Page 59 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“I’m famished,” Muir protested as his stomach gave an audible grumble of hunger.

Delia laughed, patting his flat belly with amusement. “Then you had best raid the kitchen. Did you not ask Mrs Paterson to provide something for us?”

He returned a sheepish grin and shrugged. “In all honesty, I’ve thought of nothing but my wedding night ever since ye said yes, but my brain snagged on the pleasure of it, and I did nae think so far as supper.”

“Well, now you’re regretting that oversight,” she said, laughing at his dismay.

“Ach, and I dinnae want to leave this cosy bed and go down to the kitchen,” he grumbled.

“Well, that’s why it’s best to be prepared. Never mind. You’ll just have to hurry, won’t you?” she said, making a show of snuggling down under the covers.

“Are ye nae coming with me?”

“No,” she said, giving him a sweet smile.

“Yer a hard woman, wife,” he said, shaking his head sadly. He slid from the bed, grumbling all the while, and picked up his kilt, wrapping it around himself with a few deft movements so it covered most of his body. Padding barefoot to the door, he unlocked it, pulled it open and gave an exclamation of delight.

“God bless Mrs Paterson!” he said, as Delia heard the chink of china. He came back into the room, kicking the door shut as he turned, holding aloft a heavy tray. “I will nae have ye saying she’s crabbit, Delia, for she is a fine woman. I’ve always said so.”

Delia shook her head at him as he set the laden tray upon the bed, shed the kilt, and climbed back in beside her.

“I never said she was crabbit, for I have no idea what it means,” Delia said mildly, helping herself to a chicken leg.

Muir picked up a pie filled with minced lamb and devoured it in three mouthfuls before reaching for another.

“Is there no cheese?” Delia asked, perusing the tray once she’d finished the chicken leg.

“Nae, Mrs Paterson would nae put cheese on a tray late in the evening. It gives ye strange dreams, ye ken.”

Delia rolled her eyes at him. “I like strange dreams,” she replied tartly, before frowning as an idea occurred to her. “Have you ever thought of making cheese?”

“Me? Nae, why ever would I?”

“Sheep’s cheese is lovely,” she said, shrugging.

“Lassie, there is enough work on the farm, I assure ye. Dinnae go looking for more, aye?” he said, laughing, and then hesitated as she continued to stare at him. “Are ye serious?”

“Maybe,” she said, holding his gaze. “Maybe not.”

Muir turned another pie between his hands, frowning over it for a moment. “I’ll ask Lyall. Happen they’ll have a book on the subject in the library. Ye can take a look and… and we’ll think on it. Aye?”

Delia smiled, reaching out and stroking his cheek. “Thank you, Muir.”

He caught hold of her hand, turning his face into it and kissing her palm. “Ye may need to give me a kick now and then, Delia, but I promise I’ll try my best not to be an ignorant lout.”

She laughed at that, and they carried on their meal. Delia discovered she enjoyed watching him eat, studying him as he reached for a bread roll, pulled it in half, slapped a generous amount of butter on each side and filled it with three thick slices of ham. He took a huge bite, and Delia viewed the sight in fascination as almost half the roll disappeared. Muir closed his eyes, chewing contentedly as she watched with amusement.

“Better now?” she asked once he’d swallowed.

“Nae, I hae to clear this tray I reckon, and then…” he said, lowering his voice and stroking an invisible moustache in the manner of a theatrical villain.

“Then?” Delia asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Then I shall have other appetites to satisfy.”

Delia sniggered, shaking her head at him.

“Yer nae to laugh at me when I’m being villainous,” he said, picking up a chicken leg and wagging it at her in disapproval. “’Tis nae polite. A good wife would gasp and make out like she was feart of me.”