“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?”

“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.”

“She watched beneath her lashes as his chair rocked with his weight. MacLean scowled and grabbed the edge of the table. Angus had cut varying lengths from each chair so that some rocked, while others were at a distinct forward slant so that you had to press back to keep from sliding into the floor."Is something wrong, Lord MacLean?""This chair." He scooted forward and slipped a little. With a scowl, he stood and pushed his chair to one side, selecting another."Lord MacLean-""Dougal," he said firmly, sitting down in the new chair. This one rocked backward, and he lurched, as if afraid it would topple over completely.Sophia coughed to cover her amusement. From the dark scowl turned her way, she hadn't succeeded. "That's it." Dougal shoved back the chair and stood,glancing about the room. "Ah!" He strode forward and picked out a thin book of sermons from a set on a side table. He lifted the back of his chair, placed a book beneath one leg, and sat down. "Much better."Sophia wished he weren't quite so enterprising. She and Angus ha worked for hours to make every chair a uniquely uncomfortable experience.”

“It near broke my heart to treat such a good piece of meat in such a way.""Aye," Red said with feeling. "I watched ye do it, and it near made me cry,too."Sophia laughed and hugged her father. "When this is over,Mary will cook you an entire leg of mutton, perfectly roasted and seasoned."His eyes brightened. "With mint sauce?""Aye," Mary said, beaming.”

“Do you prefer burned or raw?""I'll have the burned portion, thank you.""Excellent choice. The turnips will complement them perfectly." He winked at her and filled their plates with such amused spirits that Sophia found herself watching him through her lashes.What was wrong with this man? Surely he wasn't used to such horrid meals? Yet to watch him eat with such enthusiasm, you'd think he was starving.”

“Dougal lifted his spoon and slit it into his mouth. Immediately, a frozen look came over his face.Sophia tensed.He removed the spoon from his mouth.Sophia gripped her own spoon tighter.A slow red crept up his face, his eyes watering slightly.Ha! Mary's soup was working its magic. Pleased, Sophia pretended to eat some soup.Dougal slapped a hand on the table.The dishes and Sophia jumped. "What's wrong?"He pointed to his bowl with his spoon. "That.""The soup? Why, whatever's wrong with it?""Nothing.That is the best soup I've ever had."Sophia blinked. Surely he hadn't just said-He dipped his spoon back into his bowl and took another large bite. Though his eyes watered and his face turned a deeper red, he continued to eat, murmuring, "Excellent!" every third bite or so.Sophia looked at her own soup, which reeked of garlic and pepper and onion. Mary had added a large amount of salt, as well. But watching MacLean eat with gusto made her question her perceptions.What if Mary's natural ability to cook had overcome her attempts to provide an inedible meal?Sophia dipped her spoon into herbowl and gingerly sniffed the contents, grimacing at the strong odor. Casting a puzzled look at MacLean, who was about finished with his soup, she put the spoon into her mouth.The burning sensation of pepper mingled with the rancid taste of uncooked garlic and what could only have been salted dishwater. She jerked the spoon from her mouth and grabbed her water goblet, pouring it into her mouth to wash down the horrid taste.Gasping, she glared with watery, accusing eyes at MacLean.He seemed not to have noticed anything, too busy scraping the bottom of his bowl, as if afraid some succulent tidbit might have escaped him. Finding nothing more, he placed his spoon on the table and sat back, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "That was the best soup I've ever been served. I believe I'll have more.""More? Are you...are you certain?""I'm positive.”

“I believe I will sit,but not on this chair. The settee is the most welcoming piece in the room,especially with you sitting on it.""Yes,but-"He sat,his hip brushing hers.She scrambled to move to one side, but he'd deliberately sat on the edge of her skirt.Her gaze narrowed, and she said stiffly, "I beg your pardon,but you are sitting on my skirt."Dougal smiled and leaned back, resting his arms along the back of the settee so that she was closed in by him. He found himself charmed by the thought. "Lord MacLean, I have asked you kindly to remove yourself from my skirt. Please do so, or I will be forced to take more drastic measures.""Such as?""Calling for Angus," she said flatly. "In case you didn't notice, my butler is larger than the average servant. He could easily pick you up and break you in two."Dougal quirked a brow. "While that behemoth you call a butler could easily pick me up, he'd have to get close to me first."She smiled smugly, setting Dougal's pride on edge. "I wouldn't try him; he's faster than he looks." She cast a glancedown at Dougal's boot. "Plus, you'd have to race through the barnyard, which could prove fatal to your shine."Damn this woman! She taunted with every phrase, teased with every look. He shifted so that his hip was even more firmly pressed to hers.”