Page 54 of The Ruthless Laird's Virgin
“And did he rescue you?” She finished picking up the last of the herbs and placed them in the basket.
“He laughed first, and then one of the men who was with him dove in to save me. At least I lived,” he said solemnly with just a hint of a smile dancing around his lips.
Eleanor smiled despite herself.
Callum pointed toward the castle. “Every soul in there learned how to belong by making a fool of themselves. They will not tell ye so if ye ask, but all of us have had to learn our place one way or another.”
“I somehow doubt that ye ever made a fool of yerself worse than I did in the kitchens this mornin’.” She said doubtfully.
“Cook accidentally once used salt instead of sugar to make her famous cakes,” he said matter-of-factly.
Eleanor blinked. “Truly?”
“As true as the fact that I used to be a bairn when I was first born.” He nodded.
The image was so unexpected that she burst out laughing. Callum, as a baby, certainly was not something that she had pictured.
Callum grinned. “There she is.”
“There is who?” She looked at him in confusion.
“That laugh,” he said seriously.
Her laughter faded, and for a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
The courtyard suddenly felt very small, and far too quiet for her liking. What did it mean when he made comments like that? He had never said anything about what had happened in the cabin between them, but it constantly played on her mind. Were they still just pretending to be betrothed, or had something more suddenly begun to happen between them? Her cheeks flushed again with color as heat crept up the back of her neck. All of the confusion was making her slightly dizzy.
Callum's gaze remained fixed on her face. “Ye spend so much time worrying about fitting in here.” He suddenly spoke again. “The truth is, Eleanor, most of the castle already likes ye. Ye have come in and won the hearts of many. Marion and even Iain seem to care a great deal about ye.
And ye?
She almost wanted to ask, but looked away. “They daenae…”
“They do,” he insisted.
Turing her head back to him, she took a deep breath. She had desperately wanted to ask him how he felt about her, but she could not seem to muster the courage. “How do ye ken that they care about me?”
“Because they keep talking about ye,” he said simply.
Her eyes widened. “They do?” She felt a fluttering in the pit of her stomach.
“Aye, Iain tells me that Marion speaks of nothin’ else but ye whenever they are together.”
“What do they say?” She finished gathering the herbs and stood, dusting off her knees and her skirts.
“The mistress who attempted to save a lamb, but nearly died.” His tone was teasing again.
“Oh, wonderful,” she rolled her eyes and hoisted the basket onto her hip, taking care not to drop it again.
Getting to his feet, Callum dusted his hands together with a wide grin. “Or the woman who spends most of her time in the study.”
“Callum…” She said his name through a sigh as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“The woman who nearly declared war on a basket,” he continued, unperturbed by her protests.
Using one arm to grip the basket, she swatted at him and missed when he quickly jumped out of the way.
He caught her wrist before she could pull away. Neither of them moved, while a smile lingered at the corner of his mouth. “Ye belong here more than ye think, lass.” The teasing was gone, and the sincerity in his eyes caught her completely off guard.
