I grimaced.
She dolloped a dark mound into a wooden bowl and plunked a coarse bun beside it, dropping it in front of us.
Torin peered at it. “Dost ye hae bannocks and cheese as well?”
“Nae. The last was eaten a fortnight ago.”
He sighed over the bowl. “Och, then stew must do.”
She asked, “Need anythin’ else?”
Torin grinned up at her, charmingly. “Aye, I will need more. If ye kent how long it’s been since I ate, ye would give me the whole kettle.”
She teased, “Gluttony is a sin, sire.”
He raised the bowl toward the firelight. “But this is wee! Tis meant for both of us, and I am hungry enough tae eat a horse!”
“Och nae.” She swatted his shoulder, snatched the bowl, and heaped on another ladleful. “Tis fair?”
Torin bowed his head. “Aye, but ye ken, with more stew comes the need for more bread.”
Rolling her eyes, she pulled another bun from her apron pocket and handed it to him with a smile.
He said, “Och, nowthatis fair. We will want for nothin’ but a second helpin’ in a few moments.”
“Ye’ll eat the whole pot, sire!”
“Nae, it looks plenty, and I will pay — how long hae ye had this pot rollin’?”
“Since high spring. Tis a fine stew. We keep it goin’.” She laughed, moving off.
One of the men down the table bellowed, “Mi’ we hae seconds?”
“Nae! Tis for the master and his lady.”
The men scowled into their cups.
I reached for the bread, but Torin whispered, “We hae tae pray,” and folded his hands.
I folded mine, my stomach rumbling.
Then his stomach growled louder.
He rushed out, “Bless us, this food, Amen,” then tore a bun in half and passed me a piece.
I tapped it against the table. It was hard as stone. “Oh.Crusty.”
“Aye. Tis one word for it.”
I leaned closer, whispering so the innkeeper’s wife wouldn’t hear. “Did she really say this stew has been cooking since spring? What is it now, how long ago…what?”
Torin started counting on his fingers. “By the look of things… this is likely a three-month stew.”
I groaned. “What do you mean, three months?”
He calmly dipped his bread into the bowl and scooped up a lump. “That is young for a stew. They keep it rollin’. Always cookin’, never empty. Addin’ bits that are necessary.”
My eyes went wide. I echoed, horrified, “Always cooking?”
