‘Twas remarkable.
“Where are we going first?”
“I have to order cheese.” She tugged him toward a wagon where a board-thin woman was haggling with a customer. Actually, referring to her as a board was an accurate description; the woman was tall and straight, as well as being thin, and looked about as weathered as the side of an old barn. “This is Melba.”
The woman merely glared at Alistair, so he didn’t introduce himself. Instead, he listened to Lara list her order and her explanation for what she planned on using the cheese for at the celebration. Finally, Melba’s dry, stern lips cracked, one corner lifting upward, as she inclined her head stiffly.
“Ye’ll have yer order two days ahead of the celebration, lass. I approve of yer choices.”
Lara reacted as if given a benediction from a queen. “Oh, thank ye,” she gasped, offering as much of a curtsey as possible, given she still held her basket and Alistair’s arm. “And I hope ye’re planning on attending the celebration?”
“We shall see,” the old woman muttered stiffly before turning to another customer and allowing Lara to tug him away.
“She was…prickly,” Alistair murmured.
“Melba makes the best cheese in the clan, but ye have to ken how to deal with her.”
“And ye do?”
She shrugged, leading him toward the smithy. “Of course. Who do ye think has been buying cheeses for yer menus all these years?”
Shaking his head, Alistair blew out a breath. “ ’Tis remarkable, lass. I’ve devoted my life to helping these people, but ye ken them so much better than I do. I feel as if I’ve been missing out.”
“Ye have been.” She offered him a little smile, then ducked into the smithy, leaving him to follow, while frowning over her words.
He watched as she haggled with Edward—Duncan and Finn’s stepfather, the smith—over the cost of fixing a kettle’s handle. ‘Twas so simple, but she handled it with such grace and good humor, causing the big man to chuckle a few times, before they settled on a price. She pulled the broken utensil from the basket on her arm, then left both it and the basket with Edward.
In the corner, Alistair’s brother Duncan bent over a smaller anvil, working with a delicate piece of silver. He’d glanced up when they’d come in, his gaze sweeping from Alistair to Lara, then back to his brother again. But he only smiled, nodded approvingly, and went back to his work.
“Thank ye verra much,” Lara said firmly, as she shook Edward’s hand. “Give my love to yer wife and daughters, please.”
“Aye,” the big man—as taciturn as Duncan—grunted, but he nodded politely. Dunc lifted his delicate hammer in acknowledgement, and Alistair waved goodbye as Lara pulled him out into the daylight.
“Now where?”
“The pig!”
He grinned as they headed for the butcher. “Will ye tell me what ye’re thinking?”
She pretended to think it over, but he could tell from her grin she was teasing him. “Nay,” she finally quipped, “I like this side of ye.”
“Och, which side of me, lass?”
Grinning mischievously, she said, “This side of ye where ye give up control. I like kenning ye trust me to make the right menu decisions.”
He trusted her with a lot more than that. But he merely nodded.
And she sent him a naughty wink filled with all sorts of interesting promises. “So ye’ll have to just give up control when it comes to finding out about the pig.”
So he did.
When they arrived at the butcher, Alistair moved to one side, crossed his arms in front of his chest, settled his weight, and watched her. She was a joy to behold, alternately flirting and teasing and haggling with the man. When the butcher pointed to a large three-legged pig—which was happily nosing around in a small enclosure—she shook her head emphatically and waggled her finger at him.
“Dinnae think ye can sell me that hero, John Oliphant! Just tell me what kind of hog ye’ll be able to get for me by next week, and how much ye’ll charge me!”
They quickly reached an agreement, and Lara pulled some coin from a purse on her belt. “This will serve for now. I’ll have to sweet-talk some more from the coffers before we take delivery.”
When she winked over her shoulder at Alistair, the butcher chuckled. “Methinks the lad willnae mind yer attempts at sweet-talking.”
After, Alistair offered her his arm again, then bent his head toward hers as they strolled. “He’s right, ye ken,” he murmured. “I’ll no’ mind yer attempts at sweet-talking.”
“Why, milord!” she gasped, slapping her hand against her chest dramatically. “Ye’re no’ suggesting I use my feminine charms to gain coin? When ‘tis for the betterment of the clan?”
He tugged her to a stop, not caring that they stood in the middle of the market. It felt right to be with her this way, and it felt even more right to hold her. He settled his hands on her hips.
“Since ye refuse to tell me why ye want a pig, I have to assume ‘tis for yer own depraved purposes.”
“Depraved!” Her tone was shocked, but her eyes twinkled as she rested her fingertips on his forearms. “Ye think I would do something naughty?”
Remembering the way she’d touched him in his solar, then told him to touch himself, Alistair suppressed a shiver. “I think I’m learning all sorts of things about ye, Lara. Things I never suspected.”
Her eyes rounded, but he saw only curiosity, and a strange glimmer of hope. “Like what?”
“Like how much I like ye,” he murmured. “When I wasnae looking, ye grew into a beautiful, charming woman.”
Suddenly, her smile flashed. “I’m glad ye noticed. I’ve been noticing plenty about ye.”
His heart began to pound. “Oh, aye? Like what?” He realized her answer mattered more than he’d suspected.
“Like…” She winked, her fingers stroking lightly at the sleeve of his shirt. “Like how much I like ye now that ye’re relaxed.”
I’m relaxed, thanks to her.
“Aye,” she continued. “Ye need time away from yer duties. ‘Tis good for ye. Have ye considered what I said in yer solar?”
Give up control.
Only every night, when he took himself in hand and tried to capture some of the bliss she’d given him.
Wait, nay, was she speaking of something else?
His confusion must’ve shown, because her lips quirked. “About Kiergan taking over the correspondence? ‘Twill be good for him, and verra, verra good for ye. To give up some—”
“Control, aye.” He sighed. “I havenae, but ye are right. He needs this responsibility.”
“And ye need him to have that responsibility. ‘Twill give ye some freedom. Ye need to have time for yerself.”
He was studying her eyes, so changeable. Today they were more brown than gray, and there was an intensity he hadn’t expected.
She cares.
He blinked.
Lara had come to him in his solar. She’d massaged his tight muscles, taught him how to give up control, brought him to an excellent orgasm. She sought him out, made him smile, made him laugh, made him relax…because she cared.