““Gor," she breathed when she picked up the nearly empty tureen. "Someone done eat the soup!" "Never!" Angus said, his eyes as wide as saucers. "All of it," she said, holding the tureen toward Angus. He peered into it as if expecting to see a hole in the bottom. "Well, I'll be." "It was excellent," Dougal said. Angus sent Dougal a look of respect. "Ye must have an iron stomach." "Indeed," Mary said, a worried look on her face. "I beg yer pardon, me lord, but do ye feel well? There was a bit of pepper in that soup." Dougal shrugged. "I'm fine. And I must get that recipe to give to my own chef." "Gor!" Mary blinked at him, unable to look away. Angus did the same. Dougal smiled inquiringly at Sophia. "I feel as if I've become an exhibit at the British Museum.””
