Battlefield of the Heart (31 page)

The vendor laid a white plastic fork on the plate and handed it to Alasdair. “I didn't expect to have the opportunity to get the opinion of a real Scot on whether I made haggis correctly.”

“I'll be happy to tell you how it compares to the haggis at home.” Alasdair released Foster's harness but kept hold of the leather leash as he accepted the plate. After the vendor told him where the three different foods were on the plate, Alasdair lifted a bite of the haggis with the plastic fork and popped it in his mouth. His eyes closed as he chewed, and he laid the fork back on the plate with a contented sigh. “Ah, 'tis magnificent. A good peppery haggis.”

“Thank you.” The vendor appeared as though he might burst with excitement.

Trisha couldn't hold her tongue any longer. “It's
speckled
.”

Alasdair nodded with a satisfied expression. “Good. Haggis should be speckled. 'Tis because of the oats cooked with the meat.”

She studied the haggis still in the glass case. Even her mother's meatloaf, which she made with oats, wasn't speckled dark brown and tan. “And how exactly is it cooked?”

The vendor launched into a detailed explanation that made the dish even more unappetizing. According to him, the traditional way to make haggis—which was how he claimed to make his—was to grind up cooked sheep innards; mix in chopped onions, steel cut oats, suet, and spices; stuff it in a sheep's stomach; and boil the whole thing for a couple of hours, taking care to poke it occasionally to release the steam to prevent it from exploding.

Alasdair nibbled away at his haggis during the description, nodding here and there like the vendor had it exactly right. Now, he asked the vendor for a clean fork. He placed a small bit of the grainy-looking meat on it and held it out to Trisha. “Care to taste it?”

“Do I have to?” She clapped a hand over her mouth as soon as the words were out, afraid she'd insulted the vendor.

The man just chuckled. “Funny, that seems to be the opinion of most people around here. Your friend is the only one to want a full serving. He's also the only one who's liked it.”

“Haggis is an acquired taste,” Alasdair said with a grin. He moved the fork a little closer to Trisha. “Come on. You're not likely to have this opportunity again, at least not here.”

What was the worst that could happen? Tasting it proved haggis actually was as disgusting as it looked? She drew in a fortifying breath. “Okay, but I'm not trying a full bite.”

Alasdair chuckled as she guided his hand a little lower. “That's fine, lass.”

She closed her eyes, working up her courage, and then she opened them again and took a tiny bit of the haggis into her mouth. The squishy texture and strong, peppery flavor did not appeal to her in the least, but she swallowed anyway.

“Well?” Alasdair raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“You can have your haggis. That's one taste I won't be acquiring.”

He laughed, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “I thought you'd feel that way. I just wanted to find out if I could get you to taste it.”

She swatted his shoulder as the vendor laughed. “You owe me, Alasdair.”

“I thought I might.” He took another bite of haggis, then shifted his attention to the vendor. “Speaking of owing, how much do I owe you for this?”

“It's on the house. Seeing a real Scot enjoy my haggis has made my day.”

“Glad I could help, and thank you. 'Tis a pleasure to find such a good haggis around here.”

Alasdair talked Trisha into trying the neeps and tatties, which were a pleasant relief after the peppery haggis. While he finished the last few bites of his snack, he told the vendor about the excellent haggis at Crombie's of Edinburgh, and then he and Trisha moved on. She told him a little about the booths they passed, thankful her career as a graphic designer had given her an eye for detail. Describing the festival proved a bit of a challenge at times, but she enjoyed every minute of it.

“So, Trisha,” Alasdair said as they passed a booth filled with jewelry and trinkets, “what did you have in mind when you said I owe you for making you try haggis?”

Her heart raced with the possibilities. Dare she take advantage of the opportunity to spend more time with this ornery, handsome Scot? Given her lack of opportunity to enjoy the company of a man who didn't look at her with disgust or pity, she dared. “How about something that's actually edible?”

He laughed, a rich sound that flowed over her like a soothing balm. “Haggis is edible, but I know you'll never agree with me.”

She decided to take a risk and hope it didn't backfire. “Well, since we'll never agree on food, why don't we meet here tomorrow and enjoy a full day of the Highland games? You can tell me about Scotland, since I've told you about what's here.”

“Now, that is a plan I like.” His smile sent warmth racing through her. “We can wander around here, and you can ask me whatever you want to know about Scotland and Scottish culture.”

“It's a deal.”

****

The front door opened and Alasdair looked up from the email he was typing to his best mate. A rather pointless movement, since he couldn't see the door any better than he could see the screen of his laptop, but it was habit from nearly twenty-one years of sighted life.

His cousin's heavy tread entered the apartment and the door closed. “Dude, quit staring at me. It creeps me out when you do that.”

Which was precisely why Alasdair kept his sightless gaze on Trevor, using the sound of his footsteps to track him across the room. “Did you have fun with Mindy and your friends?”

“Yeah, we met up with Scott and Jenny to catch a movie.” Trevor cleared his throat, giving away his embarrassment. “Look, man, I thought about inviting you along, but I figured you'd have a better time wandering around the Highland games than you would at a movie you couldn't see.”

Trust Trevor to not understand a blind man could enjoy a film. “Actually, you did me a favor by abandoning me.”

“Oh?” Trevor dropped onto the other end of the couch and, from the sound of it, propped his big feet on the wooden coffee table.

“Ay. If you hadn't left me alone, I wouldn't have met the gorgeous woman I spent the afternoon and evening with.”

“You met someone? Awesome!” Trevor's enthusiasm faded into skepticism. “Wait. How do you know she's gorgeous? You can't see.”

“I have my ways.” What Alasdair wouldn't give to see his cousin's reaction to that one.

“Oh, man, you didn't do that weird face feeling thing, did you?”

His cousin might think it weird, but tracing his fingertips across a person's face was the only way he had to tell what she looked like. He wouldn't ask someone he'd just met to allow him to look at her, however, which Trevor should realize. “Of course not. But if you heard her voice…'Tis the voice of angel, the most beautiful voice I've ever heard. Plus, she's smart, gentle, kind, and has a great sense of humor. Trust me, she's gorgeous.”

“She could weigh six hundred pounds and have a face like a bulldog.”

“No, she's as thin as Mindy”—who had hugged him when he first met her—“and I seriously doubt she's physically ugly.”

He wasn't sure at this point if he would care if her face frightened small children, which it didn't. No one had run screaming all afternoon. But even if she didn't look like a supermodel, who cared? She'd seen
him
, Alasdair Buchanan, not a blind man. That was something special, a woman who appeared blind to his lack of sight and who described and guided intuitively, like it was the most normal thing in the world. It was enough to make him want to propose to her on the spot, just to make sure she didn't get away. A woman who could assist him as necessary without emasculating him was a rare woman indeed.

“Wow,” Trevor said, his voice stunned. “You seriously like this woman.”

“I do. She's…” So many words and emotions came to mind. He settled on one that felt woefully inadequate, but then they all did. “She's amazing.”

“What's your mom going to think, you falling in love your third day in America?”

Alasdair grabbed the throw pillow by his right elbow and chucked it at his cousin, immensely pleased to hear it hit its target. “I didn't say anything about being in love. I just met the lass, remember?”

“You didn't have to say anything. It's written all over your face.”

Alasdair had a feeling his cousin had mistaken the faint scars from his reconstructive surgery for feelings of love. No one fell in love at first sight. Did they? Especially when the one being accused of that very act couldn't see a blasted thing.

 

 

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