Page 49
She studied him for several seconds as he waited for the outrage.
It wouldn’t have surprised him. Respectable women could enjoy illicit whisky well enough as long as nobody required them to think too carefully about who made it, moved it, or risked the king’s rope for it. Jamie had met merchants who praised the Glenbrae spirits over supper and condemned smugglers the next morning when someone from the Crown might hear.
But Mistress Olivia? She merely said, “Because of the tax?”
Jamie’s mouth twitched. “Mostly.”
“How much?”
He hesitated.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You made a face.”
“I didna.”
“You did.”
Jamie crossed to the hearth and set a blackened pan near the fire before adding a little fat from the crock beside it.
“Women usually ask whether I’m likely to be hanged before asking what the Crown charges.”
“I’ll get to the hanging in a bit.”
A laugh escaped him as he cracked the first egg into the pan.
She came to stand beside him and picked up the loaf from the table, testing the knife against her thumb before beginning to cut slices of bread for them. “How much?”
Jamie told her.
She stopped with the knife halfway through the bread, and for several seconds she simply stared at him. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. Say that again.”
He did.
Olivia lowered the knife as she shook her head. “Thieving bastards.”
Jamie nearly dropped the pan. He caught the handle before the eggs slid into the fire and stared at her while she resumed slicing the bread.
“What?”
The laugh broke free as he watched her then moved the pan away from the hottest part of the fire.
She shrugged. “Grandma Bennett has strong opinions about unreasonable authority.”
“I find myself increasingly fond of a woman I’ve never met.”
“You haven’t heard the good curses she taught me yet.”
“There are better ones than pox-faced cabbage?”
Olivia carried the bread to the table. “Much better.”
“Go on.”
“No.”
