Page 83 of A Scot in the Storm
“Go downstairs, Abigail.”
Not Mistress Abigail.
Abigail.
Soft enough to undo her completely.
Rory looked at her again then, and something raw flickered there fast enough she nearly missed it.
“Please.”
That was worse. Much worse.
Abigail picked up the abandoned tool from the bench because otherwise she might have reached for him instead.
“All right.”
She left before the wanting in the room consumed all the air.
Later, Ewan stood in the kitchen annihilating carrots with unnecessary violence.
Several already-mangled pieces littered the board.
Abigail eyed them cautiously.
“Mrs. Gable would call that a crime.”
“Aye, well. Mrs. Gable’s no’ here.”
“She’s behind you.”
Ewan closed his eyes briefly.
Mrs. Gable smacked the back of his head lightly with a folded towel while Tobias nearly choked laughing into his ale.
For a few precious minutes the kitchen felt almost ordinary again.
Then Ewan sobered.
“A message came. Cathcart will come soon.”
Silence settled quietly around the table as Abigail set down the potatoes she’d been peeling.
“What’s he like?”
Ewan considered.
“Men like Cathcart want the truth,” he continued. “And they have patience enough to wait while ye run out of lies.”
The fire cracked softly in the hearth.
After Ewan and Tobias had left, Abigail looked down at the shawl.
“Should I stop wearing it?”
Mrs. Gable snorted from the stove. “Does it keep ye warm?”
“Yes.”
