The blend was perfect. Even the texture of the food was perfect. It seemed strange that such a simple food could be such a delight to the tongue. Adair reached for another one.Slowly, he relaxed in his chair. A gentle warmth seeped through him, easing the tense readiness of his muscles that seemed to afflict him even in his sleep. Although he had always thought of Duncairn as home, for the first time in far too long, he felt its welcome reach out and touch him. He looked at Rose, noticed she was looking a little pale and was clenching her hands in her lap, and felt an urge to take her into his arms. Adair realized he wanted to kiss and stroke away the fear from which she was suffering.Adair reached for his tankard and had a deep drink of ale. It did not banish the feelings. Comforting, his father had called the food of the Keith women, and that was exactly what Adair felt. He felt just as he once did when his late mother used to stroke his brow and kiss his cheek. Adair felt he ought to be alarmed by that, but he was not.
