Free Chieftain by Arnette Lamb

this year.”
    He stared at the blade as if he’d just noticed what food it held. “How nice that in my absence you’ve acquired a taste for leeks.”
    Clare had hated leeks. The moment of congeniality fled. Once again, conversing on even the most mundane topics proved a chore, for Johanna felt as if she were walking barefoot through a field of thistles. “You must be mistaken, my lord. I do love leeks.”
    She hoped to see his eyes cloud with confusion; they narrowed with challenge. “Seldom have I been mistaken where you are concerned.”
    Disappointment threatened. She fought it back and gathered her gumption. “This, then, ’twould seem to be one of those times.”
    He leaned closer. “You said you hated leeks, refused to eat them.”
    To keep him off guard, she gave him a honey-sweet smile. “You’re correct, of course. I’d forgotten our brief time together.” Using her knife, she raked all of the onions to his end of the trencher. “Satisfied?”
    He stopped, his hand between his plate and his mouth. A different sort of intensity glimmered in his eyes, and his gaze fell to her breasts. “Hardly.”
    “Why are you talking about leeks?” said Alasdair.
    Drummond continued to stare at her. “Why indeed.”
    Unaware of the tension between them, Alasdair plunged onward. “Mother, are these different from the leeks you had at Papa’s home?”
    Drummond said, “As I recall, your mother found little in the Highlands to like.”
    “Oh, nay. You have it wrong, Father. She always says Macqueen Castle was a glorious place. You won all of the jousting tournaments and led the hunt. You always laid the kill at her feet.”
    Still watching her, Drummond said, “Did you say that, Clare?”
    This time the burr in his voice sounded more pronounced when he said the name Clare. By comparison, Johanna thought her own name bland. But she had never heard it said by a Scotsman. Nor would she ever. That fact confirmed her earlier suspicions about losing her own identity. With so many possibilities to consider, how could she maintain it?
    “Did you?” Drummond prompted.
    She welcomed the distraction. “I told him he would be proud of his father’s heritage.”
    “I see. Even though you had no taste for Scotland or her people?”
    Johanna grew weary of the charade. “I’ve changed, Drummond. How often must I remind you of that?” When he continued to stare, she searched for the name of a dish with origins in the Highlands. “As proof, I’ll ask the cook to prepare a haggis.”
    He propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his palm. Leaning close, he said, “You know very well that I loathe the taste of haggis.”
    He’d bathed since their return from the burn, and he now smelled pleasantly of the minty soap she herself had made. That so absurd a thing as his smell would rule her thoughts brought a new fear. She rebelled against it. “Perhaps you will learn to like the dish, just as I have learned to like leeks.”
    “I hate haggis, too,” said Alasdair. “If you make me eat it, I’ll vomit on the floor.”
    Seeking a respite from her husband’s probing gaze, Johanna looked at Alasdair. He wanted so much to be like his father. She couldn’t fault him for that, but she could stop him from acting peevishly about it. “Then you’ll clean it up.”
    His skinny neck stiffened. “Evelyn will clean it up.”
    Bertie leaned forward. “A true and gallant knight never vomits in the presence of a lady.”
    Like a thirsty sponge, her son absorbed the new bit of wisdom. “If I promise not to retch, will you promise to give me a sister?”
    Aghast, Johanna slapped her palm on the table. “Alasdair! Mind your manners.”
    “What think you of Fairhope Tower, my lord?” asked Bertie.
    Drummond seemed to accept the change in topic, for he shrugged. “’Tis fair enough, but I wonder why we own so few cattle.”
    Johanna jumped to her own defense. “We haven’t the fields to support