The Laird's Return: A Highland Festive Romance Novella (The Immortal Highland Centurions) by Jayne Castel

Author:Jayne Castel [Castel, Jayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Winter Mist Press
Published: 2020-12-04T16:00:00+00:00

VIII

STARTING AFRESH

“CAN YE PASS me the bread, Robbie?” Elizabeth’s request broke the tense silence in the laird’s solar.

The three of them sat at the huge polished table—a light supper of braised cabbage, goat’s cheese, and fresh oaten bread before them. In the days leading up to Yule, the folk of Dunnottar avoided meat and ate simply, in preparation for the feasting that was to follow.

The roaring hearth cut through a cold evening. Outdoors the snow had ceased for a while, although a biting wind had sprung up, whistling in from the frozen north. It rattled the shutters and pushed its way in through any gaps it could find, causing a draft that made the flames in the hearth dance.

Robbie did as bid, his gaze shifting to his father though. “Captain Gaius chose a pony for me last summer … he’s a garron named ‘Hunter’.”

At the far end of the table, the laird smiled before lifting his pewter goblet to his lips. “A fine name for a pony.”

“He’s hardy,” Robbie assured his father. “A wee bit of snow won’t bother Hunter.”

“Even so … if there’s a blizzard, ye won’t be riding out in it.” Elizabeth spoke up, only to earn a reproachful look from her son. She didn’t like the role she’d unconsciously stepped into since her husband’s reappearance—that of watchdog. However, the words of censure flew from her mouth before she could prevent herself.

With a jolt, she realized that part of her sought to undermine Robert.

She’d been in charge here until two days ago, and although the responsibilities of laird had weighed upon her at times, she realized now that the power was hard to give up. She was supposed to revert to the role she’d had before Robert’s capture—that of biddable wife.

Women’s work was her ken now, the bigger decisions were not.

“This is a good supper,” Robert offered when silence stretched out once more. “Ye have no idea how I missed Scottish fare.”

“Was English food vile, Da?” Robbie asked, his gaze widening.

Robert pulled a face. “The food they served me was, at least.”

“We’re having spit-roasted venison for the Yuletide banquet,” Robbie replied, “followed by honey cakes and clotted cream.”

Robert rolled his eyes, flashing his son a grin. “Then I shall have to be careful not to gorge myself.” His gaze flicked to Elizabeth then. “I have happy memories of Yule, Robbie … yer mother and I were wed just before it.”

Robbie swallowed a large mouthful. “Really?”

“Aye … yer Ma had mistletoe in her hair, I remember … and wore a pale blue gown. She was beautiful. She still is.”

Robbie paused eating, his attention shifting to Elizabeth. “Ye are blushing Ma,” he observed with a cheeky smile.

“It’s warm in here.” Elizabeth muttered, reaching for her own goblet of wine.

They all knew she was lying though—the heat in her cheeks had more to do with her husband’s honeyed words.

I can’t believe I’m so easily flattered.

Elizabeth focused on her supper then, aware that Robert was watching her. Truthfully, it had been years since she’d felt beautiful.

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