Read Online Lord of the Black Isle by Elaine Coffman - Free Book Online Page B

bit of protein about now. She almost smiled, imagining what he would do if she started telling him about the benefits of eating protein and how it would be good for him, in that it was a building block of bones, muscles, cartilage, skin, and blood, not to mention repairing tissues, or that it was a macronutrient, which meant the body needed large amounts of it. Her mind wandered off on another tangent, occupying her while she waited for him to start something that resembled a conversation. Finally, when none was forthcoming, she said, “I’m curious as to why you were bathing in the burn earlier today, instead of waiting to do it now.”
    â€œâ€™Twas warmer then than now.”
    Well, there was certainly nothing like hitting one in the solar plexus with an obvious answer. She clenched her jaw against a cleverly delivered retort and diverted her thoughts to the topic of the solar plexus, that large network of sympathetic nerves and ganglia located in the peritoneal cavity behind the stomach and having branching tracts that supply nerves to the abdominal viscera. And with a hint of feeling a supreme moment, she added a definition for him… the pit of the stomach.
    It was effective, but not so effective that she stopped wishing there was a hole somewhere that she could crawl into and pull the dirt over her head. She was through trying to engage in anything that resembled conversation with him. She would not utter a peep, unless she had a question, which was not bloody likely. So, she looked around as she munched on an oatcake that had as much flavor as a boiled sock. It amazed her that something that was almost pure oatmeal and probably recently made could taste like something her sister Isobella would have unearthed while digging in an ancient Celtic mound.
    Forgetting her vow of silence, she asked, “Is there anything to drink, or do I grab a little ice floating down the burn and eat it?”
    He seemed amused, which was about as sensual as any woman could handle without letting her mind wander off into imaginings of what it would be like to make love with him, which, to be honest, she had already considered. But instead of giving him a clever reply, he beat her to the punch by saying, “’Tis a pity for sure that there isna any ice in the burn, for I would enjoy watching ye eat it.”
    She clasped her hands together and placed them between her knees as she looked around the glen. Her mind was exhausted and devoid of any clever thoughts or interesting topics for conversation, and not feeling particularly sleepy, she guessed looking around was about her only option. She noticed his saddle and plaid near what appeared to be a shallow cave. Nearby was an old wattle-and-daub hut with a partially collapsed roof of dingy thatch, which was exactly the kind of thing Isobella would have done cartwheels to inspect. It occurred to Elisabeth just how much she had learned about archaeology through her sister since coming to Scotland, for there was a time when she would have guessed wattle was a stepped-on duck.
    She had to turn sideways a bit to see, off to one side, where the cold waters of the boulder-strewn burn flowed, and she was reminded of the icy effect of washing her hands and being harshly reminded of his wisdom in bathing beneath the warming rays of sunlight earlier in the day.
    After he turned down her offer to help him build a fire, she entered the cave and found it to be larger than she expected. She could see the remains of older fires and some markings on the cave walls, but she had learned enough from helping Isobella in the caves she excavated on the Isle of Mull to know that these markings were not those of the ancient Celts or Picts. They were done much later. Farther over were some scattered bones, including a few at the back of the cave that she identified as human—two of which belonged to an infant. She wondered at the cause of death.
    She heard a sound and turned to see him