“I'll stir up the fire in the stove in the tack room. If ye're committed to this folly, then ye'll be wanting somethin' to eat before ye return to the house."Where the delectable Sophia was probably in the kitchen at this very moment, ruining his dinner. Despite his throbbing eye, Dougal reluctantly grinned. "You're right, I shall want my dinner first. And a bath.""Which would be cold if ye got it in the houes, I suppose?""And filled with itcing powder, as well, if they think of it.""I'm glad we'll be leavin' soon," Shelton said grumpily.”

“A cold supper, were you thinking? I asked dubiously.I was not, he said firmly, I mean to light a roaring fire in the kitchen hearth, fry up a dozen eggs in butter, and eat them all, then lay ye down on the hearth rug and roger ye 'till you - is that all right? he inquired, noticing my look.'Til I what? I asked fascinated by his description of the evening's program.'Til ye burst into flame and take me with ye, I suppose, he said, and stooping, swooped me up into his arms and carried me across the darkened threshold.”

“If'n I was ye,I'd do nothin' else but hunt.""I've no doubt you'd do just that, for a more lazy individual I've yet to meet-other than myself,of course."Shelton beamed. "Thank ye,me lord! 'Tis a rare day I can consider meself an equal with ye on any grounds.""You're welcome," Dougal returned gravely."Aye,ye've made bein' lazy a form o' art that few-look!" The groom pointed eagerly at the soft shoulder of the road, where a fox print appeared. "Cooee,looks fresh, too!"Dougal eyed the thicket beyond. "Fresh or no, it would take a better man than me to get a horse over this uneven ground without breaking a leg."Shelton shot him a sharp look. "Ye're many things,me lord, but unskilled on a horse ain't one of 'em.""You unman me, Shelton. I don't know how to react to such excessive praise."The groom's expression turned to one of long suffering. "There ye go ag'in with the nonsense, me lord. Are ye sure ye ain't a bit Irish?"Dougal grinned. "Not that my mother would admit to.”

“Ye wake in a corner and stay there hoping yer body will disappear, the thoughts smothering ye; these thoughts; but ye want to remember and face up to things, just something keeps ye from doing it, why can't ye no do it; the words filling yer head: then the other words; there's something wrong; there's something far far wrong; ye're no a good man, ye're just no a good man. Edging back into awareness, of where ye are: here, slumped in this corner, with these thoughts filling ye. And oh christ his back was sore; stiff, and the head pounding. He shivered and hunched up his shoulders, shut his eyes, rubbed into the corners with his fingertips; seeing all kinds of spots and lights. Where in the name of fuck...”

“Patience," he said, his eyes intent on his project."Patience is no' a virtue I have, Dash. I'm very sorry ta tell ye, but ye would have found out soon enough anyway.”

“Gor," she breathed when she picked up the nearly empty tureen. "Someone done eat the soup!""Never!" Angus said, his eyes as wide as saucers."All of it," she said, holding the tureen toward Angus.He peered into it as if expecting to see a hole in the bottom. "Well, I'll be.""It was excellent," Dougal said.Angus sent Dougal a look of respect. "Ye must have an iron stomach.""Indeed," Mary said, a worried look on her face. "I beg yer pardon, me lord, but do ye feel well? There was a bit of pepper in that soup."Dougal shrugged. "I'm fine. And I must get that recipe to give to my own chef.""Gor!" Mary blinked at him, unable to look away.Angus did the same.Dougal smiled inquiringly at Sophia. "I feel as if I've become an exhibit at the British Museum.”