She seemed satisfied with that, though she masked it with a lofty nod. “Good. I should dislike sharin’ me domain.”
He laughed under his breath. “Yer domain?”
“Aye,” she insisted. “I have claimed it.”
“Have ye now?”
“I have,” she said, gesturing toward the flowers and trees. “And ye are but a humble attendant within it.”
He approached her again, slower this time. “If I am humble, me lady,” he said softly, “it is only before ye.”
She lowered the flask, her fingers tightening around it. “Careful, servant,” she whispered. “Ye verge on impropriety.”
He bent slightly, bringing his face level with hers. “Then perhaps the Lady should dismiss me.”
She held his gaze, breath shallow. “I think… I shall keep ye.”
A slow smile curved his mouth. “Wise choice.”
He straightened and reached for the flask gently, taking it from her hand. “Enough for now,” he said. “I’ll nae have ye dizzy atop a bruised ankle.”
She sighed dramatically. “So strict.”
“So protective,” he corrected.
He settled onto the grass near her log, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The firelight flickered between them, painting gold along her tangled hair.
“Yer servant awaits further orders,” he murmured.
She leaned slightly toward him. “Stay,” she said simply.
And this time, he obeyed without jest.
Ian rose from the log and crossed to the horse, the leather of the saddle creaking as he tugged free a worn satchel. He felt Arianna’s gaze upon him as he rummaged within, drawing out a small loaf of brown bread and a wedge of sharp cheese wrapped in cloth. He returned to her side and settled close enough that their shoulders brushed, the warmth of her seeping through the wool of his plaid.
“A humble morsel for a Lady,” he said lightly, breaking the bread in two and offering her the larger portion.
“Indeed,” Arianna replied, though her eyes sparkled as she accepted it. “See that ye daenae starve me, servant, else I shall complain of yer negligence.”
Ian huffed a quiet laugh and sliced the cheese with his dirk, placing a thick piece atop her bread before tending to his own. “Daenae eat much of it,” he warned gently, “save yer appetite, for I mean to make ye a proper meal afore the night is done.”
She raised a brow, her lips curving as she chewed. “Is that so, Ian? Ye think yerself capable of such finery?”
He leaned back upon his hands and regarded her with mock offense. “Capable? Lady McGuire, ye wound me. I’ve fed men on battlefields with naught but smoke and stubbornness to season the pot.”
“Then I cannae wait to see what ye conjure with trees and air,” she teased. “I shall sit here and judge ye most harshly.”
He rose with exaggerated obedience and bowed low before her. “Then I best get to work, lest I suffer the wrath of me Lady.”
Ian moved about the clearing with steady purpose, gathering stones for cooking near the fire he had already kindled. The flames licked upward now, casting amber light upon Arianna’s face as the sun dipped lower beyond the trees. From the satchel, he drew a small pouch of oats, strips of salted fish, a handful of onions, and sprigs of thyme wrapped in linen. He fetched his iron pot and filled it with water from the brook, setting it carefully over the fire.
Arianna watched him with open curiosity, her injured ankle propped upon the log. “What sorcery is this?” she called. “Porridge and fish? Ye mean to feed me soldier’s fare.”
Ian glanced over his shoulder, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Aye, soldiers’ fare kept many a man alive, and it shall keep ye well too.”
He sliced the salted fish into small pieces and cast them into the pot, the scent rising at once. In went the onions, chopped fine, and the thyme crushed between his fingers before he dropped them in.
“The secret,” he said as he stirred with a wooden spoon, “is patience, and a steady hand.” Arianna laughed softly. “I would never have thought ye possessed either.”
