It had to be a dream. She’d never flirted with anyone before. She cringed as she ran her mind over her efforts. No doubt he thought she was some mad woman who needed to be placated in case she went totally over the edge.
“Tell me about yourself,” she asked, suddenly aware he was looking at her and had caught her staring. The question was the first thing she could think of to fill the awkward silence.
“What dae you want to ken?”
“How do you know so much about MacGregor castle?”
“Like what?”
“That I won’t be able to get in without the steward’s approval. What the Lady looks like, Rachel I mean?”
A darkness passed over his face. It was gone in a moment but she saw the pain it brought. Whatever memory it was had hurt him deeply.
“I used to live there, a long time ago. They threw me out.”
“What for?”
There was a knock on the door before he could answer. “I’ll get it,” he said, walking past her. “Another sight of a woman and the whole place might crumble.”
She listened as he answered the door. No one spoke but a minute later he returned carrying a wooden tray. On top was half a loaf of dark bread, two apples, and a pitcher of ale with a pair of tankards.
“Abbot’s own brew,” Eddard said, pouring her out a generous measure. “Legendary this stuff but it rarely gets past the abbey walls. Go on, try it.”
She took a sip and it hit her like a freight train. She coughed as it burned a fiery path down her throat. “My goodness, that’s ale?”
“Aye. It’s good isn’t it?” He downed his in one, grinning as he poured out another measure. “Nectar of the Gods.”
She managed another sip without coughing. She felt more relaxed at once, the fiery spirit warming her insides. The tension she’d felt since arriving here fell away in stages until she was almost slouched in her chair, letting the flames in the hearth warm her toes further.
The dew from the grass had soaked through her shoes and she was glad of the heat. And the ale. The more she drank, the more she wanted.
“You better get some bread in you to soak it up,” he said, lifting her head by the chin as she began to doze. “It wouldnae do for the abbot to see you soused like this.”
“We could tell him Morag’s an alcoholic,” she said, noticing how hard it was to concentrate on saying words. Why were words so difficult? They never used to be.
She took the hunk of bread he offered and tried to bite into it. Rock hard, it almost broke her teeth.
“Not like that,” he said, dipping his own portion into his ale. “Like this. Soak it first.”
She nodded, losing her bread in her tankard and having to fish it out while he watched her, his shoulders shaking as he held in a laugh. “What?” she asked, pouting at him. “Am I amusing you?”
“Nae, not at all.”
Another knock on the door and she waved her hand in the air. “You may answer that for me.”
“Yes, my Lady,” he said with a huge bow, leaving her alone to giggle to herself. She could get used to ale like this.
She’d never been a big drinker. An occasional wine to celebrate solving a case was about all she ever let herself enjoy. This was something else. She felt as if every muscle in her body were loosening, all the knots in her shoulders coming undone. Much more and she might melt into a puddle on the floor.
Eddard came back in with two steaming pitchers. “What’s that?” she asked as he set them down on the table near the fire. “Boiling oil for the temptress?”
“Hot water for us to wash before the abbot sees us.”
He was already pushing his hose down and she barely had time to turn away before it was off. With her back to him she listened to the sound of splashing water. “You could have asked me to give you some privacy,” she said, staring pointedly at the wall in front of her.
“I’ve nothing tae hide,” he replied.
“Yes you have.”
