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“I…I…” My brain had just about short-circuited. I wasn’t sure if it was the embarrassment of showing my breasts to the pub or the way that Lachlan looked like he’d happily bury his face between my cleavage, but either way…thoughts were not coming forward.
“Don’t fuss too much, Sophie. We’re an easygoing lot,” Agnes said. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Not like this one over here and how he all but rolls over for any skirt that walks through the door.” Agnes nodded to Graham.
“I sit up, shake, and bite on command as well, darling,” Graham said to Agnes, his voice silky again, and I instantly wondered what the undercurrents there meant.
“Do you fetch as well? If so, fetch me a cider then,darling,” Agnes said, rolling her eyes, and Graham blew her a kiss before bending over to grab a glass from the shelf.
“What is what?” I asked, my voice low, leaning toward Matthew as I picked up my fork. The plate held crumbled dark meat, which looked a bit like ground beef, and then a pile of steaming white mashed potatoes and orange sweet potatoes. Deciding to start with the easiest, I took a bite of the sweet potatoes and grimaced.
“What…is that not sweet potatoes?” I asked.
“Neeps,” Lachlan said. I glanced over to find him watching me closely, his arms crossed over his chest. It appeared I was going to be the show this evening. I flushed, thinking once more about how I’d flashed him, and blew out a breath. At least I’d put on a good bra today. Matthew hadn’t been wrong—my typical sports bras were not the most flattering.
“And…a neep is what exactly?” I asked, washing the mouthful down with a sip of beer.
“Turnips,” Matthew supplied, and I paused, looking at my plate differently.
“Sure, okay, that makes sense. I guess you wouldn’t serve sweet potatoes and potatoes on the same plate, right? That would be silly,” I said.
“My mother serves both at Thanksgiving,” Matthew said, dipping into his plate and nodding when Graham tapped his empty pint glass. “Another for you, Sophie?”
“Um, while I said I wanted the proper Scottish experience, I’m not sure I’m up for whisky tonight. What else would you suggest if I don’t want a whisky?” I asked Graham.
“Gin,” Graham said, pointing at a line of pretty bottles. “Gin’s grown quite popular here over the past few years. It doesn’t take as long to make as whisky does.”
“Oh, I like the pink one,” I said, pointing at a pretty bottle with soft pink liquor inside.
“Matches your bra,” Lachlan said as Graham retrieved the bottle. “Good choice.”
“At this point, I’m just glad I was wearing underwear. Unlike yourself,” I pointed out.
“If that’s a bother for you, I suggest not asking to look under a man’s kilt, then,” Lachlan said, and I stilled.
“Is it true?” I turned to him, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Hard to say, really. You’ll need to find that out for yourself.” Lachlan grinned, and I narrowed my eyes at him before turning back to study my plate. So the brown stuff had to be the haggis. Deciding it was best to just get it over with, I scooped up a bite with my fork.
Everyone stopped and looked at me, waiting. I paused mid-chew. Had I done something wrong? Was there a proper order in which to eat this? Was I supposed to recite a traditional poem first or do a native dance? Swallowing, I smiled at Graham.
“It’s tasty,” I said. “Why is everyone looking at me?”
“No reason,” Graham said, putting a large goblet with my pink gin drink in front of me. “Have a sip of this and see if it’s to your taste.”
I complied, making a mental note to look up haggis when I had Wi-Fi back at the castle, and smiled up at Graham.
“It’s perfect, thank you.”
“Nae bother, hen. I’ll be here to serve you all night,” Graham said with exaggerated charm, and Agnes coughed into her palm.
“You gonnae no do that…” Agnes muttered.
“How no?” Lachlan replied, and the two cackled like old crones. Knowing I was missing some inside joke, I turned to Matthew.
“Do you ever feel like the square peg trying to fit in the round hole?” I asked. Which pretty much summed up my whole life, I realized. I’d been off-kilter since I’d arrived in Scotland, well, really since I’d lost Arthur, and I vacillated between wanting to crawl into bed for days and wanting to explore this gift he’d given to me. This week had felt like the one time I’d tried bodyboarding at a beach in Mexico and misjudged the waves. I’d gotten stuck in an endless loop as wave after towering wave crashed into me, sending me tumbling across the sand and depositing me very ungraciously in front of an old man reading his book. He’d taken one look at me, covered in sand and spitting sea water, and had moved to another chair.
“You will. For a bit. Soon, you’ll be sitting here, laughing along with everyone else about a joke that you’re included in. These things take time, Sophie. Look at how excited that woman was that the Knight had finally arrived. I know the magick and myths of this place seem flat-out ridiculous, but there’s something to it. Historically speaking, many myths are rooted in truths. You may not be able to see the truthyet, but your heart can still listen, can’t it?” Matthew used his lecturing voice, which I responded well to. I’d always liked learning and, as a rule follower, being given explicit directions was right up my alley. Things like listening to my heart fell more into a gray area for me because I liked exact and precise answers. However, perhaps that was part of what Uncle Arthur had been trying to teach me for years with his obsession with the mystical. He’d given me the love of fencing—an exacting and precise sport—and then tried to fill my head with magick stories at other times. I’d always loved his story time but, to me, it always had been just that—stories. Now, it seemed like I’d stepped into my own real-life fairy tale.
Complete with a few handsome princes, I supposed, my gaze darting between Graham and Lachlan.
