Aylen dabbed his mouth with the napkin and set it next to the empty plate, gave a warm smile to the hostess.
“Truly, Mrs Sutherland, that was magnificent. You’ve outdone yourself in every way.” He looked to his right, where a greying man in a pristine dinner jacket cowered against the wall with a trickle of blood running from a blow to his head. “Wouldn’t you agree, your honour?”
Justice Sutherland nodded his agreement like he thought, in some part of his mind, it might make the nightmare end. Beside him, Sisk grinned and took another bite from a turkey leg, letting the grease spill onto the floor.
Aylen set his hand on the hand of Mrs Sutherland, a stately woman who was trembling in fear at the usurper in her husband’s seat. She tried to pull away, but he caught her, held her there.
“See, now, some might say the meal deserves a different scale of measurement. A different standard to judge it by. Some might say ‘That meal was the best meal I’ve ever had!’ while others might say it might’ve been the best, but for its Scottish nature.”
He smiled at Mrs Sutherland, rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. “I’ve no issue with the Scots,” he said. “The English neither. You are what you are, and the rest of us work within the boundaries you allow.”