On the platter sat the roast, half of it black, the other half bloody. A wilted sprig of parsley sat beside it, as if Mary couldn't quite allow the roast to leave her kitchen without trying to disguise it.
Silence hung over the table.
Dougal set the cover to one side and removed the covers from the other dishes: a bowl of something green that sat in an oily liquid; a thick slab of pork in the middle of a large, chipped platter; some turnips floating unappetizingly in water; and a basket of undercooked bread.
Sophia thought the turnips were a nice touch. No one liked turnips.
Dougal picked up the carving knife. "Well, my dear?" he asked pleasantly, an amused glint in his eyes. "How do you like your meat? Raw? Or burned to a charred mess?
Dougal eyed the breakfast repast. In addition to burnt toast, there was poorly trimmed ham, eggs that looked rubbery enough to bounce off the floor, pathetically dry scones, and small, smoking pieces of something he suspected had once been kippers.
Sophia noted Dougal's disgusted expression, and her heart lifted.
He looked amazingly handsome this morning, dressed in a pale blue riding coat and white shirt, his dark blond hair curling over his collar, his green eyes glinting as he began to fill his plate. Two scones, a scoop of eggs, and a large piece of blackened ham all went onto his plate.
Sophia had eaten earlier in the kitchen with Mary, who had served warm muffins with cream and marmalade, some lovely bacon, and crusty toast, complemented by a pot of hot tea.
Sophia hid a smile as Dougal attempted to cut his ham. Too tough for his blade, it tore into uneven pieces under his knife. He lifted a piece and regarded it on the tines of his fork.
He couldn't have eaten that horrid soup!"
"He did,and he even pretended to like it."
"Pretended?"
"No one could have liked that meal." She wrinkled her nose. "Mary was mortified."
"Mary can be mortified all she wishes; we can't have MacLean da-"
Sophia slipped the spoon into his mouth and dumped the contents.
Red choked, his face contorting, and he looked around wildly.
"Do not spit that out."
He glared at her, and after what appeared and sounded like a heroic effort, he swallowed the laudanum. "Blech! There! I hope ye're happy!" He grabbed up a hand cloth and began rubbing his tongue vigorously.
She calmly replaced the spoon and recorked the bottle. "As I was saying, MacLean swore that he liked every dish at dinner, even the turnips. They were so hard it almost broke my knife to cut one."
"Hm.That's very odd,it is.
You learn a lot about a person by the way he plays cards."
Then it was a good thing no one had seen her play.
I've never had a better piece o' roast. But it was the apple pie as made the meal. It was flaky and sweet, all buttery,with-"
"Enough!" Dougal's stomach growled loudly. "The food I was given was not fit for consumption. Ride to town today, and fetch some foodstuffs. Some apples, tarts, a few meat pies-whatever will keep well."
"Aye,me lord.Do ye want an apple now? I've one here I was saving fer yer horse."
"Thank you." Dougal pocketed the apple.
"Not very hospitable, giving yer poor victuals and a lumpy bed."
"This is all part of their plan. Mr. MacFarlane regrets giving up his house on the gaming table, and his daughter is determined to regain it.
Still,he noticed that though the house was in poor shape, the gardens were perfect. The paths were well lined, the flower beds filled with roses and lilacs, the trees well trimmed.
He smiled darkly.His beautiful little angel of trouble must have run out of time.
The bed was lumpy, the fire smoked so badly I was forced to extinguish it or die, then I froze to death the rest f the night because the blanket was so thin."
"That's a shame. It was right comfortable in the tack room. I've a cot and a neat little pot-bellied stove."
Dougal sent a thoughful look at the barn. "Can you put up another cot?
Not used to be being bested, are you?"
"No," he said bluntly. "Poseidon could outrun your mare, and you know it. But I'm not about to risk galloping over a field I don't know. There could have been rabbit holes."
"Of course.Rabbit holes.I understand."
He frowned,about to defend his actions further, when he noted a twinkle in her gaze. The little minx was taunting him. For some reason, that improved his mood, and he said with a smile, "Sophia, my love, don't tempt a sinner. I am not afraid of you or your horse, and you damn well know it."
"I'm sure you have a reason for not wishing to race," she returned in a demure voice, though her eyes sparkled with laughter. "I am just not certain you have a just cause."
"I have both. The reason for not racing you is the potential harm to the animals; and the just cause is that I wish to keep you alone for as long as possible. And that will be more difficult to do once we reach the house."
Her brows rose, a faint color touching her cheeks. "Oh."
His lips twitched. "That's all you can say now? After all that posturing? You are a tease,my lady."
"I don't consider myself so."
"No woman does, and yet most are.
Furthermore, there's marshland on the other side of these hills. No one can even live near it, because the mist produces ill humors."
"Ill humors?"
"Yes.The entire place is encircled in thick forest, too." She lowered her voice. "They say there are wolves there,the size of humans."
"I like wolves," Dougal said mildly. "The larger, the better."
She blinked.
"They're great sport for hunting. And I am an avid hunter." He glanced across her, lingering at certain areas. "As you may have guessed.
Red started preparing a short speech for Sophie about the importance of keeping a safe physical distance between herself and her guest. He was just working out a brilliant but poignant closing statement when Sophie walked into the room.
Red's welcoming smile froze,fell, and shattered. "Bloody hell! Ye can't wear that!
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