She’d made him laugh. Again.
The realization made her smile. That, and the fact he was still holding her. She jabbed him with a finger.
“’Tis a reasonable question.”
“Lass, how in the world would I ken what it—“ He broke off, shoulders shaking.
“Well, how am I supposed to ken what lads get up to together?” she asked indignantly, laughter behind her words.
It took a few moments for him to settle into stillness again, but occasionally, his shoulders still tightened, as if remembering his silent laughter. “For certes, some lads get up to that sort of thing, but no’ me. Now, do ye have other questions about what just happened? Questions I can actually answer?”
“Aye!” She pushed herself away from him, then rested her weight on her palms as she stared down at him. His eyes were calm, focused on her, waiting. She smiled. “When can we do that again?”
He blinked, as much surprise as she knew he was willing to show, then one corner of his lips curled upward. “So eager, eh?”
“Brodie, I have so many—”
There was a knock on the door, and they both froze.
“Fen! Lassie, are ye well?”
Eppie.
Fen’s eyes widened, and Brodie’s did as well. Still in his arms, Fen managed to keep her voice steady as she called, “I’m fine, dinnae worry. I’ll be out in a moment.”
Please dinnae come in. Please dinnae come in.
“Are ye certain, lassie?” came the old woman’s teasing call from the other side of the door. She definitely sounded close to laughter. “Ye’ve been in there a while.”
Brodie cleared his throat. “I’m thorough, Eppie,” he growled loudly, his gaze never leaving Fen’s face. “I’m almost finished wrapping her wound now.”
She dropped forward and stifled her laugh against his chest. “Ye’re wrapping something,” she whispered, and he snorted quietly.
From the corridor, Eppie knocked once more on the door, and called, “Finish it up, bairns! These sausages willnae cook themselves!”
Fen felt more than heard Brodie sigh. She echoed it.
The sausages, aye. The cooking contest, aye.
This brief interlude was only that—an interlude.
He would still be leaving. She still had to prove she was the better cook.
Didn’t she?
His arms tightened around her once, then he was rising. “Come along, lass,” he murmured, lifting her along with him and placing her feet flat on the floor once more. “We have sausages to cook.”
Swallowing down her disappointment, Fen forced a grin as she tucked her breasts back into her bodice. “Aye, and I ken they’ll taste even better cooked than they do raw.”
He froze in the middle of reaching for his kilt; his dark gaze meeting hers. She winked, and his expression softened just a bit.
“I dinnae think I’ll ever look at sausages the same way again,” he finally admitted, as he readjusted his brace to keep his leg straight. “Ye can be verra convincing.”
Remembering the way his cock had tasted, and how powerful she’d felt as he’d moaned, Fen knew ‘twas the truth. But sausages weren’t the only things which would be changed by this encounter.
She didn’t think she’d ever be the same again.