“Yer ale, m’laird,” she said and set the drink down in front of him. “Thank ye,” he murmured, and then stiffened as he noted the way her lip curled with disgust as her gaze slid over his scar before she turned away. Mouth tightening, he swiveled back to the table and picked up his ale. That reaction was something he hadn’t had to suffer in a month.
