“No, thanks.”
“No worries.” She waved and slipped out the door.
Great start to my morning.
Dried, dressed, and ready, I walked down to the lodge’s lower level. One wall of the staircase was covered in portraits and photographs, mostly of men in various levels of kilted regalia, but a few tartan-clad women popped up here and there. Maybe these were relatives of the lodge owners, photos prominently displayed as a source of family pride.
Or maybe vintage photos could be purchased at any Scottish flea market for a few pence each. I chose to think of them as the ancestral owners and nodded at them as I passed.
Harlow and Carlos were probably doing sun salutations on the front lawn, but the rest of the group had assembled in the dining room. An appalling assortment of food had been laid out on a side table—everything from sausages to boiled potatoes to hard-boiled eggs. I peered at a tray of small, fried black coins of unknown substance, trying to sort out just where they fell on the breakfast spectrum.
“Blood pudding,” said a deep voice over my shoulder.
I looked up to see Duncan at my side. Jill’sSilver Foxassessment pinballed through my mind, lighting all the bumpers. This close, his piercing blue eyes and furrowed brow worked a tingly little shiver up my back.
Nothow I normally reacted to strangers, but…yeah.
“Good morning,” he said with a nod.
“Good morning.” I dragged my attention away from the silvery Scot and back to the questionable subject at hand. “What’s it like? Blood pudding?”
“It’s just sausage, but the flavor can be a little coppery. This lot has a texture that melts in your mouth in a way that could be disconcerting if you’re prone to overthinking such things.”
“I’m definitely an over thinker.” With a name like blood pudding, my imagination didn’t have to stretch far. I leaned a little closer to him and dropped my voice. “Is it rude if I don’t take any?”
His mouth tilted beneath his beard. “I don’t think they’ll kick you out.”
Relieved I wouldn’t be obligated to start my day with a hearty helping of blood, I grabbed a plate.
“You’ll want to avoid this, then, too.” He gestured at a pile of what could have been heavily spiced ground beef. “Haggis.”
“Right.” I inspected the would-be beef. “What’s in that again?”
“If you have to ask, you don’t want to know.” He paused a beat and matched my secret whispering. “Organs stuffed inside other organs, mainly.”
I shuddered. “I do not heart that.”
“That’s one of the main ingredients.”
I rolled my eyes at his teasing and filled my plate, steering clear of the blood pudding and haggis, and found an empty spot at one of the tables. Next to me, Rupert had taken extra servings of the blood pudding. He savored it, rolling each bite in his mouth as he chewed. My stomach turned at the unfortunate sound.
Don’t overthink it.
“Not trying the haggis or black pudding, then?” Rupert nodded at my plate of eggs and fruit.
“Not today.” I tried to sound optimistic, as though maybe I would be willing to try organ meat some other day.
“You have to try haggis, at least. What have you come to Scotland for, if not for the adventure?”
I dropped my gaze to the pile of haggis on his plate. I wouldn’t call it unappetizing, exactly, but the ingredient list didn’t make my mouth water. “I wasn’t really thinking of gastro-intestinal adventures.”
“You know what’s in it, don’t you?” He looked all too eager to tell me.
I glanced at Duncan. “I heard the basics, yes.”
“Sheep’s lungs and heart ground up and stuffed in the intestine.” Rupert laughed at the way my mouth curled back with his every word. “It’s not so bad as it sounds.” He ate a bite to prove it. “Though some call itoffal.”
He snickered, and I had to laugh, too. Even Duncan’s mouth twitched in amusement. Dad jokes, Scotland style.
