“A wonder ye put up wi’ Jamie and me,” Ian teased, hearing her, “seein’ ye’ve such a low opinion of men.” Jenny waved her soup ladle dismissively at husband and brother, seated side by side on the ground near the kettle. “Och, you two aren’t ‘men.’ ” Ian’s feathery brows shot upward, and Jamie’s thicker red ones matched them. “Oh, we’re not? Well, what are we, then?” Ian demanded. Jenny turned toward him with a smile, white teeth flashing in the firelight. She patted Jamie on the head, and dropped a kiss on Ian’s forehead. “You’re mine,” she said.
