“So,” I say cheerfully. “Lachlan and I are going to help the staff, and your wedding party should hopefully be taken care of.”
There’s a loud scream, and her grandchildren Tristram and Rupert barrel into the room. We’d managed to keep them contained during the ceremony, although how we did that without the use of a pentangle I’ll never know.
“Grandma,” Tristram shrieks and throws himself at Frances, who pats his head in a way I once saw someone use in the circus with a tiger.
“Lovely,” she says faintly.
“I want bacon,” his brother orders, throwing himself under the table and making choking noises.
I shake my head and wander over to grab the orange juice. “You want firm boundaries,” I mutter but very low, so no one hears me.
The wedding party drifts down to breakfast slowly. Erica and Ryan opt for a tray in their room which Cameron nips up to them. Isla and I bustle about serving everyone else the perfectly cooked food, and the room fills with the sound of happy chatter, the clink of cutlery, and the sound of Mumford & Sons singing “Winter Winds”, which seems appropriate for the current arctic conditions.
Finally, Isla and I edge into the kitchen with the last of the pots.
“Ah, there you are,” Lachlan says as if we’ve been somewhere we shouldn’t. “Sit down,” he orders, pointing at the table with the wooden spoon in his hand. “They’ve all eaten. Now it’s our turn.”
“Should I just ask Frances if she wants anything else?” I ask.
He puts his hands on his hips. “Do you care about the answer?”
“In the spirit of honesty, no.”
“I do so love your seasonal bouts of truthfulness. They add such spice on the rare occasions they happen.”
I roll my eyes and settle at the huge old table. My stomach rumbles as Lachlan and Cameron dish up and sit down with us.
“This is yummy,” I say after I’ve eaten the first mouthful of bacon and eggs. “You seem to be good at everything, but I have to admit it’s a surprise that you can cater to all these people.”
“Well, I was a sous chef while at university.”
“You were? Somehow in my head you sprang fully formed from an egg, wearing a suit and carrying a calculator.”
“While you sprang out with a smile and a handful of confetti.” He shrugs. “It paid my way through university.”
“I am very happy with this new facet of your personality.”
“I bet you are,” he says wryly, sipping his coffee. “And I’m sure it’s in no way connected to how much use you can get out of me over the next couple of days.”
“Such a cynic.”
Isla looks between us. “You’re married to each other, aren’t you?” Lachlan and I shoot each other a wary look and then nod. “You don’t seem to know much about each other.”
“Ah well, that’s marriage,” Lachlan says suavely. “A constant journey of discovery.”
Isla looks full of questions but thankfully Lachlan changes the subject.
Once we’ve finished and the plates are clear, we refill mugs and hold a council of war.
“So, what should happen now, Joe?” Lachlan asks.
I tap the table thoughtfully. “The bedrooms need cleaning. How about Isla and I do that, while Cameron cleans up the common rooms and restocks the bar? He can serve drinks then. This lot have been without alcohol for eight hours, so they’ll be descending on us like a horde of rampaging and thirsty Vikings soon.”
Isla and Cameron agree, and I look at Lachlan. “I take it you’re happy to cook.”
“Happy is such a deceptive word.” I glare and he chuckles. “It’s fine. I think we’ll set up a buffet at lunch. That was obviously the chef’s plan, because there’s plenty of stuff in the fridges. Then I’ll cook something hearty like chilli for dinner.”
“Lovely,” I say enthusiastically.
He grins at me. “I’m also going to have a poke around outside. I want to see how bad the lane actually is, and then I want to see what the wood situation is. If there’s the possibility of the power going off, we need to have enough wood for the fires in the main rooms and the bedrooms. Plus, I want a look at the generator.”
“I’ll come with you,” I say.
Isla nods. “We’ll clear the pots away, and I’ll make a start on the bedrooms. I need to check on Uncle Dougal too.”
“I’ve done a tray for him,” Lachlan says, and she nods.
I follow Lachlan out of the room and grab his elbow to stop him. “Thank you for sticking up for me earlier with Frances the Ice Queen,” I whisper.
He looks surprised. “I didn’t do much, although I could have done a great deal more. I dislike intensely the way she speaks to you.”
“Why didn’t you?” I edge close. “Are you frightened of her?” I whisper. “It’s okay to admit it.”
“I’m not frightened of her,” he says with disdain.
“Really?”
“No. I just didn’t think you’d appreciate me coming to your defence. This is your place of business.”
I’m momentarily stupefied that Lachlan understands this concept. Admittedly he just gate crashed a wedding I’m organising to see me again, but he seems remorseful about that and is being genuinely helpful now. Other men I’ve been in relationships with in the past have often struggled with the notion that my profession is, in fact, professional, despite the number of receptions, parties, and gatherings I attend. I’m struck by a memory of an ex called Piers, who will forever be infamous in our office for bringing my cut-up clothes to a reception. Rafferty had to tell people he was a surprise wedding entertainer.
Lachlan smiles. “Besides, you are more than a fucking match for that woman, and she knows it.”
“Does she?”
“Yep. That’s why she digs at you. You’re a worthy opponent.”
“This is rather too reminiscent of Gladiator for me to be comfortable. Where are you going?”
He steers me into a small room full of boots and coats. “I’m grabbing you a coat and boots. It’s fucking freezing out there and you don’t have any suitable clothes.”
I stand watching as he rifles through the gear. “Won’t someone mind?”
“No, this is all for guests.”
He exclaims in triumph and hands me an olive-green parka and then crouches to sort through the wellies.
“Well, I’m going to look super in this getup. Like a countrified moped rider.”
He shakes his head. “You’d look fantastic in a bin bag.”
He hands me a pair of wellies, and I look dubiously at them. “You want me to wear these?”
He smirks. “No, I want you to put them on your head and do a dance.”
I trail after him as he exits the room and heads into reception. At the coat rack by the fire, he grabs a navy parka I recognise as his. He retrieves a pair of gloves from the pocket and hands them to me.
“Bin bag, eh? The compliments are coming thick and fast today,” I observe, pulling the gloves on.
He meets my eyes, and he’s warm and rumpled and so handsome he makes my breath catch. I fiddle with the zip on my coat to distract myself. Then I tut as it gets stuck.