Page 30 of An Allusive Love
Brodie paused in the dark hall, his back against the cool stone, and his head angled toward the door. Eavesdropping was not a usual pastime for him, but this would be a tale retold for years to come. He felt it in his bones.
“First, I’ll introduce ye to the weapons of my trade,” Enid began. “Knives are sharpened daily. And we’ll test the first on Brodie’s ear because I ken he’s just beyond the door listening to our every word.”
For the love of saints, the woman was a witch. “I’m leaving,” he called as he bolted up the narrow stone stairs.
Later that day, Brodie tried not to wince as he scraped the top layer of a biscuit with his teeth. Hard as a frozen loch in the middle of winter. His mother and grandmother had warned both men that negative comments would not be allowed. If they couldn’t say something pleasant, they were to remain silent. A punishment for both grandfather and grandson.
Brigid watched, a hesitant smile on her face. She was nervous. Brodie tried to remember the last time his sister had not been completely confident. His heart twisted as he gripped the rock in his hand and swallowed. This could be painful. He’d left the edge soaking in his plate of broth, so he’d been able to scrape off a bite without breaking a tooth. Calum had noticed and nodded in approval, doing the same.
“What’s the verdict?” asked Brigid. She must have mistaken the thankful gleam in her grandfather’s eye for praise. “Enid says it’s much better than she expected for my first attempt.”
“And what did she ex—” Calum clamped his mouth shut at a glare from Peigi.
“The color seems just about right,” Brodie ventured and received a grateful smile from his mother. “What will ye make next?” He would find some reason to be detained.
“Tomorrow I’ll attempt white pudding, which should be easy enough. What could be so difficult, mixing together some oatmeal, suet, and meat?” She shrugged. “On Sunday, we shall make a meal in honor of Grandda.”
Calum choked on his ale. Brodie bit his lip, the taste of blood holding back his mirth.
“Venison collops,” she announced proudly, “and I’ll use a recipe from Enid’s family that uses red wine.”
“Ye’ll no’ be observing the first time—while Enid prepares it?” asked Calum, his face pale at the idea of a much-loved meal defiled forever. His look cast daggers at his grandson.
“Now why would I do that? I’ve always learned better by doing a task. It’s the mistakes that teach ye the most. That’s what the MacNaughton always told me when I was a girl.” She kissed the top of her grandfather’s head. “Since there are no bodies on the flagstone writhing from my first attempt, I’ll be on my way. I’ve work to do in the pasture.” Brigid made her escape, her footsteps fading away.
Brodie avoided Calum’s glower and appealed to Peigi. His grandmother’s lips were pressed together, but he caught the glint of humor in her green eyes before she studied her plate. The merrymaking played havoc in his throat and threatened to erupt. For the love of saints, his lip hurt.
“In my defense, Ma supported this wager.” It was a feeble apology, he knew.
“Ye thought it was amusing up until now,” Glynnis pointed out. “We all need to make sacrifices for the family.”
“Fine,” groused Calum. “I hope shortbread is on the menu for Monday.”
Both Peigi and Glynnis were known for their love of the sweet treat.
“No reason to be acrabbit.” Peigi gave him a tight smile at the mention of shortbread. She poked at the golden-baked stone on her plate. “Think of poor Ian, on his way back to Glasgow without Lissie.”
Calum snorted. “What of poor Lachlan? He arrives next week and expects Enid’s meals after a month away.”
“Let’s give the rest of these, um, these…” Glynnis’s brows drew together.
“Petrified dumplings?” offered Brodie.
Glynnis wagged a hand in the air. “Just give them to the hounds.”
Brownie and Black Angus each caught a biscuit mid-air. They settled down, the hard treat between paws, and gnawed at it like a bone.
“Weel, someone finds it tasty,” Brodie observed.
“Aye, it’s no’ a waste, then.” Calum pointed at his grandson, his tone imperious. “Ye will be here foreverymeal. No excuses, no emergencies. Or I’ll make ye eat what’s left when ye come home. Cold.”
Brodie grinned. “Ye’re right. I canna make my family suffer alone when it’s my fault.”
“I, for one, am thankful Brodie came up with the idea. Did ye see the earnest look in her eye? She was worried,” confessed Glynnis. “My daughter rarely worries about anything.”
“Except losing,” argued Brodie. His mother hadn’t seen the smirk on the pixie’s face when she skipped out of the room. He might have underestimated his opponent.
*
