Page 48 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

“You can eat what ye find, so long as it’s not on tonight’s menu,” the cook growled when he stepped into the kitchen, knowing it was him without even looking up. “Between dinner and the tonics for Himself, I havenae time to see to your stomach as well. Where has that child gotten to?”

As if on cue, Dorrie scampered through the door and reached up to set a cloth on the counter. Mrs. Kynoch opened it, revealing a few measly stalks of nettle.

“That won’t be enough for a week’s worth of tea, girl. I told you two big handfuls.”

“That’s all there was, Nanny,” Dorrie said with a shrug, grinning up at Si to show she’d lost a front tooth.

“All there was!” the cook shook her head, muttering, “Nettle thieves. I never in all my days. They’ll be after the rosemary next.”

“Thieves?” Si asked. What was going on around the place?

“What would you call it, milord? First it goes missing from me own larder, and then from the very ground it grows in, and mind ye don’t say it’s only my memory or my eyesight, or ye’ll get not a bite to eat for a week. Speak to Norval on it, won’t ye?”

Si shook his head solemnly. Had things really gotten so desperate that someone would resort to stealing plants? And what would anyone want with nettles? Unless…

“You’re giving it to my father? Is it dangerous in large amounts?”

Mrs. Kynoch stiffened. “And would I be giving it to the laird if it was, Silas MacKenzie?”

“I didn’t mean you,” he mumbled, but he had wondered exactly that and felt like absolute shit for it.

“If there were a chance it could poison, I wouldn’t give him a drop. I’d hope you’d know that, milord.”

“If you expect me to call you Morag, then you must call me Silas.”

“No, milord.”

He huffed. “Then would you please see that this goes by messenger to Aberdeen?” he asked, handing her the letter for the Frenchman. “One of Ced's lads could take it.”

The cook glanced at the address and then flicked an assessing gaze up at him. “To Ced, and not to milady?”

Si cleared his throat. “Right, of course. You’re much too busy. I’ll take it myself.” Anything to escape from her discerning eye.

A bracing ride was exactly what he needed. Staying in his room all day made Si cross and twitchy, even when he was studying his plants. He wasn’t meant to sit on a throne passing judgment, he was meant to be out in the air and the sun, turning the soil with his two broad hands. Fresh air and exercise would certainly clear his mind. Perhaps he’d take Bram along, make a day of it, practice swordplay upon their return.

He found his cousin in the garden, with his nose buried in delicate yellow flowers. Did the lad share Si’s scientific passions?

“You’ve nae seen a nettle thief about, have you?” Si teased.

“Only Dorrie,” Bram replied, squinting at the plant with one eye.

“Has St. John’s Wort such a subtle scent then?”

Bram leaned back on his heels, revealing a sketch pad in his lap and a pencil behind his ear.

“It has, in point of fact.” The boy eyed him warily.

Si had been away when his little cousin was born and returned for university soon after. When the Kintail went into exile, Bram had stayed at Leod with his mother. Now all these years later, bound up in each other’s futures though they might be, the cousins were veritable strangers. He hadn’t made enough effort with the lad since his return. His cousin skulked around the place enough to know Si meant to hand the lairdship back to him, and yet Bram seemed reluctant to spend any time in Si’s presence.

For a half second, Si wondered if St. John’s Wort could be toxic in large quantities, but he was seeing suspects at every turn. He needed to calm down.

“Would you like to ride into town with me, cousin? Or better yet, go and grab your sword. I’m in need of some practice.”

Bram scowled at him. “I have no sword.”

“Truly?”

“They’re outlawed,” the boy said, as though Si were the world’s biggest dullard.