Page 37 of Some Like It Scot
Without so much as a look in her direction, Mark turned to Mr. Wake. “Ever had elephant?”
Ana whimpered.
“I can’t say my tastes have been as eclectic as yours, Mr. Page,” Mr. Wake said, gesturing toward the bowl with his soup. “But I agree with Logan that this soup is one of the finest I’ve had.”
Nice touch of redirection. A gentlemanly move.
“Perhaps it is more appropriate to discuss topics of more universal interest.” Mrs. Lennox looked from Ana to Mark. “Perhaps the weather? Or the gardens?”
“The gardens here are certainly beautiful, Mrs. Lennox,” I offered, just to help. “Did you design them?”
Her smile softened, and I caught Mark’s glare from my periphery.
“I’m afraid I’m not so skilled, but the owners of Craighill are the true masterminds behind the design. With your permission, I shall give them your compliments.”
I nodded.
“If you don’t own Craighill, then who does?” This from Mr. Logan.
“A local family called the MacKerrows. The house is a part of their family history, but they have let it to us so that you all can have this experience.” She waved toward the table, and the room grew quiet except for the tinkling of spoons and bowls.
The MacKerrows? As in Graeme and Mirren MacKerrow?
I reexamined the room. Theyowneda manor house?
For some reason, they didn’t quite fit my idea of manor house owners. And Graeme didn’t seem the sort to appreciate Mrs. Lennox’s... creative venture.
Maybe it belonged to a rich grandpa or uncle MacKerrow. But then why would the owner rent their house to outsiders instead of using it themselves?
I took in the windows and woodwork. Envisioned the rooms I’d seen already.
The few historical romance books I’d read that hinted about owning a grand house always talked about cost. So, was it that the MacKerrow family needed money for upkeep? But there were dozens of ways to use this house instead of for an Edwardian re-creation. A museum, restaurant, inn, venue. Ooh, just imagine the wedding photos on those front stairs!
And Mull wasn’t the easiest place to get to, so maybe that played a role in things.
Mulling—I smiled at my own pun—over the possibilities only left me with more questions. Questions I’d probably ask Mirren if I got the chance.
Fish came next—halibut in hollandaise sauce, to be exact—which Ana took, explaining how fish was acceptable for vegetarians. Perhaps the talk of eating all the other animals weakened her defenses against fish.
Again, the food tasted amazing, and I suppose it gave me some sense of false security, because when the unusual-looking main course arrived, I didn’t even question the contents.
“This can’t be,” Mr. Logan exclaimed, his eyes wide with more emotion than I’d seen on the man’s face since meeting him. “I can’t believe you’ve provided this delicacy, Mrs. Lennox.” His palm pressed to his chest.
I stared back at the meat on the plate, covered with some light gravy and long beans tastefully framing it. Was it beef?
“I mentioned to Chef that it was your favorite.” Mrs. Lennox nodded. “Only the very best for my guests. And pig heart was quite the delicacy in Edwardian times, often served during Christmas festivities.”
My smile stilled on my face. Had she said what I thought she said?
I looked over at Mr. Lennox on the other side of the table, and his smile only broadened. Miss Lennox tilted her head slowly to the right, her brow growing increasingly more wrinkled beneath her blond curls.
Pig heart?
Mrs. Lennox began eating, and Mr. Logan joined in with gusto, so I decided to ignore the people around me and focus on the “delicacy.” After all, I’d tried a whole lot of different foods on my travels. Most of the time, though, I preferred the stranger-looking dishes to remain anonymous.
Charlotte’s Webflashed through my thoughts, but I forced the notion far back into the recesses of my brain, along with my sixth-grade band concert first date, and the embarrassing moment when Mom called me by my sister’s name in front of an entire auditorium.
My mouth went dry as I stared down at my plate, trying to redefine the wordheartinto something like chicken breast. I could do this. So what if it was a pig’s heart? Logan, the food expert, called it a delicacy.
