“Father Ambrose cares about us all,” she said, still smiling as she cracked two eggs into a second bowl. “And I admire the fact he doesnae just care about our spiritual well-being.” Most of his lessons were about how to stay healthy, or how to live in peace with one’s neighbor. “I suspect the Oliphants will be better off for him being here.”
“I ken they will be. Let us hope he’s with us for many more years. ‘Twould be good for the next generation—our children—to be raised with such wisdom.”
The mention of his children—our children—sent a shiver through Lara. Since the laird’s declaration, she’d known Alistair would have to be married, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to stand it if he wooed another woman under her very nose.
When she’d discovered he’d asked his twin brother, Kiergan, to do the wooing—to find him a wife, since he was so busy—Lara had put her foot down. She was close with Kiergan, as close as any woman could be to a rake like him and not actually be in his bed, she supposed, and she confronted him. She’d told him if he so much as dared to woo a woman for his brother, she’d see to it he never got another berry tart for as long as she was in charge of the menus.
That was a real threat, as far as he was concerned, and he’d told Alistair he couldn’t help.
But Lara…? Lara had known she could help. And the other day, in Alistair’s solar, she had.
“What are ye doing with the eggs?”
Right. Focus, lass, she reminded herself. “I have to beat them first, see? Then I take a piece of the chicken and dunk it in the egg, getting it nice and goopy.” She demonstrated.
“Goopy?”
“ ’Tis a technical term among cooks.”
“Ah, I see.” His tone was teasing, and it made her heart feel lighter. “And then?”
“Then I plop it into the bowl with the spices.” Her fingers were clumped with egg, but that didn’t stop her from making sure the strip of meat was well-covered. “This is mainly flour, but there’s also salt and ground garlic, and a few other herbs.”
“Like the thyme.”
“Aye, it adds flavor. Look how the egg causes the flour and herbs to stick to and coat the chicken.” She moved quickly, dunking and coating all of the strips of chicken she’d cut.
“Now what?”
She threw a smile over her shoulder as she headed for the wash basin. “Just following the holy Father’s mandates. Raw chicken and all that.”
He chuckled. “Ye’re making me feel dirty, Lara. Mayhap I should’ve washed after my morning ride?”
“Nay,” she blurted, then offered a smile, as well as a blush. “I think ye smell fine. I mean—” Gah. “There’s naught wrong with a little leather and horse and sunshine.”
He’d blinked when she’d cried her denial as she had, but as Lara blundered through an explanation, his lips slowly curled upward. “Well, aright then.”
Her cheeks still flushed—part embarrassment, part pleasure, part heat—she hurried toward the hearth and the pan she’d set to heating there. The fire had long ago melted the fat into a layer of liquid, and now she flicked some water into the pan. It sizzled, telling her the fat was hot enough.
“Now, we fry the pieces,” she declared, bringing her board over to the hearth and placing the chicken in the hot oil. It spat and sizzled, but she worked fast and avoided being burned.
He came to stand beside her, and as she used a long tool to flip, then remove the meat, he held a plate for her to place them on. The strips of chicken were dripping with the hot oil, and the whole cavernous kitchen smelled delicious.
The two of them sat together at the small table in the corner, the plate between them.
“Ye first,” he insisted, staring dubiously at the fried, breaded chicken strips.
She nodded firmly, knowing these would be delicious. Aye, it burned her fingers a bit when she picked up a strip, but she blew on it, then took a dainty bite. The flavors—salt and bacon grease! Mm!—burst across her tongue, and she didn’t bother hiding her soft moan of pleasure.
He snatched up a piece himself, blew on it, then bit into it. His eyes widened, and with the meat still in his mouth, uttered, “St. Elzear’s sacred kneecaps, lass!”
Giggling, she took another bite, then another, and had to agree with him. ‘Twas saint-invokingly good!
“Mm!” he declared, popping one finger into his mouth to suck off the last of the flavor. Her eyes were riveted to that fingertip and those lips. When he pulled it out with an audible pop, she shivered.
“Ye like it?” she asked shyly, trying to keep her attention on her own chicken strip.
“I love it. I think ‘tis amazing like this, but imagine the possibilities!”
“What—what possibilities?” She risked a glance up and found him grinning.
He shrugged. “I imagine this travels fairly well, aye? We could pack it with us and take it on journeys to eat cold! We could smash it between two pieces of bread to keep our hands clean!”
Caught up in his excitement, she chuckled. “With a pickle? Mayhap some sauce of some sort?”
“We could call it a…a chicken sandwi— Nay, ‘tis a ridiculous word. Mayhap…a chicken-smashed-between-two-pieces-of-bread!” he declared triumphantly.
Giggling, she picked up another piece. “That sounds delicious. We’ve created a brand-new kind of cuisine, for certes”
“Nay, Lara, ye did.” His voice—and expression—turned soft. “I was just lucky to be here when it happened.”
The admiration in his tone warmed her as much as his gaze did. Instead of flushing in pleasure, however, she lifted her chin and accepted his praise. She knew she was a good cook, and she liked experimenting. Now he knew it too, and he liked it as well.
Which was, all things considered, absolutely wonderful.
“So, do ye think yer da will like it?”
“I think Da will love it. However…” Alistair frowned down at the remaining pieces between them.
“Aye?”
“I dinnae ken if, logistically, we can afford to slaughter enough pullets to feed the entire clan this amazing treat.”
He had a point, though it was one she’d already considered. The young chicken she’d culled from the flock this morning would serve to feed the two of them, plus the kitchen staff later today. But ‘twould take many dozens of chickens to serve the whole clan at the celebration, and these were not seasoned egg-layers, but pullets who had not yet served their purpose.
It would be considered wasteful and would likely ruin the festive tone of the event.
So the smile she offered was a little hesitant. “Well, between the two of us, I’m sure we’ll come up with a solution. Working together, I mean.”
“Aye.” His lips tugged up on one side in that adorably wry smile she hadn’t seen in so long. “Together.”
Blessed Virgin, but ‘twas nice to see him this way: teasing, happy, and so relaxed.
And all it had taken was a morning ride and a piece of fried chicken.
Nay, lass, all it took was ye teaching him to give up some of the control.
“How about yer mother?” he suddenly asked, reaching for his third piece of meat. “Will she approve of yer new recipe?”