“Will he be up to eating dinner?”
“In bed, perhaps. You might take it up to him.”
He looked uncertain. “I don’t know if he’ll want to see me.”
“See when he wakes up.”
Cam nodded. “What we making?”
She waved at the receipt book. “Ye choose.”
He flipped through the book. “Scotch broth and marmalade pudding.”
“What in Scotch broth?”
He read out the list of ingredients to her, and she checked the pantry. “Aye, we can manage that. What in pudding?”
“Milk, eggs, stale bread, dried fruit, marmalade-”
“What that?”
Cam reached behind her and pulled down a jar of something orange.
“It is like an orange jam. It’s sweet and tart and a little bitter.”
She nodded. “Sound good.”
“It needs cream.”
Two hours later, the soup was on the stove, and she was just putting the pudding in the oven, when Mac appeared. Despite sleep, he still looked tired and a bit rumpled. Cam was eating a slice of bread liberally spread with marmalade, but he dropped it at sight of his father and said, “How is Rory?”
“Awake and wondering what is for dinner,” said Mac with a grin.
“He’s better?” asked Cam anxiously.
“Aye, on the mend. He’s still tired, mind. I’ll keep him abed another day, but after that he should be getting back to normal.”
“Why don’t ye visit him and tell him what is for dinner,” suggested Aihan.
“Do ye think he’ll want to see me?” he asked.
“Aye,” said Mac. “He doesnae know it was yer snake, Cal, it’s up to ye what ye choose to tell him.”
Cam looked at Mac, his face working. “Ye didn’t tell him.”
“Nae, that’s yer job, Cal.”
Cam nodded, swallowing manfully. Then he gave his father an odd hug and ran out of the kitchen.
Mac watched him go with an expression on his face that punched a hole in Aihan’s chest. It hurt so much she gasped, taken aback by her own reaction.
Mac turned back to her, skirted the table and drew her into his arms. “I need to thank ye fer yesterday and last night, Hana. Ye were an enormous support.”
“Nae thanks necessary,” she said gruffly, staring at the open neck of his shirt.
“I love the way ye speak English with a Scot’s accent,” he said whimsically, and cupping her face, he kissed her. She leaned into the kiss, her arms going round his great bulk. He was satisfyingly and reassuringly solid. She derived a degree of comfort from that, which surprised her.
Melting into his kiss, she realised something was different. Previous kisses had been ravenous with need, but this one was—tender. Her heart did an odd flutter, and she tightened her arms round him involuntarily. He released her slowly and rested his chin on her head when she tucked her face into his chest. Neither of them spoke; she felt too full up and close to tears to say anything. The past twenty-four hours must have affected her more than she thought.
