“I’ll do it,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. He made her a slight bow and almost landed on top of her as a result.
“I could try,” she offered.
He shook his head, though rather gingerly. “I’ll manage.” He paused. “Wait for me?”
She looked up at him. “If you want me to.”
“I can’t even dance around the subject,” he said seriously. “Please stay with me.”
“I wouldn’t think to do otherwise, actually.”
He nodded, then turned away to walk into the croft’s wee kitchen. He looked impossibly tired, which she understood. She hadn’t wanted to grieve him any, but the truth was she could still bring to mind the events that he had recently relived. How Oliver was still on his feet when he was still carrying the weariness from their flight, she didn’t know.
She realized he had turned to look at her and she smiled in spite of her sorry thoughts.
“Still here,” she said, with her own attempt at cheerfulness.
He smiled gravely, then turned back to foraging in the refrigerator. She watched him pick out then put back half a dozen things before he found a baguette, broke it in half, and ate it, obviously without enjoyment. She suspected she might understand that more than she wanted to admit.
He finally came back over to stand with his back to the fire.
“What shall we do with our evening?” he asked with a weary smile.
“I’m powerfully fond of those murder mysteries on the BBC,” she said promptly. “Very entertaining.”
“We don’t have a TV,” he said.
She could have sworn she heard him addthankfullyunder his breath, but she might have been imagining that.
“A book, then?” she suggested. “I know that Mistress Moraig has several interesting titles on herbs and flowers—”
“I actually might have something better,” he said, going to the kitchen to rummage about in a stack of things there. He walked back over and sat down in one of the plump chairs there. He turned on the little lamp on the table between his and a differentchair covered in a lovely MacLeod plaid fabric, then reached over and patted that empty seat. “I’ll read to you.”
She would have blushed at the courtesy if she’d had a mortal frame, and she colored just the same as she sat down and rearranged her skirts. She looked at Oliver to find him watching her with a grave smile, though his smile faded quickly. She held up her hand.
“Please,” she said quickly, wondering if she sounded as desperate as she felt. “Let us take the evening and pretend that nothing has changed.”
He took a deep breath and nodded. “We’ll just assume that you are your lovely self and I’m a gentleman who’s decided to keep his hands off you for the moment.”
“Such chivalry,” she said lightly.
He inclined his head regally. “At your service, my lady.” He held up the book. “What do you think?”
She read the title, then smiled. “So Mistress Buchanan has moved on to Highland lairds, is that it?”
“There is ample material here for her to use,” he agreed.
She smiled at him, had a smile in return, then watched his smile fade just a bit.
“I’m very fond of you.”
“And I’m very fond of you,” she said. “The man you are and the boy you were.”
“Thank you for leaving out the middle years.”
She laughed a little in spite of herself. “Ach, weel, you were a terror.”
“I’ve matured.”
