Free The Dog House (Harding's World of Romance) by Nell Harding Page A

neutrally. “Best fish and chips in town.”
    “And they take reservations now, do they?” he continued in his lightly teasing way. “What a good choice. I haven’t eaten there since I was a boy.”
    They stepped out of the warmth and noise of the pub into the chilly evening. A wind was coming in from the sea, carrying the smell of salt water and low tide flats. Fiona began to doubt her plan to eat on the outside terrace if it was this windy, which would mean instead facing another crowd of curious spectators. Although if they arrived together, it might cause less of a stir.
    They wandered down the main street, Fiona drawing her jacket tight against her and not protesting when Colin automatically draped his jacket over her shoulders.
    “Won’t you be cold?” she asked, appreciating the warmth.
    “Never. We upper classes pay others to be cold for us,” he replied flippantly.
    “Well, thank you for the gallantry. It allows you to be overdressed and under-dressed at the same time.”
    He looked in surprise at his attire. “Overdressed? This is casual for a Parker, I assure you. And I wasn’t sure where you intended to take me this evening, so I thought I should be careful.”
    She glanced up at him. “You don’t mind fish and chips, do you?” she asked in a small voice.
    His reassuring laugh warmed her. “Of course not. You misunderstand the high society. We do eat local regional specialties, after all. And there is always take-away if we want to remain aloof. Besides, I’m actually relieved. I was half-expecting McDonald’s after our last conversation.”
    “I wonder if it is the same MacDonald as the ambitious highland clan with Viking blood that raided so many castles in the area and controlled a lot of Scotland?” Fiona wondered aloud, forgetting her resolve not to talk history tonight.
    Colin seemed to find the idea appealing. “That would be appropriate,” he decided. “From some great-great ancestor conquering the Highlands to an immigrant son conquering the world food market.”
    “He wouldn’t even have to be a blood relative,” Fiona corrected him without thinking. “Anyone loyal to MacDonald would choose MacDonald as a clan name.”
    “So how did they prevent inbreeding?” Colin asked curiously. “And don’t make any snide comments about the upper classes finding that a respectable habit.”
    Fiona grinned and held her tongue, feeling her tensions start to slip away as she looked about her at the life on High Street on a Friday evening. There were small groups gathered in front of the pubs and restaurants, and a few shops still attracted last-minute shoppers. It was true that it did her some good to get away from the cottage in the evening occasionally, and to venture further afield than the Glen Murray Inn.
    It wasn’t a long walk to the restaurant, just a few blocks down the main street and one street down to the waterside. A small group of hardy teens were eating on the outside terrace while hopeful gulls wheeled and cried above them. The tide was out, so that the wharf ran out over bare mud flats and rocks before reaching the sea.
    “So you really eat fish and chips from here now and then?” she demanded as they walked up the steps onto the terrace.
    He smiled back. “You truly think I’m a snob, don’t you?” he asked in his usual comfortable way. “Well, as I said, even snobs enjoy regional cuisine. Of course, I was thinking more about oysters in Brittany or foie gras in Dordogne…”
    He let his voice trickle away and Fiona said nothing. She had never travelled outside of Scotland and England, and even then it had mostly been for her studies and research.
    This slight discomfort with the inequality of the situation brought back her earlier aggressive tone toward Colin. “So what did you want to speak to me about so desperately?”
    He shrugged his shoulders lightly with an easy smile. “I don’t know. Anything. Everything. I’m keen to hear your opinion about all