Breakfast was even more cursory than supper had been, though Jamie toasted two pieces of bread with cheese between, so that the cheese melted, something Grey hadn’t seen before but thought very tasty. Quinn mounted up without comment afterward and headed back to the road.
Grey sat on a moss-covered rock, watching until the Irishman had got well away, then swiveled back to face Fraser, who was tidily rolling up a pair of stocking into a ball.
“I woke up last night,” he said without preamble.
Fraser stuffed the stocking into his portmanteau and reached for the heel of bread, which followed the stockings.
“Did you,” he said, not looking up.
“Yes. One question – does Mr. Quinn know the nature of our business with Siverly?”
Fraswer hesitated a moment before answering.
“Probably not.” He looked up, eyes a startlingly deep blue. “If he does, he didna hear it from me.”
Diana Gabaldon, The Scottish Prisoner (Chapter 16 – Tower House)