Catriona sat alone at the worktable with the elecampane and the comfrey and the information Mairi had left behind, and thought about halls and dinner tables and men who hadn't said anything yet.
Nae yet.
She picked up the pestle and kept working.
The plant resisted him as if it had made a personal decision about it.
Anthony crouched at the base of the east wall in the grey light before sunrise, one gloved hand wrapped around the stem of something small and deeply uncooperative, and pulled.
The roots held.
He pulled with more intention. The roots held with equal intention.
He shifted his weight, changed the angle, and pulled a third time.
The plant released all at once and he rocked back on his heels, catching himself with one hand against the wall before he went down entirely.
Which was the only acceptable outcome because Fergus was standing eight feet away, watching all of this with his arms folded and the expression of a man who had a great deal to say and was choosing his moment.
Anthony examined the plant. Compared it to the others still in the ground.
Narrow stem. Pale underside on the leaf. Grows near stone, out of direct sun, nae in the open.
He'd paid more attention to that particular conversation than he'd given any outward sign of.
He discarded one stem that didn't look right, pulled three more, worked along the small cluster with the kind of careful attention he generally reserved for matters of considerably greater importance than plants.
"Me Laird," Fergus said.
"Nay."
"I've nae said anythin' yet."
"Ye're about to." Anthony crouched again, working at a stubborn root. "Whatever it is, keep it."
Fergus was quiet for approximately four seconds. "I only thought, ye could have sent a servant for this."
"I could have."
Anthony straightened, brushed dirt from the leaves with more care than was strictly necessary, and began sorting through what he'd pulled, setting aside the ones that looked right, discarding the rest.
"And by the time the mornin' meal was cleared, half the keep would be whisperin' I dote on the woman."
Fergus considered this. "And this is less conspicuous."
"Nobody saw me."
"Aye," Fergus said, with the tone of a man exercising considerable restraint. "Nobody saw ye."
"Wipe that expression off yer face."
"This is just me face, me Laird."
Anthony tied the bundle with the cord he'd brought. Pulled the knot firm, checked the stems were secure.
He held it out without looking at Fergus directly, because looking at him directly would require acknowledging the grin that was happening there, and he had no interest in doing that.
Fergus took the bundle with the care of a man who understood that the next thing he said could go a number of ways.
