan wouldn’t go against Peigi MacNaughton when it came to her grandchildren. Instead, he poured his wife a drink and gingerly picked up a crispy pastry.
“It doesna smell bad,” he determined and pulled it apart with his fingers. “But where is Brodie? Isna thishisidea?”
Lachlan snorted. “He comes up with the notions, and we suffer through them.” He poked at one of the charred little pies. “How are the cherries?”
“Salvageable,” said Calum around a mouthful, slipping the burnt shell to his deerhound, Black Angus. Brownie immediately nudged Lachlan’s knee, asking for the same, and he gladly obliged.
“How did I do on my first attempt?” asked Brigid, strolling into the room, ruby curls escaping her two braids. “Edible?” She spied the dogs under the table. “Weel, it canna be that bad if the dogs will eat it.”
“It’s a fine attempt, lassie,” cajoled Calum. “Yer grandmother was just about to try one herself. Were ye no’, my love?” His face creased with humor as he pushed the platter toward her.
If he were a betting man, Lachlan would wager his grandfather would regret his joke later. Always supportive, Peigi picked up a tart, broke it in half, and nibbled at the sweet cherry center. “Delicious! I declare this is the best crop of cherries we’ve had in years.”
Brigid beamed and plopped down next to Lachlan. She picked up a pastry and tore off a chunk. She chewed with gusto, choked, spit, and drank down her brother’s ale. “Saints and sinners! It’s terrible!”
She ripped the remainder in half and tossed a bite to each hound. “Weel, at least I ken ye all love me.” Brigid gave them a cheery smile. “I’m making roast mutton, potatoes, and sowan for dinner tomorrow.”
“Are ye at least enjoying yer time in the kitchen?” asked Calum, pushing away the tarts and reaching for more bread and salted herring.
She shrugged. “I’m enjoying the thought of riding that sweet, black-as-a-raven mare Brodie has promised me.” With an impish grin, she reached for a scone. “And watching my dear family choke down my attempts with smiles on their faces.”
“Och, Sister, it wasna that bad. My stomach is fine.” Lachlan put his arm around Brigid.
“Ye didna eat my beef collops this past Sunday,” she confided, twinkling green eyes showing no regret. “I swear to ye, Grandda turned a shade of green. And Black Angus sniffed it and walked away.”
Calum nodded solemnly. “Ye almost became chief sooner than later.”
“It wasna all my fault. Enid put out the bottle of vinegar, and I thought she’d fetched the red wine for my recipe.” She put her hand over one side of her mouth and whispered loudly, “My tarts are blessed by the faeries in comparison.”
“Ha! The faeries rarely bless anything. They were probably in on the scheme.” Lachlan looked around the room. “Where did our mother and brother go? And has Lissie been privy to thiscooking calamity?” He smirked at his own cleverness, though Brigid rolled her eyes.
His grandmother stood and swiped a crumb from her dress, rearranging the tartan shawl around her shoulders. “Brodie is visiting some crofters, Lissie went to spend some time with her family in Dunderave, and Glynnis is most likely enjoying the peace and quiet of her chambers.”
Brigid gave her brother a kiss and followed Peigi from the room. “Do ye think I could manage a bread pudding?”
“Ye’ve already ruined two favorite dishes for months to come, lass. I’d leave that one alone if ye cherish yer grandfather at all.” Their voices faded as they descended the stairs.
