“Do you want to tell me what it is?”
“No,” she said primly, then her cheeks flushed. “I mean to say, I have no plan.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Then you are foolish to treat with me. I’m sure your councilors advised you on just that matter.”
“They did. As did yours.”
“Oh, did you hear?” she murmured, as if he might not have heard her steward shouting at her. “He made some valid points, you know.”
“Such as me being a savage?”
“I believe he suggested the possibility.”
Aodh shrugged. “And yet, here you are, with me.”
Her dark eyes held his. “Perhaps I found your arguments more convincing upon reflection.”
He smiled. Within the half hour. Where the hell was his clerk, Tancred? Doing something efficient and clerical, no doubt. Curse him. “I am glad to hear it.”
One brow arched up, a little sweep of dark angles across her face. “Perhaps I expect it to be an extremely short-lived union,” she said tartly.
He smiled. “I shall make your jointure a fine large one, to compensate you for your loss.” He spread out a hand. “In the event.”
”Yes,” she echoed drily. “In the event.”
He sat back and called for a servant.
“Bring me the leather chest in the lord’s chambers,” he ordered, and the man hurried off. Fires burned in the empty hall. She glanced over, then looked away quickly, touching her fingertips to the smooth curve of her neck, a nervous gesture.
He smiled.
She was born to be enflamed, and he would see the deed done.
He slid a flask toward her. It rumbled as it crossed the oak tabletop.
She looked at it. “Is that Irish whisky?”
“‘Tis.”
“Hm.” She ran her fingertips across the edge of the table. “I see Ireland still holds some charms for you.”
His gaze trailed down her gown. “A few. Do you want a taste? ’Tis quite good.”
“I do not drink your uisce beatha .”
He sat back in surprise. “’Tis one of the finest things about Ireland, and you’ve never tasted it?”
She tucked a strand of hair back under her veil. It seemed they were eternally springing free from Katarina’s attempts at control.
“I did not say I never tasted it.”
He shook his head sadly. “Lass, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Yes, well, I have seen enough men facedown in the rushes to know what I might be missing.”
He laughed. “Aye, you’ve got to go easy.”
“I shall remember that.”
“Wine, then?” he asked, reaching for the jug.
“No! I mean…no.” Her fingertips skipped down her neck, to the V of her collarbone. His gaze followed it.
“’Twasn’t the wine, you know,” he said gently.
Like glass, smooth and almost translucent, her gaze lifted to his. “What was not the wine?”
“What happened. Upstairs. What you did.”
A little shiver disrupted the otherwise calm façade of her gracefulness, then she shrugged dismissively. “You know naught of me, Aodh Mac Con. Perhaps I am eternally flinging myself at strange warriors whenever I drink wine from Gascony.”
“Is that so? I shall inquire as to your habits at the first instance.”
She sniffed. “Gird your loins, my lord. You shall hear stories.”
He smiled and sat back and pushed out his legs. The tips of his boots, black and mud-stained, came to rest just beside the green hem of her skirts. “Why do you say Gascony?”
“’Twas a guess. Is that not where most wine is from?”
“Some. ’Tis fine if you like a claret.”
Surprise lifted her brows in a delicate arch. “And if I do not?”
“Then you will like my wine. ’Tis a canary.”
“Indeed?”
He nodded. “From the Canary Islands.”
Her lips parted, into the smallest O. “And where, pray, are they?”
”I will show you,” he murmured as the servant arrived back in the hall, wooden boots clattering across the floor. He was puffing slightly from his labors on the spiraling staircase, and carried a leather chest in his arms. He placed
“No,” she said primly, then her cheeks flushed. “I mean to say, I have no plan.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Then you are foolish to treat with me. I’m sure your councilors advised you on just that matter.”
“They did. As did yours.”
“Oh, did you hear?” she murmured, as if he might not have heard her steward shouting at her. “He made some valid points, you know.”
“Such as me being a savage?”
“I believe he suggested the possibility.”
Aodh shrugged. “And yet, here you are, with me.”
Her dark eyes held his. “Perhaps I found your arguments more convincing upon reflection.”
He smiled. Within the half hour. Where the hell was his clerk, Tancred? Doing something efficient and clerical, no doubt. Curse him. “I am glad to hear it.”
One brow arched up, a little sweep of dark angles across her face. “Perhaps I expect it to be an extremely short-lived union,” she said tartly.
He smiled. “I shall make your jointure a fine large one, to compensate you for your loss.” He spread out a hand. “In the event.”
”Yes,” she echoed drily. “In the event.”
He sat back and called for a servant.
“Bring me the leather chest in the lord’s chambers,” he ordered, and the man hurried off. Fires burned in the empty hall. She glanced over, then looked away quickly, touching her fingertips to the smooth curve of her neck, a nervous gesture.
He smiled.
She was born to be enflamed, and he would see the deed done.
He slid a flask toward her. It rumbled as it crossed the oak tabletop.
She looked at it. “Is that Irish whisky?”
“‘Tis.”
“Hm.” She ran her fingertips across the edge of the table. “I see Ireland still holds some charms for you.”
His gaze trailed down her gown. “A few. Do you want a taste? ’Tis quite good.”
“I do not drink your uisce beatha .”
He sat back in surprise. “’Tis one of the finest things about Ireland, and you’ve never tasted it?”
She tucked a strand of hair back under her veil. It seemed they were eternally springing free from Katarina’s attempts at control.
“I did not say I never tasted it.”
He shook his head sadly. “Lass, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Yes, well, I have seen enough men facedown in the rushes to know what I might be missing.”
He laughed. “Aye, you’ve got to go easy.”
“I shall remember that.”
“Wine, then?” he asked, reaching for the jug.
“No! I mean…no.” Her fingertips skipped down her neck, to the V of her collarbone. His gaze followed it.
“’Twasn’t the wine, you know,” he said gently.
Like glass, smooth and almost translucent, her gaze lifted to his. “What was not the wine?”
“What happened. Upstairs. What you did.”
A little shiver disrupted the otherwise calm façade of her gracefulness, then she shrugged dismissively. “You know naught of me, Aodh Mac Con. Perhaps I am eternally flinging myself at strange warriors whenever I drink wine from Gascony.”
“Is that so? I shall inquire as to your habits at the first instance.”
She sniffed. “Gird your loins, my lord. You shall hear stories.”
He smiled and sat back and pushed out his legs. The tips of his boots, black and mud-stained, came to rest just beside the green hem of her skirts. “Why do you say Gascony?”
“’Twas a guess. Is that not where most wine is from?”
“Some. ’Tis fine if you like a claret.”
Surprise lifted her brows in a delicate arch. “And if I do not?”
“Then you will like my wine. ’Tis a canary.”
“Indeed?”
He nodded. “From the Canary Islands.”
Her lips parted, into the smallest O. “And where, pray, are they?”
”I will show you,” he murmured as the servant arrived back in the hall, wooden boots clattering across the floor. He was puffing slightly from his labors on the spiraling staircase, and carried a leather chest in his arms. He placed
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