Chapter 9
Something had changed,and Fen wasn’t certain what it was.
Oh, she hoped ‘twas because of that kiss, or mayhap of what she and Brodie had shared yesterday in the sick room. But she couldn’t be certain; throughout today he’d been subdued, and more than once, she’d caught him watching her with a curiously sad turn of his lips.
Which was, frankly, just terrible. She wanted to be doing other things with those lips.
“Are ye aright, lass?” he murmured from beside her.
Surprised, she glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at her, but was instead standing with his arms crossed, his crutch propping him up easily, his attention seemingly on the jovial diners seated at the dais table.
As Eppie moved from one of her family members to the next, Fen frowned at his question. “Aye,” she whispered. “Why?”
“Because ye’re wringing yer hands as if ye’d tear the bandage from yer thumb. Does it still pain ye?”
In surprise, she glanced down at her hands. Aye, she had been wringing them, had she not? “Nay,” she answered truthfully. “I’d forgotten ‘twas there. Truly, ‘tis a minor cut.”
“Ah.”
That was all he’d said; the only acknowledgement from him letting her know he knew, that if she wasn’t wringing her hands in pain, she was wringing them for some other reason.
“I’m…worried about the outcome of tonight’s contest,” she managed. ‘Twas a lie, but a believable one.
The amused glance he flicked her way, before settling once more into his easy stance, told her he didn’t believe her falsehood one bit. But would it have been better for her to blurt, “I was thinking of kissing ye”?
On the other hand, mayhap kissing him would distract her from the pain in her stomach and the ache in her chest she felt whenever she was forced to stand before people like this, even if ‘twas only her family and a few guests.
Luckily, none of them seemed to be paying her any attention as they finished their meal.
Like each of the last rounds, Eppie had served the dishes Fen and Brodie had created, then returned to the great hall at the end of the meal to hear the verdicts. The difference was, tonight, she’d insisted they attend as well to hear who the winner would be.
Thank St. Jennifer she’d eaten in the kitchens, because there would have been no way for her to appreciate the subtle pairings of their dish here and now, in front of all these gazes.
Gulping, Fen twisted her fingers together once more, the small bandage around her thumb getting in her way.
But then, still not looking at her, Brodie dropped his hand down and gathered hers in his own strong, callused one. Grateful, she twined both her sets of fingers through his and held on as if he were a lifeline.
He was.
He was a lifeline. Her lifeline.
With his hand keeping hers safe, Fen was able to focus on her breathing. Or perhaps ‘twas just his presence; strong and certain beside her. She moved closer and tried to follow his slow, steady breathing pattern.
She felt better, though she wasn’t certain if ‘twas his touch, or the deep breaths. Or mayhap just knowing he cared…
“Better?” he murmured.
“Aye.” And she knew ‘twas the truth.
From up on the dais, Eppie lifted her hands in a call for attention. “My lairds and ladies, we have a bit of a quandary. Ye ken tonight’s round of this contest featured nuts, and ye ken that the contestants opted for cooperation instead of competition.”
From her spot beside Kenneth, Leanna beamed. “I think ‘tis a wonderful idea.”
“Idea, aye,” agreed their father, as he always did, even as he turned to Mother. “Do I like nuts?”
“Ye do,” she agreed with a nod. “I’m the one who doesnae. They aggravate my condition.”
Sighing, Nichola asked, “And which condition is that, Mother?”