Not Half Plaid (Bad in Plaid 2)

Och, aye, that would make her seem mad.

She frowned. “Why would I no’ be irritated at sausages?”

He’d finished mixing his dough and was now rolling it out into a large rectangle. “I thought mayhap ye’re irritated at something else.”

Her hand stilled. “Like what?”

He was silent for a long moment, as if hesitating to respond. Then, without looking at her, he shrugged. “I thought, mayhap… Gordon hasnae spoken to ye again?”

She was frozen, the knife raised above the board. “G-Gordon?” His name came out as a squeak, so she swallowed. “I mean, nay. Eppie said he enjoyed my dish last night, but I havenae spoken to him directly.”

Brodie still hadn’t looked at her, but she didn’t think she was imagining the way his shoulders relaxed a bit. Had he been concerned about her and…and Gordon?

“Well then,” he continued in a quiet tone, “ye must be upset about the outcome of the first round.”

The outcome? Oh.

Bah.

Her cucumbers in dill and cream had been delicious! Everyone kenned cucumbers and dill just belonged together! Like sunshine and daffodils, or soap and water, or Highlanders and great big…sausages.

But apparently, their judges thought differently.

Eppie had brought their dishes up to the main table while Fen and Brodie had welcomed the excuse not to dine with her family and their guests. There’d been quite a lot of ceremony at the unveiling, and Eppie had refused to explain which dish had been made by which cook.

As a result, Nichola—who’d been representing Fen’s sisters during the first round—had voted for Brodie’s melon-and-cucumber-mint-salad. So had Laird MacBain. Gordon was the only one who’d voted for Fen’s dish, claiming he’d “liked the simplicity.”

Simplicity? Bah.

Brodie’s dish was delicious, remember? Ye’d even said as much to him.

Frowning now, Fen tried to push aside her irritation as she began to slice. “Ye won that round, fair and square. Ye are an excellent cook, Brodie.”

“So are ye.”

His response was too immediate to be anything other than genuine, and when Fen glanced up, ‘twas to find him examining her with concern in his dark eyes. Had he been worried she’d hold his winning against him?

Instead, she offered him a smile and a shake of her head. “I ken I’m good.”

As she began to look away, he asked, “Do ye?” and her eyes found his once more.

Her lips thinned as she considered his question. “Aye, of course. I ken I’m a good cook.” ‘Twas the one thing she knew.

“Then why does my being here bother ye so much?”

She opened her mouth to deny it, to tell him she wasn’t bothered by his presence. But one of his brows twitched slightly in challenge, as if he knew what she’d been about to say, and she changed her mind.

“Fine,” she admitted with a sigh. “Ye’re a man. A brawny man at that, and handsome as well. Ye’re used to getting yer way, and ye’ve had any number of adventures. I ken ye ken more recipes than I do, and I ken ye could sweep through here and just…”—she shrugged—“just take command of my kitchens.”

There was shock in his eyes, although the rest of his face would never show it. “Ye think I would…take this from ye?” His gaze darted around the kitchen, where Fen’s helpers were quietly putting together a simple fare. “This place, where ye belong, ye think I’d do that?”

Swallowing, Fen dropped her gaze to his strong hands. “I ken ye could.”

He didn’t respond, but she heard him blow out a breath before reaching once more for his pastry. She knew he planned on slicing it into squares and wrapping it around the sausages to bake. ‘Twas a simple, hearty dish and easy to eat, although it tended to be dry without gravy or mustard of some sort.

Deftly, his fingers—long, thick and callused—began to cut the pastry into smaller pieces. She knew his dish would take longer to cook than hers, but they both had hours yet before the meal. Still, she’d best get on with things.

Lifting her knife once more, she began to chop the remaining pepper, but her eyes kept drifting to his hands where they worked. They were so confident, so competent. She remembered the unhesitating way he’d untied her chemise and reached inside her bodice for her breast. She remembered the feel of those hands on the back of her head, holding her in place, as his lips claimed her again and again.