Torin said, “Tis true, well... twas nae me, I dinna see one, but m’uncle told the story many times. He was travelin’ in the highlands and witnessed a dragon departin’ a cave on Beinn Nibheis.”
Cooper raised his brow and looked at me. “Yet another wild tale.”
Torin said, “Aye, but ye canna blame me for the wild tales, Master Cooper, I haena seen dragons, I admit, tis possible m’uncle was tellin’ a tale, he was prone tae weavin’ farcical stories, but I also haena seen a dinashwars. Tis you that is claimin’ that the dirt under our feet is made from the ground up bones of ancient monsters.” He grinned. “That sounds verra improbable.”
Cooper said, “I suppose it does.”
Torin gripped the table knife in his right hand, spearing the pancake to lift it toward his mouth, but then set it down, chuckling, and tore a piece with his fingers instead. “Och, this is a rare delight! Cooked from a kitchen hearth without a single hare strung from the beams, nor a boar a-turnin’ on the spit.”
He bit into a slice of bacon, chewed, and let out a contented moan. “Och, tae dwell in such a place must be a joy, tae sup on such victuals without Auld Sweaty MacFlarty cursing ye for daring to eat.” He winked at me.
I laughed. “Sweaty MacFlarty, is that your cook?”
“Aye,AuldSweaty MacFlarty, not the young one.” Torin leaned in. “The man grows ever more sodden as he toils, and his temper sours like a bowl of cream in the sun. By the time he is ladlin’ pottage intae yer bowl, he is furious at ye for wantin’ tae be fed.”
I said, “Is the meal at least good?”
“Och nae, tis often a grim fare, unless Laird Argyll’s wife, the Lady Catherine, graces the hall — then the dishes will be verra fine.”
He raised his coffee mug and said, “Tae a feast well wrought, with nary a soul kickin’ m’shin for havin’ been hungry.”
We all raised our mugs and he said, “Slàinte mhath!” and drained his coffee in one gulp.
He grinned. “Ye can tell it is a good meal with fine company when more than one toast be needed afore it hath ended.”
He had already taken some bites but dipped his finger in the syrup and licked it. “What fruit is this?”
I said, “It’s maple syrup, you’ve never had maple syrup before?”
“Maple, tis a fruit?”
I said, “No, the tree, the maple tree, the syrup comes from inside the trunk.”
He ate another large bite of pancake, chewed, then moaned happily once more. “Tis verra delicious, I dinna ken trees could be food.”
He poured more syrup on his stack. And picked up the can to put more whipped cream on his pancakes, figuring it out, spraying some on the table, apologizing, then spraying a big mountain on his pancakes.
He ate another big bite, then wiped his mouth and beard with his cloth napkin.
He clutched his chest. “Och, m’heart is racin’.”
I said, “Oh, is it…? It’s the caffeine, maybe you should take a break from that. How about, would you like a glass of milk — cow’s milk?”
“Aye.”
I took the mug to the counter, got out a glass, and filled it with milk.
He took a swig and then grimaced again. “Tis cold!”
Jen said, “You drink warm milk?”
“Tis how it comes from the cow.” He grimaced again, then said, “My apologies, Mistress Lexi, I daena usually complain, but tis all verra different from home.”
I said, “I don’t mind, no worries.”
Jen said, “You miss home?”
“Aye, though this is verra grand, the food is verra fine, this bacon is the best I hae ever had, and ye should hae seen the boar we caught last year. Fat and ornery. Dost ye like tae hunt, Master Cooper?”
