CHAPTER 8
“Is this really necessary?”Janie sighed. “I’m nae going to spit in yer wife’s pottage, if that’s what ye are afraid of.”
Evander gave a grim smile, leaning back against the rough kitchen wall and folding his arms.
“I am nae afraid of that,” he responded brusquely.
Janie wisely did not ask him just what exactly he wasafraid of. She said nothing, continuing to stir a huge vat of bubbling pottage. The stew smelled delicious, savory, and rich, with a good gravy. Despite its unappetising name, the Gristle-Pig served good, simple food.
As of yet, Evander had no idea how Skye’s kidnapping had come about. He could only assume she was drugged and had been drugged repeatedly during her captivity. That would certainly explain the memory loss.
It made sense, then, that whatever had been used to drug her would have been put in her food or drink. Spiced wine would hide the flavor of some bitter paralytic herb, and a bowl of good pottage, with all its clashing flavors, would nicely conceal a good handful of Devil’s Dream.
Devil’s Dream, colloquially known as dreamroot in some parts, could make a person sleep deeply and heavily for hours at a time, depending on the dosage. Its flavor was bitter, but the leaves themselves could be minced, looking like innocent herbs.
Janie added nothing to either bowl. He didn’t really think that she would have tried it, with or without him staring at her, but it wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.
“Since ye are hovering in me kitchen,” Janie observed, pushing two bowls of stew toward him, “ye can take the bowls in, aye?”
“If ye like,” he responded, having fully intended to do just that.
Stepping forward, he took a steaming bowl in each hand. The smell of the gravy made his mouth water.
“I’ll call ye when yer wife’s bath is ready,” Janie added, offering him a wry smile. “She’s a fiery one, eh?”
Evander hesitated, wondering if he should scold the woman for her flippant tone. In her defence, Janie had never once looked at him with interest. He wasn’t even sure if she knew he was a man at all.
There was a wistful look in her eyes when she spoke, her hand creeping up to where her limp hair was tied up behind a scarf. He wondered if she was thinking of Skye’s thick, rich locks, beautiful even when tangled and a little grimy.
“Aye, she is,” he said at last.
“Ye are a lucky man.”
Evander flinched, and a little hot gravy ran over his thumb. He winced.
“Aye,” he responded, a little more shortly than before. “I am lucky. Her water will be good and hot, will it nae?”
Janie rolled her eyes. “Nay, me Laird, I always make sure me guests have ice-cold water to bathe in. Away with ye, and eat up. Ye both look starved.”
Chuckling, Evander ventured out into the common room again. He had left Skye sitting in a small, private alcove, dominated by a rough-scrubbed table. Janie’s father was currently talking animatedly to her.
Leaving her alone was not ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but neither was the prospect of somebody slipping something in her pottage. Or inhispottage, leaving her free to be kidnapped once more.
Janie’s father nodded and smiled, retreating as Evander approached, leaving him free to slip into the empty seat opposite Skye.
Her eyes were wide, flitting around the noisy, crowded room as if she could not figure out what to look at next.
“Comfortable?” he inquired.
She winced. “I wouldnae saycomfortable, but I am glad nae to be riding anymore.”
“How did the sweet little mare treat ye?” he asked with a grin, pushing her bowl toward her. “Eat up, by the way.”
She scowled, taking the bowl. “She tried to buck me off four times, as ye well ken. I think she is used to me now, though. Although,” she added, reddening, “if ye want to swap horses tomorrow, that would be acceptable.”
He snorted. “Nae likely. That mare of yers is mad. Me wee gelding is a dream.”
“Wretch,” she muttered. “I should have ken. Is there no bread?”
