She’d just orgasmed all over his kilted cock, and he wanted to talk theological history? “Of course no’!” One hand fluttered nervously, then gripped her braid in a flustered gesture. “It willnae become popular until the eighties.”
“The…” His lips tugged down in confusion as his eyes searched her face. “The 1380s? The 1480s?”
With a huff of exasperation, she rolled her eyes, then planted a palm flat against his chest. “Brodie, I’m basking in a haze of post-coital bliss, and ye want to talk religion?”
One corner of his lips twitched up, as close to a smile as she’d ever seen from him. “Lass, we were both talking to God a few moments ago.”
His bland tone set her own lips twitching, and she considered Wynda’s manuscript. Mayhap she could make some suggestions. “We could call it The Burning Bush,” she mused aloud.
He blinked. “What?”
“This position.” She gestured downward to how close they still were and noticed her chemise was still gaping. “Because it had us talking to God.”
His breath huffed out of his nose, then it happened again…and she noticed his shoulders shaking slightly. When she glanced up at his still-impassive face, she realized he was laughing.
Amazed, she gazed at him, and slowly he sobered—which was strange, considering he’d never even cracked a smile—and stared right back.
“Lass,” he whispered.
She realized she was already stretching up, unconsciously reaching for him, but a new voice had her jerking back.
“Well, this looks exciting!”
Fen, her hand still flat against his chest, pushed. But he was so much bigger than she, he didn’t move one inch. One of his scarred brows did twitch though, and he waited a moment—as if to remind her who had the power—before shifting his weight to one side.
Which allowed Fen to see a very amused Eppie standing at the back door, a basket balanced on one hip, her expression full of glee as she took in the pair of them.
What horrible timing!
Nay, horrible timing would’ve been if the woman had arrived five minutes ago.
“Hello—” Fen cleared her throat, her hands rising to her neckline to retie her chemise. “Hello, Eppie. We, um…we left the feast early.”
“Aye, I can see that,” the ancient cook said with a wink, as she hobbled toward the shelves along the wall where she deposited her basket. She must’ve been in the garden gathering summer fruits.
“And what have the pair of ye been discussing down here, so intently, instead of being at the feast?” she called teasingly over her shoulder. “Nothing unsanitary, I hope? This is a food preparation area!”
“Um…” Fen swallowed, and realized suddenly that she couldn’t meet Brodie’s gaze. Instead, she smoothed down the front of her bodice and slid from the counter. “We were discussing…”
“Her rabbit,” he said blandly. “Too much salt.”
Och, aye.
She whirled on him, no longer embarrassed to meet his eyes. “’Twas no’ too salty! And the leeks were perfect!”
He shrugged languidly. “’Tis yer opinion.”
“’Tis the truth!” Frustrated, she stamped her foot against the flagstones and remembered too late she wore no shoes. “Ask anyone! Ask Eppie!” She threw out her hand toward the old woman in challenge. “They were perfect!”
She hadn’t expected Brodie’s expression to change, and wasn’t disappointed when it didn’t. He just stood there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his hip propped against the counter to support the weight of his bad leg, and slowly raised a brow at her.
“Argh!” She threw up her hands in frustration. How could he say something like that to her, moments after what they’d just shared?
He was trying to save ye, so ye didnae have to tell Eppie the truth.
That didn’t make it easier to hear.
She frowned, and Brodie’s eyes flicked away from her toward Eppie.