Pleased at the realisation that the batch was probably her personal best, she dropped the charade. “I’m glad ye like them. I spent the morn makin’ em.”
Alexander’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Ye made these?”
Isla nodded, using the back of her hand to hide a grin under the pretence of wiping away a smudge of currant juice. “Ye didnae think I could cook?”
His broad shoulders rose and fell as he shrugged. “I never thought of it, to tell ye the truth.” His swept his gaze over her from head to toe and grinned mischievously. “I had other things on my mind.”
A thrill of excitement rippled through Isla’s consciousness, but she held his gaze as she sidled up to the horse, close enough to lay a hand on his knee. Warmth blossomed in her core, too, as she brushed the inside of his thigh with her fingertips and saw in her mind’s eye what lay beneath his kilt. After two weeks of marriage—during which they’d frequented their bed, along with a few other less conventional places—she was able to effortlessly summon a perfect mental image of that considerable length of flesh.
“Oh, aye? Like what?” After two weeks as his wife, she knew perfectly well what, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear him say it.
He caught her hand in his and drew it under the tartan fabric. “I think ye ken—”
His demonstration was abruptly cut short by the horse, which turned its head to nose in Isla’s apron. Surprised, Isla came perilously close to losing her now one-handed hold on its corners, and one of the scones tumbled to the ground. Another was seized smartly by the grey gelding and promptly consumed.
Alexander cursed and swung out of the saddle, seizing the animal’s head and stepping between it and Isla. “Sorry. I should hae been payin’ closer attention to the beast.”
“I suppose ye had other things on your mind again,” Isla said, drawing close to Alexander as she cradled the couple of remaining scones in her apron.
She’d caught quite an eyeful of the rapidly stiffening flesh beneath his kilt as he’d swung down from the horse, and they were close enough now that his erection pressed against her through the fabric. It bulged against her belly, and he made no move to usher her away. The only attention he gave the horse was a firm hold on the reins—the rest he devoted to her. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and clutched her against him, crushing the scones between their bodies.
“Aye, well, can ye blame me?” he asked. “‘Tis the first day since we met I’ve had to spend without ye.” He grinned. “Ye’ve turned me into a useless lout, I’m afraid.”
She privately thought of a very specific use for him and the growing hardness against her middle, but no sooner had she prepared to voice the suggestion aloud than a figure on horseback interrupted their solitude.
The animal was galloping, its rider’s kilt flapping dangerously around his knees. Isla had seen the red-bearded man before and knew him as one of Benstrath’s tenant farmers, though she struggled to recall his name. Whoever he was, he appeared to be riding with significant purpose, half-standing in the saddle with his blue eyes wide and fixed on Alexander.
The young grey gelding whinnied shrilly at the sight of the other horse and began to dance. Alexander handled his mount skilfully, finally tearing his attention from Isla to divide it between his horse and the man who was swiftly approaching.
“What is it, Will?” he asked when the red-haired man had reigned his horse to an abrupt halt.
“A stranger,” Will huffed, his eyes shining as he delivered the news, “down at the mill pond!”
“The mill pond?”
“Aye, he’s fallen in. The fool had galloped his horse into a lather, and he fell straight off the beast as he passed the pond and tumbled right into the water.”
Alexander frowned. “Ye didnae leave the man drowning to come and fetch me, did ye?”
Will shook his head
Alexander’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Ye made these?”
Isla nodded, using the back of her hand to hide a grin under the pretence of wiping away a smudge of currant juice. “Ye didnae think I could cook?”
His broad shoulders rose and fell as he shrugged. “I never thought of it, to tell ye the truth.” His swept his gaze over her from head to toe and grinned mischievously. “I had other things on my mind.”
A thrill of excitement rippled through Isla’s consciousness, but she held his gaze as she sidled up to the horse, close enough to lay a hand on his knee. Warmth blossomed in her core, too, as she brushed the inside of his thigh with her fingertips and saw in her mind’s eye what lay beneath his kilt. After two weeks of marriage—during which they’d frequented their bed, along with a few other less conventional places—she was able to effortlessly summon a perfect mental image of that considerable length of flesh.
“Oh, aye? Like what?” After two weeks as his wife, she knew perfectly well what, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear him say it.
He caught her hand in his and drew it under the tartan fabric. “I think ye ken—”
His demonstration was abruptly cut short by the horse, which turned its head to nose in Isla’s apron. Surprised, Isla came perilously close to losing her now one-handed hold on its corners, and one of the scones tumbled to the ground. Another was seized smartly by the grey gelding and promptly consumed.
Alexander cursed and swung out of the saddle, seizing the animal’s head and stepping between it and Isla. “Sorry. I should hae been payin’ closer attention to the beast.”
“I suppose ye had other things on your mind again,” Isla said, drawing close to Alexander as she cradled the couple of remaining scones in her apron.
She’d caught quite an eyeful of the rapidly stiffening flesh beneath his kilt as he’d swung down from the horse, and they were close enough now that his erection pressed against her through the fabric. It bulged against her belly, and he made no move to usher her away. The only attention he gave the horse was a firm hold on the reins—the rest he devoted to her. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and clutched her against him, crushing the scones between their bodies.
“Aye, well, can ye blame me?” he asked. “‘Tis the first day since we met I’ve had to spend without ye.” He grinned. “Ye’ve turned me into a useless lout, I’m afraid.”
She privately thought of a very specific use for him and the growing hardness against her middle, but no sooner had she prepared to voice the suggestion aloud than a figure on horseback interrupted their solitude.
The animal was galloping, its rider’s kilt flapping dangerously around his knees. Isla had seen the red-bearded man before and knew him as one of Benstrath’s tenant farmers, though she struggled to recall his name. Whoever he was, he appeared to be riding with significant purpose, half-standing in the saddle with his blue eyes wide and fixed on Alexander.
The young grey gelding whinnied shrilly at the sight of the other horse and began to dance. Alexander handled his mount skilfully, finally tearing his attention from Isla to divide it between his horse and the man who was swiftly approaching.
“What is it, Will?” he asked when the red-haired man had reigned his horse to an abrupt halt.
“A stranger,” Will huffed, his eyes shining as he delivered the news, “down at the mill pond!”
“The mill pond?”
“Aye, he’s fallen in. The fool had galloped his horse into a lather, and he fell straight off the beast as he passed the pond and tumbled right into the water.”
Alexander frowned. “Ye didnae leave the man drowning to come and fetch me, did ye?”
Will shook his head
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