Free Avalon by Stephen R. Lawhead

potatoes.” Cal sighed happily. “They must be able to read my mind.”
    “Everyone can read your mind, Cal,” James remarked. “Whatever you’re thinking is on your face before you open your mouth. Enjoy!” Raising his glass, he took a deliberately large sip. The red, in James’ estimation, was even better than the white. Although partial to reds, he knew nothing whatsoever about wine — except to stay far, far away from that nasty Khazak stuff the Afghans served the UN troops. What the soldiers didn’t drink, they used to clean their rifles; it stripped away old grease and did not leave a sticky residue.
    The two men made short work of the meal, eating in companionable silence.
    “
Will
she marry me, do you think?” asked Calum, looking up from his empty plate.
    “Isobel? Oh, sure,” James told him. “You two can open a wine bar in Aberdeen.”
    “Stranger things happen, James, my man,” he pointed out.
    “They do indeed.”
    A moment later, Isobel came to remove the plates. “Who’s for pudding?” she said, refilling James’ glass with the luscious red. She moved to refill Cal’s glass, and James noticed that she stood much closer to Cal than before.
    “You were right,” Cal told her, indicating the wine. “This is very good.”
    “I knew you’d like it.” She poured a little extra into his glass. “For pudding we have a really scrummy chocolate torte,” she said, replacing the bottle.
    “If it’s anything like its cook,” answered Cal, returning her smile, “I’m sure it’s lovely.”
    “Charmer,” she purred and disappeared again.
    “I think she likes you,” James said when she had gone. “Charmer.”
    Isobel returned with two plates. Placing one before James, she moved to Cal’s side. “Take a bite,” she instructed, resting her hand lightly on Cal’s shoulder, “and tell me what you think.”
    Cal dutifully picked up his spoon and took a large bite, rolled it around in his mouth, and grinned. “I was right,” he said. “It is terrific. The best chocolate torte I’ve ever tasted.”
    Isobel beamed triumphantly. “I’ll see to the coffees.”
    She left them to their desserts, and James dug in. Cal, however, merely stared at his plate. “What’s wrong?” James asked.
    “You know I can’t eat chocolate,” Cal sighed. “It always gives me a bruising headache.”
    “The things we do for love.”
    Nodding forlornly, Cal took a wary bite. At that moment, the door opened and a lean, lanky man with thinning gray hair stepped quickly in. “Here!” he said, almost bounding across the room. His tie was loosened, his suit coat unbuttoned, and he wore a pair of reading glasses on a cord around his neck, giving him the air of an overworked librarian. “Dreadfully sorry to be so late. Don’t let me interrupt. I just wanted to pop in and say hello. I’m Donald.” He held out his hand. “You must be James.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” James replied, shaking his hand. “And this is my friend Calum.”
    They shook hands. The kitchen door opened and Caroline entered with a pitcher of water. “Donald, You’re home. Come into the kitchen and we’ll get you something to eat.”
    “Not hungry in the slightest,” he said. “But I could do with a slice of that torte — if someone insisted.”
    “Please, join us,” James offered. “Cal says it’s terrific.”
    Lord Rothes did not require urging. Caroline set down the pitcher and went off to fetch him his pudding, while Rothes pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Cal. “I don’t mind telling you it’s been one of those days,” he confided. “Still, we gave as good as we got, I think. Good trip down?”
    “A small delay in Crewe, apparently,” James answered, “but otherwise tolerable.”
    “Then you won’t have seen the Prime Minister’s speech this afternoon, I suppose?”
    “As a matter of fact, we caught it on the news a little while ago.”
    “What did you think?”
    “About what you’d expect, I