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“Aye.”
“What are you eating with?”
“My fingers, lass.”
He used a piece of bread to scoop mutton and barley from his own bowl as if the matter required no further discussion.
The courtesy touched Olivia more than she wanted it to, perhaps because he hadn’t made a big deal about it.
The broth tasted even better than it smelled, rich with mutton and onions, with barley lending weight and turnips absorbing the flavor of the meat and herbs. The coarse brown bread softened beautifully when dipped into it.
“Did you make this?”
“No. Old Morag left enough yesterday to feed me until she decides I look thin again.”
He chewed then swallowed, another point in his favor for not talking with his mouth full.
“According to Morag, I’ve been starving to death since I was six.”
Olivia smiled as she buttered another piece of bread.
Rain drummed against the walls and roof, fine mist coming in through the openings, making her shiver, and for several minutes Jamie let the interrogation rest.
Surely Calum would have told Fiona what had happened by now. The restoration workers would search the tunnel, emergency services would eventually be called, and when they couldn’t find her, someone would contact Grandma.
That was what bothered her the most. She pictured the pub with painful clarity. The scarred wood, brass rails, beer and lemon cleaner, the ever-present pot of coffee, all the things that made up Olivia’s childhood memories of smell. Grandma would ask questions until everyone else ran out of answers, then she’d call Olivia, hoping she’d answer.
She set the spoon down and reached for the weak beer.
Then there was Glenbrae. She’d crossed the Atlantic to solve a whisky problem everyone else had failed to crack, scoffed at haunted tunnels, ghosts, and curses, and promptly disappeared inside the very tunnel everyone had warned her about.
Consultant number eight had terrible judgment. A small laugh escaped.
Jamie looked up. “What?”
“I was thinking about my job.”
“Ye seem rather fond of it.”
“I am.”
A movement in the adjoining space caught Olivia’s attention.
A large dark head appeared in the doorway as she stopped with the bread halfway to her mouth.
The horse blinked at her as Olivia slowly lowered the bread.
“Jamie?”
“Aye?”
“There’s a horse in your house.”
He looked toward the animal and then back at Olivia. “She’s in the stable.”
“The stable is attached to this room.”
“Aye.”
