Free Lord of the Highlands by Veronica Wolff

pray for some roast meat for supper.”
    “Can we take a walk?” she asked at his back. Preferably someplace very windy , she thought, eyeing the sway of his kilt along his thighs.
    “A . . .” He stopped in his tracks, staring at her in disbelief. “You’ve been riding all day and now you’d like to walk?”
    “Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She hadn’t really really wanted to, but now she was just feeling contrary.
    “Walk where?”
    “I don’t know. Around.” She panicked suddenly, realizing that, with his legs, the last thing he’d want to do after a day of hard riding was walk. “Maybe we could find something to go with the bunny.”
    Felicity was a whiz in the kitchen, and made a wicked good stew. Men loved it. They always loved her cooking.
    There had even been a time she’d dreamt of working in a restaurant, and had taken a bunch of cooking classes. She ended up scoring a plum job as a chef’s assistant, but her first night on the job had shocked her into reality. Everyone shouted at each other, cursing and jostling around in what felt like a thousand-degree kitchen. It’d been enough restaurant work for a lifetime.
    But a simple rabbit stew? She could definitely swing a decent rabbit stew. She just needed to find the right herbs. Then Will would see how clever she was. That she could take good care of him.
    “There has to be something green around here that we can eat,” she continued. “I’m dying to actually crunch into something fresh.”
    She gave him an encouraging smile.
    “Och.” He shook his head. “A walk. Aye, walk on, then.”
    “Well, you don’t have to be so grumpy about it,” she mumbled under her breath.
    Rollo pointed out a juniper bush, assuring her that the dark berries were edible, and with a whack of his cane, sent a shower of berries raining down.
    “But we need something else,” she mused, walking slowly along the old drover’s path. “How about this?” Felicity knelt by a thick, weedy clump of foliage. “I keep seeing it. It looks like it could be . . . I don’t know, mint or something.”
    “Lord no, lass. Those are nettles. Don’t even think about—”
    She didn’t know why she did it, all she knew was that the draw was irresistible. Her hand was out and gripping the nettle leaves before she knew what she was doing.
    “Ow!” There was a moment of tingling, then a sharp sting flushed over her palm and fingertips. “Ow ow ow.” She shook it out hard, but that didn’t stop the burning, or the tiny red welts that bloomed sudden and complete on her hand.
    “That was a fool thing to do.” His voice cut her, and Felicity didn’t know which stung more, the nettles, or the fact that his sharp words probably constituted the most he’d said to her for some time.
    “Whatever. It’s no big deal.” She wanted to shoot him a defiant glare, but felt her chin begin to quiver, and so turned her back on him instead.
    Her hand was killing her, but she wasn’t about to let him see that. “Let’s just see if you’ve successfully murdered little Bugs or not.”
    “Och, lass—”
    “My name’s not lass ,” she snapped. Felicity heard him rustling at her back, but she refused to turn and look at him. She’d not be able to bear it if his face was as cold as his words had been. “Don’t get me wrong, lad , I dig the ochs and ayes and all that. But I haven’t heard you say my name once. Do you even remember my name?”
    “Felicity.” His voice was taut, the single word containing an apology, a scold, a plea. “Of course I know your name. It’s a beautiful name. It suits you,” he added quietly. “Turn around, Felicity. Please.”
    Drawing her features into a careful blank, she turned.
    He stood there, the sharpness of his gaze blunted into something approaching tenderness. Rollo stretched out his hands, and she saw he’d filled them with fistfuls of oblong green leaves.
    She looked up at him, a question in her eyes.
    “Dock leaves,