“Yes, it’s making my mouth water.” They settled at a quiet corner table and gave the innkeeper their order. Octavian then ordered an ale for himself while Syd ordered a cup of tea. “Are you cold, Syd?”
She shrugged. “Just a little. I thought I could get away with Adela’s borrowed gowns, but the fabrics are too light for this climate. It is quite cool up north, even if only early autumn. I’ll need a woolen shawl to get me through the days and nights.”
“Not just a shawl,” he said with a frown. “There’s a seamstress in town. I’ll walk you over to her shop before I start my official duties in the morning. I think you’ll need two sturdy gowns at a minimum, in addition to your shawl. Wool stockings, too. Might not be a bad idea to purchase a wool blanket for us while you are shopping.”
“How long do you think we will be in Greenock? I dare not go on a spending binge. I think I’ve been too much of a burden for you already.” Her face paled a little. “It is now sinking in just how much my father is costing you, and I am appalled. His debt to Sir Henry alone was bad enough, but to add a reward and the costs of a search party…I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
Octavian placed a hand over hers as it rested on the table. “You are my wife now. I am not looking to you for money. Nor should you ever feel the need to scrimp or deprive yourself of whatever you require.”
“My father has wasted everything I ever had. I never want to do this to you. It galls me that I came to you with nothing. It shames me that there is nothing for you to take even if you did want something from me. Oh, and as for the added cost to you…I forgot to mention the sheep to be purchased for the Armstrong clan. It is yet another expense incurred by you because we had to race up to Scotland to marry.”
He wanted to tell her that it was nothing compared to the contentment he felt being married to her. But he kept silent because Syd would not believe him. Even if she did, the admission would only upset her because of those large chips of shame and blame she carried on her slight shoulders.
How was he to convince her that she was not at fault for any of it? Or that she was more than worthy to be his wife?
“Octavian…”
“Yes, Syd.”
Whatever she was about to tell him was interrupted as the innkeeper brought out their drinks and generous portions of lamb stew.
“Here you go,” Mr. MacLean said, setting two large plates piled high in front of them. He then remained to chat with them for a few minutes, thinking to be amiable.
Octavian wanted to tell him to go away, but Syd was going on about a simple cure for a boil she had noticed on the man’s neck. It was a rather nasty red, swollen lump on his skin and resembled a blister. “Soak a clean cloth in warm water and apply it to the boil for about ten minutes several times a day, Mr. MacLean,” Syd prescribed. “It may take a few days to finally burst, but once it does, you must continue to do the same, but add salt to the water before putting it to your neck. I can burst it for you if in pains you too much to wait for the healing to happen naturally.”
“Could I trouble you for your assistance, Mrs. Thorne? My sister is afraid to touch it, and it does pain me something awful.”
Syd nodded. “Of course, I’ll tend to it right after my husband and I finish our supper.”
The innkeeper walked off, all the happier, while Octavian now stared into his plate of stew and tried not to think of popping boils. “Syd, you could have waited until after supper to talk about medical treatments.”
She laughed softly. “Oh, dear. I did not think about it dampening your appetite. It is hardly a medical treatment, just a matter of applying warm water. He’s probably been poking and scratching around that irritation, which only makes it worse.”
“Syd, no talk of boils!” he said with a groaning chuckle.
She sighed and watched him dig into his meal. “I knew the talk would not dissuade you for long. The lamb is good, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he admitted, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth. The meat was tender and fell off the bone with a mere touch of his spoon. He piled on more and added a chunk of potato to go with it.
Syd continued to chatter while he ate, but she was also devouring the delicious stew, pausing to eat a bite and then prattle on. He liked listening to her, for there was a melodic liveliness to her voice that he found quite pleasant. “His sister is the cook here. She came down from the Highlands to help him run the inn after his wife died. The poor dear succumbed to the influenza. I spoke to his sister briefly while you were visiting Commodore Wainright.”
Octavian took a sip of his ale. “Briefly? Sounds like you got some fairly personal information out of her in a short time.”
“I am a misfit among theton, but people in general find me approachable and like to confide in me.”
“Because you have a reassuring quality about you,” he mumbled, taking another spoonful of stew into his mouth and quickly swallowing it. “What else did you talk about?”
“Sheep,” she said with a triumphant smile.
He arched an eyebrow. “Sheep? Because of the lamb stew?”
“Well, the aroma of the stew is what lured me into the kitchen. But then we got to speaking about the local farmers and which of them were interested in selling their sheep. Not just any sheep, mind you. Apparently, one of these farmers used to be a sailor and smuggled a cargo of merino sheep out of Spain several decades ago. Isn’t this exciting?”
Her eyes were sparkling.
He grinned. “Yes, Syd. I am agog. Tell me more about these merino sheep.”
“You beast,” she said with a light laugh, “you are just humoring me. But there is a point to this story. The herd has grown and thrived here. I thought they might be perfect for the Armstrong clan, assuming they don’t waste their precious value and eat them. Do you think they would be so foolish as to eat these sheep, Octavian?”
