Read Treasured for Free Online Page B

been glaring at Jack the past ten minutes, the old charlatan—and refilled Jack’s cup. This cup of tea was a far cry from the original, confirming Jack’s suspicions that the servants were waging a subtle war against him.
    “I see you are an early riser, Miss Rose,” Jack said conversationally.
    “As are you.”
    “Not normally.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I fear I am unused to the noise in the country.”
    “The noise? I would have thought it just the opposite, that Baillannan would be much more peaceful.”
    “Mm. Until the birds began their cacophony outside my window at dawn.” He was pleased to see that his wry words brought a chuckle out of Isobel this time. And since she was the only person here with whom he could converse, her smile would enliven his days.
    “I am unused to greeting the dawn,” he went on. “However, it will give us ample time for our tour this morning.”
    “You want to see Baillannan?” Her eyebrows rose. “I presumed you were merely being polite.”
    “I was. Still, it seems a wise thing to do. And since there is actually a sun in the sky this morning, I thought we should not waste the opportunity.”
    “Indeed not. I can see you are already learning the ways of the Highlands.”
    “Of course, you will wish to eat your, um, breakfast first.” He cast a look down at his plate.
    “Mm.” Isobel followed his gaze, then said to Hamish,hovering at her elbow, “I believe I’ll just have the porridge and an oatcake.”
    “Of course, miss.” He returned quickly with a bowl of oatmeal, which appeared faintly less like gray sludge than Jack’s, and a tray containing pots of preserves and pale butter.
    Isobel began to eat with what seemed to Jack an astonishing lack of repulsion. He toyed with his fork, pushing the food around on his plate.
    “What is this thing?” he asked at last, poking at the wedge of dark matter.
    “It’s haggis.” When he lifted his brows, she explained, “It’s made of bits of various meats and . . . other things. My father took his with a bit of whiskey poured over it.”
    “I feel sure it would improve it.”
    “I believe that it’s an acquired taste.” Her eyes danced with amusement.
    “One wonders why one would wish to acquire it. What of this . . . sausage?”
    “Blood pudding.”
    “That requires no explanation. And this bit of paving tile?” He lifted the hard bread.
    “That’s oatcake.” She laughed, a bright, infectious sound that made him smile in return. “Try spreading butter and jam on it. The oatmeal is better with cream.”
    “Does all the food here need to be disguised?” But he did as she suggested and slathered the cake with butter and preserves. He would, he thought, need to be far hungrier to take on the porridge, even with cream and sugar added.
    “We Scots are a plain folk.” Isobel pulled a sober face. “We like plain food.”
    “Is that what you call it?”
    “I will admit that the meal looks a mite . . . um . . .”
    “Burned?”
    “Except where it’s underdone.” An impish look brightened her eyes again. “I fear Cook is in a mood.”
    “Does she have them often? Or only when I appear?”
    “’Tis the first I’ve seen,” Isobel admitted. “Come. Shall we start our walk? I think I am done with breakfast.”
    “Indeed, I was done with it ten minutes ago.”
    They left the house, Isobel wrapped in her cloak, though Jack left his greatcoat and hat behind. The coat was still damp from yesterday’s drenching and smelled of wet wool. The hat, bought only a fortnight ago at Lock’s, was a complete loss. But the sun had burned off much of the damp cold, and he scarcely felt the chill.
    He could see the loch, a long, gray strip of water. One path ran down to the water and the thick growth of trees beside it. The other path went up the incline of rocky ground, and Isobel took this one.
    “I hope you will not hold it against them,” she said as they walked.
    “Hold what against