Chapter 15
Oscar crossed the kitchen threshold behind Ceana and Paisley, still carrying Tommy.
Ceana hiked up her skirts and went straight to the worktable. “Warm water and clean linen, please.”
The cook stopped midway through an instruction. The kitchen maids fell silent too when they spotted Oscar. He usually came to the kitchen for storage or to give an urgent order.
“Carry on,” he ordered, setting Tommy on a sturdy stool.
The boy saw the honey pot warming near the fireplace and began to wriggle. “I can stand, Da. Me knee feels better now.”
“A better knee can still be washed,” Ceana said. She kneeled with a bowl of warm water and pressed a damp cloth to the scrape. “Tell me when it hurts.”
“There.” Tommy gripped the stool.
Ceana paused for a moment, then gently cleaned the last of the dirt from the wound. Once she had tied clean linen around his knee, she rose and faced the cook.
“What can the kitchen spare for one batch of honeyed bannocks?”
“We have oatmeal and flour enough for a modest batch,” the cook replied. “Warm milk as well, me Lady. I can spare butter and honey to finish them.”
“Then we shall make do handsomely.” Ceana rolled her sleeves to her forearms.
Flour and oatmeal went into a wooden bowl.
She rubbed butter through the oatmeal, then added warm milk while Tommy stirred from his stool.
She laughed when he claimed the spoon as the rightful reward for his suffering and also warned him that his injured knee didn’t mean he had any more rights than usual over the bannocks.
Paisley watched from beyond the worktable.
“Can ye shape them evenly and judge when they require turnin’?” Ceana asked.
“I have helped the cook before.”
“Good. Ye must show me how thin the next round should be.”
The cook gave Paisley a wooden knife and placed her beside the girdle. When the dough held together, Paisley shaped the first bannock and laid it on the hot iron. She waited for the bottom to set before sliding the blade beneath it.
“That is quite a clean turn, Lady Paisley,” the cook praised.
Paisley straightened and shaped the next bannock. Ceana held up her own piece of dough for the girl’s judgment, then pressed it thinner at her direction.
Oscar had meant to settle Tommy, decide whether a healer was needed, and return to Lennan’s questions about the eastern border. Instead, he remained beside the table and watched as Ness appeared in the doorway with her nose raised toward the oats.
“Keep that creature away from the girdle,” the cook warned.
“She may stay by the door if Tommy keeps her there,” Ceana said.
Tommy placed a dry heel from the scrap bowl near the threshold. “Stay, Ness. I am responsible for ye.”
Ceana pressed the last dough beneath her palm, flour coating her fingers and the inside of her wrist. She laughed when Tommy pulled the spoon from the thick mixture and nearly sent it over his shoulder. She moved among the children as if she had occupied the kitchen for years.
Those flour-marked hands had cleaned his son’s wound and placed real responsibility in his daughter’s grasp. Oscar found it quite fascinating how she had managed to give each child a place without demanding attention for herself.
The cook glanced at him. “Do ye require anythin’, me Laird?”
“I came to determine whether Tommy’s wound required a healer or merely honey.” He studied his son’s intent face. “If honeyed bannocks can cure a scraped knee, then half me warriors will be limpin’ by supper.”
Ceana’s eyes brightened, and her mouth curved. “Then ye had better guard the honey stores.”
A few oats dropped near the table, making Ness abandon the crust and cross the room. Oscar turned just in time to watch Tommy spring from the stool, gasping when the scrape pulled.
“Tommy, wait!”
The boy caught the table to steady himself, but it was too late. His elbow struck the shallow bowl used to dust the work surface just as Oscar caught him beneath the arms.
The bowl tipped across Oscar’s shoulder, sleeve, and chest before the remaining flour spilled over the board. Luckily, the spill missed the bannocks and the hot girdle.
For the better half of a minute, every servant stopped moving.
Tommy regained his feet and placed himself before Ness. “She only followed what I dropped.” His chin trembled. “Please, Da, daenae send her away.”
Oscar looked down at his hands and the flour all over them. He could feel some on his face as well, but one problem at a time.
“Take her back and tie her lead securely,” he instructed. “Then return to yer stool.”
Tommy obeyed.
Behind him, Ceana stifled a chuckle. Oscar turned slowly to look at her, blowing the last of the flour from his lips. He narrowed his eyes at her, studying the way her lips pressed together.
“Does me appearance amuse ye?” he drawled.
Ceana covered her mouth, trying to muffle a proper laugh this time. “I suppose the flour has made ye look less alarmin’.”
She brushed his shoulder, leaving flour on his coat. Oscar looked down at it, his lips parting, then looked back up at her.
“Really?”
“Aye, really.”
He brushed some flour from his sleeve and drew a line across her cheek.
“Da struck first!” Tommy shouted.
Paisley laughed before quickly covering her mouth.
“Ye must judge us,” Ceana said. “Which of us started this war?”
“Faither did.” Paisley marked his other sleeve with one flour-dusted finger. “This is his punishment.”
Oscar examined it gravely. “I accept the rulin’.”
Paisley laughed again as the cook moved before the flour bin.
Oscar raised one hand. “The bin remains closed. Ye may only use what has spilled on the board.”
Ceana swept two fingers through the flour and reached for him. He dodged her and followed when she retreated around the worktable. Near its end, he caught her flour-covered wrist.
“Is this how Lady MacKane governs her household?”
“Only when Laird MacKane requires correction.”
He brushed his thumb over her cheek, spreading the flour closer to her mouth. He then stared at the pale streak, remembering the press of her fingers and the heat of her mouth on his on their wedding night.
Ceana’s laughter faded. Her breath brushed his knuckles, and her gaze dropped to his lips.
“Release our lady,” Paisley demanded.
“Aye,” Tommy said. “She has bannocks to cure me.”
Oscar opened his hand. The children marked his back with flour-dusted fingers while he pretended to turn too late, their shrieks filling the kitchen. The cook watched him for a heartbeat, then struck the wooden knife against the table.
“The bannocks need to be flipped before they burn.”
Ceana returned to the girdle and spread warmed honey across each bannock. Tommy received the first and requested another before swallowing two bites.
“Me knee may require a second,” he said.
“The first has cured yer knee,” Ceana replied. “A second would be just greed.”
Paisley chose the least even bannock and set it before Oscar. “This one is yers. Ye interrupted me shapin’.”
He ate it at the kitchen table.
Tommy forgot about his wound until he jumped from the stool and hissed. Ceana set him back on it with a reminder that feeling better did not mean he had healed, while the maids resumed their duties around them.
Mairi appeared in the doorway, saw Oscar seated with his flour-streaked family, and withdrew without interrupting. Paisley laughed again without searching his face because honey was stuck around Tommy’s fingers. Across the table, Ceana smiled at him with flour still on her cheek.
Oscar wanted this noise to greet him whenever he entered his home. He also wanted the woman who had made it possible more than anything. Another night with her could put a child inside her, and he had sworn never to stake her life on that chance.
The thought tightened his chest. He flexed his flour-streaked fingers against his knee.
Ceana noticed the flour near his hairline. “Ye will need a bath, husband.”
Oscar looked at the flour on her cheek. “Aye.”
He could remove the flour. Keeping his hands off her afterward would require more effort. Far more effort.
Ceana retreated to their chamber after the children fell asleep, the taste of honey still on her tongue and Paisley’s laughter fresh in her ears.
Tommy had declared himself fully healed after several bannocks. Paisley had repeated the tale of Oscar’s flour-covered face twice before allowing Ceana to draw the blankets over her shoulders.
Oscar had left the children’s rooms ahead of her.
His bath had yet to be cleared away, the water rippling as it cooled, and the rough map of the eastern border covered the table beside it.
Lennan’s report lay in one corner, while Oscar’s sword weighed down the other.
A charcoal mark showed where the cattle had gone missing.
Beyond the table, the bedcovers had been turned down.
He stood beside the bath with wet hair and a loose linen towel knotted low around his hips.
Ceana stopped in the doorway.
Oh.
Water slid down Oscar’s chest and followed the pale scar beneath his ribs.
Ceana had traced that scar with one finger on their wedding night and felt his breath deepen beneath her touch.
She knew the feel of his chest against hers and the hardness of his stomach beneath her palms. The low knot of the towel drew her gaze because she knew what it covered.
A mild soreness lingered between her thighs. It brought back the warm cloth Oscar had slid over her tender skin afterward and the care with which he had helped her into her nightgown.
His mouth curved when he caught her staring.
“Did ye manage to remove all the flour?” she asked.
“I believed I had until ye began inspectin’ me.”
Heat rose into her cheeks, though the humor in his voice kept her from turning away. “Tommy considers himself cured. Paisley stopped him from stealin’ a fourth bannock, and the cook believes the kitchen may recover.”
“Good. I couldnae write the conclusion better if I tried.”
Ceana glanced at the map. “Did Lennan’s scouts find anythin’?”
“Tracks near the eastern grazin’ ground. They will search again at first light.”
His voice was even, so she let the matter rest. When he shifted, the firelight revealed a pale streak near his hairline.
“Ye missed a spot.” She crossed to him and raised her hand.
Oscar caught her wrist before her fingers reached his temple. His grip was gentle, his thumb resting beneath her palm. Her fingertips touched the inside of his wrist, where his pulse beat faster than his calm expression let on.
The amusement vanished from his face. “Daenae look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like ye can feel every place I touched ye.”
Ceana stood close enough to smell clean linen and damp skin. “I do remember, though.”
“So do I.”
His gaze trailed down her body. It followed the shape of her breasts beneath her gown and slid lower to the thighs his hands had uncovered the night before. His jaw tightened as he forced his eyes back to her face.
“I am tryin’ to keep me distance,” he said. “Ye look at me as though ye want me closer, and it makes the effort considerably harder.”
Ceana looked past him at the mattress. “It is our bed.”
She moved half a step closer, her dress brushing his bare shin. His manhood thickened and tented the towel.
His fingers tightened around her wrist. “If I touch ye, ye ken where it will end.”
The sight of his arousal sent heat through her, stirring a pulse between her thighs. He wanted her, and his body had answered before she could doubt him.
“I cannae conceive,” she assured him.
“I heard ye. I understood everythin’ ye told me.”
“Then why are ye holdin’ back?”
“Because ye may be wrong.”
Ceana’s breath caught. “Ye accepted that risk on our weddin’ night.”
His eyes stayed on hers. “Aye, I accepted it. If I touch ye now, I will accept it again. I will take ye back to the bed and finish inside ye, and I willnae stake yer life on the hope that ye are right.”
Her inner walls clenched at the image he had given her. She remembered the feel of him spilling deep inside her. The pulse between her thighs grew until she had to resist pressing closer.
Oscar stood aroused within reach, fully aware of what another touch would lead to. He had denied himself the same thing he denied her. She could no longer mistake his distance for a lack of desire.
“How long do ye intend to keep yer distance?”
His grip loosened. He looked at the bed, then back at her. “I daenae ken.”
One night she could have borne, but his uncertainty included tomorrow and every night that followed.
“The part about livin’ separate lives has survived the weddin’, then.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. His fingers flexed once around her wrist, then relaxed again. Soon enough, he released her. The same hand rose to her cheek, and his thumb brushed over the spot that had been marked with flour earlier.
Ceana leaned into his touch. After everything he had admitted, she expected the contact to shatter his restraint. Instead, he bent and kissed her.
His mouth rested softly against hers, closed and careful. She answered at once. She parted her lips and pressed one hand against his damp chest, trying to absorb his heat. His fingers twitched against her face, and his lips opened beneath hers.
But then he lifted his head, his breath brushing across her mouth. His thumb slid once more along her cheek before his hand dropped away.
“Good night, Ceana.” He turned away.
He pulled on linen drawers and a shirt, while she stood beside the bath, her lips tingling. He placed Lennan’s report beneath his sword, then carried both to the stool beside the bed. He lay on the far edge of the mattress and faced the wall.
Ceana changed into her nightgown while he kept his face turned away. The linen brushed the tender place between her thighs as she climbed into bed beside him. A narrow strip of sheet separated them.
Oscar held himself so still that the tension showed in his shoulders. A few minutes passed, and still his breathing did not change.
Ceana did not answer. The marriage bed had given him something new to fear.