Page 16 of His Runaway Bride
"Perhaps," Lileas said, pulling a small leather pouch from her traveling pack, "ye just need to work on the natural humors of food."
Patrick blinked."The what now?"
"Move aside, warrior," she said with surprising authority."The sisters at the abbey taught me that all foods contain the four humors: hot, cold, wet, and dry.Yer mistake lies in creating a balance so poor that even the devil himself would turn away from this pot."
She began pulling small cloth packets from her pouch, each tied with string and labeled in her careful script."Thyme, sage, and fennel...These will help bring the dish back into balance."
"I dinnae ken all this talk of humors," Patrick grumbled, but he stepped aside, watching with fascination as she began to work.
"Of course ye dinnae ken it.Ye cook like a berserker."Lileas tested the mixture with a wooden spoon and smiled."That's better.Now for a pinch of salt."
She set to work with practiced efficiency, adding pinches of herbs while muttering to herself.The transformation was remarkable, both in the pot and in Patrick's expression as he watched his culinary disaster slowly become something that smelled...edible.
"There," Lileas announced with satisfaction."The humors are balanced and the devil is banished."
Patrick leaned over the pot and inhaled deeply."By Saint Andrew's bones, that actually smells like food!"
"Try not to sound so surprised," Lileas said tartly, but she was fighting a smile.
It was at that moment Ewan returned from seeing to the horses, following his nose toward what he expected to be Patrick's usual attempt at sustenance.Instead, he found his wife standing over the cooking pot while Patrick looked on with something approaching worship.
"What sorcery is this?"Ewan asked, breathing in the savory aroma."Patrick, have ye finally learned to cook?"
"Yer lady wife has informed me that I've been lacking...what was it again?"
"The natural humors of food," Lileas supplied helpfully.
Ewan raised an eyebrow."Ah.Of course.How foolish of ye to ignore the natural humors, Patrick."
"Exactly what I told him," Lileas said primly, ladling the stew into wooden bowls.
When Ewan tasted his portion, he groaned with such evident pleasure that Lileas felt a warm flush of pride."Patrick," he said solemnly, "Ye are never to cook ever again."
"Och, I'll not argue with that," Patrick laughed.
Grant agreed as the men devoured their food in silence.Lileas smiled as they praised her cooking.
"Wife," Ewan said quietly, setting down his empty bowl and turning to face her."I thank ye for this meal."Without warning, he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.
The sudden tenderness of it caught Lileas completely off guard.Her cheeks blazed crimson, and she felt something flutter in her chest like a bird taking wing.
"Ye are welcome, husband," she stammered, which only made her blush deepen.
Ewan smiled at her obvious flustering, and his expression softened.
For the first time since this marriage had been arranged, Lileas felt like perhaps—just perhaps—she was exactly where she belonged.
***
AS THE LAST EMBERSof the cooking fire settled into glowing coals, Ewan rose and extended his hand to Lileas."Come," he said quietly."There's a stream nearby where ye can refresh yerself before we rest."
Lileas accepted his hand, grateful for his thoughtfulness.They walked in comfortable silence, their hands entwined, until they emerged into a small clearing where a narrow burn tumbled over smooth stones, creating a natural pool edged with moss and ferns.
"The water will be cold," Ewan warned, "but clean.I'll stand watch while ye..."He gestured vaguely toward the stream, then turned his back to give her privacy and walked a few yards away.
"Thank ye," Lileas said softly.She stripped down to her shift and set about washing as best she could with a cloth.The burn was indeed cold, but refreshing after the day's ride.When she was finished, she dried herself and changed into a long woollen tunic.
"Yer turn, husband," she called out quietly.
