“Something or other?” he repeated blandly.
Her lips tugging upward impishly, she shrugged and focused on her work once more. “We have a large family.”
He snorted at her matter-of-fact tone. Again.
God’s teeth, soon I’ll be laughing, and my own mother willnae recognize me then.
“Six sisters? I had four.” It had been a long while since he’d thought of that small cottage by the sea, which had always stank of fish and unwashed bodies, where he’d first learned to fight and to properly season shellfish pottage. “And three brothers.”
“Eight of ye?” She stood, sliding the last of the scallions into her basket. It was admirable the way they were so neatly aligned, ready to be chopped. “We have a brother, illegitimate of course, and likely aulder than Coira. He travels and hasnae been to see us in a long while. But that is still less than eight.”
He shrugged, thinking large families likely didn’t matter to a laird the way they did to a half-breed fisherman. “And ye live in a castle large enough to get lost in, if ye wanted.” He’d only been abovestairs a few times—the first being for Kenneth’s wedding to Fenella’s sister—but he’d been able to get an idea of the scope of Oliphant Castle.
“Ye have nae idea,” she said with a chuckle, and he decided he very much liked the sound of her chuckle. “There are so many secret passages, I suspect only Leanna kens them all!”
It was the chuckle. Without it, he might’ve been able to stand there, the sun beating down on his bare head, and just make small talk. But she chuckled, and the sound reached down into his stomach and tugged, drawing him closer to her.
The damned crutch made the step awkward, but he did it, and she didn’t back away.
God’s teeth, what had they been talking about? Och, aye, the castle.
“Secret passages?” he croaked, wanting to keep her talking.
He watched her swallow, her gaze on his lips. “Aye, more than I care to count. There is an entrance from my room—the auld housekeeper’s chambers—but I never bother with it, because ‘tis so secluded.”
It was. He knew, because her chambers were two doors down from where he’d been sleeping in the sick room.
So close.
“Ye like to sleep near the kitchen.”
It was his assumption, and the way her eyes warily flicked up to his, he’d guessed correctly.
“I like…” Her chin rose. “They are mine. I like to be close.”
He nodded once in agreement, able to understand that sentiment at least. “Ye can be…”—how to compliment her?—“fierce.”
Green fire flashed, quick as lightning. “Fierce? Ye think me fierce?”
He’d meant it as a good thing. “In yer kitchens. Larger. More forceful. Meaner.”
With each description, her eyes had widened. “Ye think I’m…”—she shook her head—“mean?”
Why did she sound so hurt?
Instinctively, he took another shuffling step toward her, hoping to— What? To comfort her? “No’ mean exactly, lass, but… Ye’re no’ timid.”
“Nay, of course no’!” To his surprise, she stepped closer to him, until they stood within an arm’s reach of each other. “They’re my domain!”
“Aye, and out of it, ye’re… Bah!” He shook his head, irritated at himself for caring about her feelings. “I was trying to compliment ye, woman!”
Her eyes flashed again. “Compliment? Ye have no’ been around many women, Brodie, if ye think calling me mean was a compliment.”
Silently cursing himself, he ran his free hand across his head, the stubble in between his scars tickling his palms. He would need to shave again soon.
“’Tis the truth. I’m more used to men’s company, but I ken what a woman likes well enough.” Tongues and strength and growls.
At least, that was all women had ever wanted from him. But a lass like Fenella…?