I’ll
jes’ have yer cup, here, shall I?” She slid my coffee out from between my
protesting hands and poured a dollop of something into it from a flask she
whipped out of her coat pocket.
“Ohhhh—I don’t think so,” I whispered.
Even the sound of my own words echoed painfully around in my head. “I’ve taken
some aspirin. I’ll be better soon.”
“Nonsense. Drink that right up. Is it hot
enough?”
She peered at the steam coming off the cup
with one of her over-bright eyes, and pronounced it just right. “Go on. Drink
it. We haven’t all day for you to be scuppered now, do we?”
She pushed the cup back into my hands. The
steam wafted up and fogged my glasses. I hadn’t even the strength of character
to get my contacts into my eyes that morning.
“Aren’t you going to have something?” I
asked, weakly, stalling.
The coffee shop smelled sickeningly of
porridge and fresh scones. “At least let me buy you a cup of tea,” I said, as
she slapped a local map down on the table.
“Nah, I wouldn’t think of it,” she said, but
when the girl came by to wipe down the table, she agreed to a hot drink, and
then jumped up to have a look behind the counter.
Moments later, she returned to the table
with two bacon rolls and a large cup of coffee. She stared sternly at my
still-full cup. “Get that inside yeh. We’ve a day to plan.”
I nodded obediently and took a sip. Whatever
she’d done to the coffee made it taste like road tar. With insects in it.
Susan heaved an exasperated sigh and stood
up. “Let me just give yeh a hand …” she began, and before I knew what was
happening, she had my nose pinched between two fingers. When I opened my mouth
to gasp out a protest, she poured half of the steaming cup down my throat. The
other half splattered onto my lap and across the table.
I have experienced my share of pain in my
lifetime, but having my entire insides seared by a steaming cauldron of bug-tar
was like nothing I’d ever known. My eyeballs immediately flooded with tears of
shock and pain and my tongue felt like it had been cooked right inside my
mouth.
“Right,” she said. “Now a glass of tap water
and you’ll be fit for anything.”
I staggered over to the counter, and
apparently the expression on my face was enough, because the old lady who
passed for the Scottish equivalent of a barista slid a full water glass across
the counter to me without a word.
I gulped it down and then turned to face
Susan. “What the hell?” I gasped. “You could have scarred me for life!”
She grinned at me. “How’s yer head?” she
said, and took a bite of her first roll.
I sat back down, feeling the charred insides
of my mouth with my abused tongue. Everything seemed to still be in place, if
completely singed. But my head—my head was filled with the buzzing of a
thousand bees.
“So, you’re looking for historical
monuments, are yeh?” she said. “Yeh do know we’re jes’ a stone’s throw from
Culloden?”
I nodded gingerly, hoping the bees would
quiet themselves. I watched her wolf down the first roll. “Yes, I was planning
to go there, but a bit later in my trip. I’m sort of tracing a route I’ve
planned out.”
“Yeah, yeah, agreed. But if ye’re planning
to go, why not now? Save yerself a trip back to this godforsaken hole.” She bit
deeply into her second roll, and sighed before taking a long drink of her
coffee. “I’m goin’ there today, meself. Ye’re welcome to join me.”
“I guess so …” I said.
The bees seemed to be settling at last, and
she launched into a vivid description of all that could be seen and enjoyed on
the nearby battlefield.
After about five minutes of that, she looked
at me inquiringly, and I thought of my own carefully constructed plans. My
explanation would involve admitting to the annotated map inside the cover of my
OUTLANDER book. I decided I didn’t really care to tell this very practical
woman that I was in search of a mysterious
jes’ have yer cup, here, shall I?” She slid my coffee out from between my
protesting hands and poured a dollop of something into it from a flask she
whipped out of her coat pocket.
“Ohhhh—I don’t think so,” I whispered.
Even the sound of my own words echoed painfully around in my head. “I’ve taken
some aspirin. I’ll be better soon.”
“Nonsense. Drink that right up. Is it hot
enough?”
She peered at the steam coming off the cup
with one of her over-bright eyes, and pronounced it just right. “Go on. Drink
it. We haven’t all day for you to be scuppered now, do we?”
She pushed the cup back into my hands. The
steam wafted up and fogged my glasses. I hadn’t even the strength of character
to get my contacts into my eyes that morning.
“Aren’t you going to have something?” I
asked, weakly, stalling.
The coffee shop smelled sickeningly of
porridge and fresh scones. “At least let me buy you a cup of tea,” I said, as
she slapped a local map down on the table.
“Nah, I wouldn’t think of it,” she said, but
when the girl came by to wipe down the table, she agreed to a hot drink, and
then jumped up to have a look behind the counter.
Moments later, she returned to the table
with two bacon rolls and a large cup of coffee. She stared sternly at my
still-full cup. “Get that inside yeh. We’ve a day to plan.”
I nodded obediently and took a sip. Whatever
she’d done to the coffee made it taste like road tar. With insects in it.
Susan heaved an exasperated sigh and stood
up. “Let me just give yeh a hand …” she began, and before I knew what was
happening, she had my nose pinched between two fingers. When I opened my mouth
to gasp out a protest, she poured half of the steaming cup down my throat. The
other half splattered onto my lap and across the table.
I have experienced my share of pain in my
lifetime, but having my entire insides seared by a steaming cauldron of bug-tar
was like nothing I’d ever known. My eyeballs immediately flooded with tears of
shock and pain and my tongue felt like it had been cooked right inside my
mouth.
“Right,” she said. “Now a glass of tap water
and you’ll be fit for anything.”
I staggered over to the counter, and
apparently the expression on my face was enough, because the old lady who
passed for the Scottish equivalent of a barista slid a full water glass across
the counter to me without a word.
I gulped it down and then turned to face
Susan. “What the hell?” I gasped. “You could have scarred me for life!”
She grinned at me. “How’s yer head?” she
said, and took a bite of her first roll.
I sat back down, feeling the charred insides
of my mouth with my abused tongue. Everything seemed to still be in place, if
completely singed. But my head—my head was filled with the buzzing of a
thousand bees.
“So, you’re looking for historical
monuments, are yeh?” she said. “Yeh do know we’re jes’ a stone’s throw from
Culloden?”
I nodded gingerly, hoping the bees would
quiet themselves. I watched her wolf down the first roll. “Yes, I was planning
to go there, but a bit later in my trip. I’m sort of tracing a route I’ve
planned out.”
“Yeah, yeah, agreed. But if ye’re planning
to go, why not now? Save yerself a trip back to this godforsaken hole.” She bit
deeply into her second roll, and sighed before taking a long drink of her
coffee. “I’m goin’ there today, meself. Ye’re welcome to join me.”
“I guess so …” I said.
The bees seemed to be settling at last, and
she launched into a vivid description of all that could be seen and enjoyed on
the nearby battlefield.
After about five minutes of that, she looked
at me inquiringly, and I thought of my own carefully constructed plans. My
explanation would involve admitting to the annotated map inside the cover of my
OUTLANDER book. I decided I didn’t really care to tell this very practical
woman that I was in search of a mysterious
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