Fen gaped.
Married?
Her?
Wynda huffed and planted her hands on her hips. “’Tis as I thought. Ye’re no’ anxious to be married?”
Backing up a few steps, Fen realized she was shaking her head vehemently. “I—I dinnae—I cannae—”
Robena nudged Wynda. “She assumes Da didnae include her in his ultimatum. She thinks she doesnae have to be married.”
“Well, I dinnae,” exclaimed Fen, just the idea making her heart race and her palms sweat. “Da and Mother need me here. I run the kitchens! They like my cooking!” She swallowed. “They wouldnae send me away.”
“Well of course they wouldnae,” Wynda agreed, and then went and ruined it by being all logical. “They cannae send ye away if they want yer husband to be the next laird. Allowing ye free rein over the kitchens makes perfect sense.”
Married?
The idea of it was…was…
Preposterous. Scary. Ridiculous. Wonderful.
Wait, wonderful?
Aye, having a man who loves ye, who’ll stand beside ye, supporting ye…
She silently snorted at her mind’s naivete. What kind of man would want to support her? Or especially, love her?
But that traitorous whisper was still tickling at the back of her head. One who looks at ye as if he wants to taste ye. One who thinks ye might be delicious.
Him.
Brodie McClure.
Just a reminder of his dark stare made Fen’s thighs clench and her breath shorten.
He was infuriating with his quiet judgements upon her cooking and his insistence he knew best how to season the meat or knead the bread. Just thinking of his arrogance caused her fingers to tighten along the edges of the slate and her cheeks to flush.
Or mayhap that had naught to do with his words.
For weeks now, he’d sat on his stool in the corner of her kitchen, beside the cold hearth, just…watching. He’d do any task she set before him, assuming he could do it while seated, and more often than not, his eyes would find her while doing it.
She tried not to watch the way those big, scarred hands handled his tasks so efficiently, because it was difficult not to imagine how they would feel.
On her.
“Do ye think we need to pinch her?”
Robena’s whisper broke through Fen’s confused panic. She blinked and found her sisters standing shoulder to shoulder, watching her. Wynda slowly shook her head.
“Mayhap we should send for Nichola. Fen looks as though she’s about to faint.”
“Or climax.” When Wynda swung a shocked gaze in her direction, Robena shrugged unapologetically. “What? She’s breathing as if she’s about to—”
“I’m fine,” interrupted Fen, forcing herself to breathe normally. “I’m fine. ‘Twas just the suggestion…the idea…”
“Of marriage?” asked Wynda blandly. “We’ve all been struggling with the idea. I dinnae want to marry and leave my work anymore than the rest of ye do.”
“I wouldnae mind!” Robena piped.