Page 80 of Stealing Sophie
Sophie shrugged. “No flesh. Some eggs, a little fish.”
“No meat?” Andrew sputtered. “Did you take a convent vow?”
“It is not a religious vow. I do not eat it because that is what I prefer to do.”
“Rara avis,” Connor murmured.
“What?” Andrew asked, mouth full.
“Rare bird,” Sophie translated. “So the outlaw knows Latin.”
“As does his bride,” he acknowledged.
“The outlaw knows a good deal more than Latin,” Roderick said. “Ask him. He is an educated man and knows French and Italian, Greek too. He has a room full of books and has read them all. Why, he even plays the—”
”Enough.” Connor held up a hand. Not yet for that.
“Your lass has a finicky stomach,” Andrew commented, snatching up the last of the cheese. “She sicked up the night of your wedding, remember. All over his brogans,” he told Roderick and Padraig, who chuckled.
“I have a touchy stomach. And I find it hard to understand,” Sophie said, looking hard at Connor, “how you can care for wee lambs and take joy in their sweet natures, and then slaughter and eat them. Nor do I understand how you can watch over Fiona with such affection,” she went on, “and then eat her.”
“I am not going to eat Fiona,” Connor said. “She’s a milk cow. As for the rest of it, we raise cattle for market and sheep for their fleeces, and it brings us some income. We take a few livestock for their meat through the year, but not so many as you think.”
“We have chickens, too, and catch fish,” Roderick said. “We hunt for food. There is naught wrong with it. ‘Tis heaven’s plan for feeding mankind.”
Sophie sighed. “I feel for the animals, and so I find I cannot eat them easily.”
“A body could live on oats and cheese, kale and eggs well enough,” Padraig said. “We have all of that at Glendoon.”
“Aye, but please do not concern yourselves. I may not stay long, if your laird has his way. He may send me back.” She sent Connor a quick, tentative look.
“Oh, not after what happened the other day,” Andrew said.
Connor cast a dark glare toward him, while Roderick applied himself to eating, and Padraig cleared his throat.
“The other day?” Sophie looked from one to the other. “What happened?”
“I saw your kinsmen. Allan and Donald,” Connor said.
She sat forward. “How are they? You told them about the marriage?”
“We spoke of it and I assured them you are fine and they will see you soon. We can arrange it. I saw Sir Henry, too,” he continued, before Andrew spilled that too.
“What did he say?” He heard the change in her voice. The fear.
“We will talk of it later,” Connor said, standing. He collected his plate, accustomed to doing for himself at Glendoon. “Padraig, come out to the byre with me to see if we can collect anything in the evening milking. Roderick,” he said, as the twins stood, Andrew as well, “stay with the lady. Andrew, you and Neill have an errand.”
“We do.”
“Go on, then, all of you,” Sophie said. “I will collect the dishes and such. We will talk later, you and I, Kinnoull, is it so?”
“Aye.” He liked his name on her lips, though he sensed tension there. She was displeased or anxious. He could not blame her. As the others left the hall, he leaned toward her. “Meet me in the study later, up the steps on the second level.”
He preferred that quiet and neutral place for this difficult discussion, rather than the great hall with its vaulted spaces or the kitchen with its open doors. And certainly not the bedchamber, with its possibilities.
“I know where it is,” she said crisply. “I know every inch of this place by now. There is not much to do here but wander about or do some gardening while I wait to see how long I will be kept here.”
“The guard is for your good, lass, though you might not believe it.” He turned for the door.
