Charles stayed to sup with them, and lingered afterward. Brenna made a pretense of absorbing herself in needlework and rose to excuse herself when they took up a game of backgammon.
"Nonsense," Malcolm told her with a warning glint in his eyes. "It's scarcely half past nine."
Brenna had counted every tick of the ormolu clock since the two men finished their port. Before she answered, Godwin spoke.
"Perhaps Lady Brenna would allow me to instruct her in the game." Pinpoints of anticipation in his dark almost lashless eyes and his patronizing tone maddened her. Brenna had beaten Malcolm at backgammon since she was ten. But she wouldn't fall victim to the urge to teach Charles a lesson.
"I have no head for games," she said, knowing Malcolm would be loathe to confess the defeats she had handed him. "And I'm afraid my eyes burn from too much sewing. I can scarcely keep them open."
Godwin's chair scraped back from the game table. "Eyes so lovely shouldn't be wasted on needlework. Will I see you again soon?"
"Won't you be riding to join the Duke of Cumberland's army?"
He reacted with discomfort. "I've accepted a commission. But the Duke of Cumberland seems to prefer to rely on British regulars."
"But surely now, with the Duke's army so close...?" Brenna had hoped military duties would occupy him elsewhere.
He preened, flattered she thought his services vital to the King. "I expect to join the Duke shortly."
"As I would," Malcolm put in, "if my bad knee didn't make it impossible for me to sit a horse more than an hour at a time."
His glance flayed Brenna for bringing up the subject. Malcolm's injury wasn't a sham. He resented admitting he wasn't fit for military service, and he slouched sourly over the game table.
"Perhaps we should excuse Brenna," he said venomously. "My sister seems to have discarded her tact with her manners."
"On the contrary," Charles objected quickly, "I've seldom spent such a pleasant evening."
Thank the Earl of Stratford's warning to tread lightly with Malcolm. Brenna had already baited her brother enough for one day, and she had been uneasily aware her usual treatment of Charles Godwin's courtship could bring trouble down on her head.
"Then I'll bid you both good night."
To Brenna's dismay, Charles rose and offered his hand to conduct her to the drawing room door, his fingers unpleasantly sticky from the bits of candied fruit he had eaten after dinner.
"I regret I had no opportunity for a dance with you when I was last here. The Rebels won't find any of us napping again."
They were past the double doors and halfway to the staircase in the great hall, well out of Malcolm's hearing .
"Not one of Malcolm's guests was in any danger from Cam or his men," Brenna said in a low furious voice.
The lines in Charles Godwin's face tightened. "So you still defend MacCavan?" He laughed in contempt. "He'll kick from a rope by summer, unless the King devises something more entertaining."
Brenna fought a wave of nausea at the thought. Charles would relish any execution. As a boy, it had been his greatest pleasure to pull the claws from kittens and perform cruel surgery on fallen birds. But she wouldn't let him see how he had shaken her.
"Does King George confide in you, Charles?" she said in as taunting a voice as she could muster. "If he did, I hardly think you'd languish at home with a two penny commission."
His obsidian eyes went flat. "Still the shrew," he grated out. "Smiling sweetly one minute, spitting in my face the next."
Brenna glared at him. "I've never deceived you. I'm still betrothed to Cam, whatever Malcolm may say. Don't expect me to bite my tongue when you make threats about him."
He took a step toward her, so close she could smell his stale breath. "You sorely need someone to curb your tongue."
He caught hold of her with bruising fingers. Brenna gasped, as much in shock as pain. Then, as if
"Nonsense," Malcolm told her with a warning glint in his eyes. "It's scarcely half past nine."
Brenna had counted every tick of the ormolu clock since the two men finished their port. Before she answered, Godwin spoke.
"Perhaps Lady Brenna would allow me to instruct her in the game." Pinpoints of anticipation in his dark almost lashless eyes and his patronizing tone maddened her. Brenna had beaten Malcolm at backgammon since she was ten. But she wouldn't fall victim to the urge to teach Charles a lesson.
"I have no head for games," she said, knowing Malcolm would be loathe to confess the defeats she had handed him. "And I'm afraid my eyes burn from too much sewing. I can scarcely keep them open."
Godwin's chair scraped back from the game table. "Eyes so lovely shouldn't be wasted on needlework. Will I see you again soon?"
"Won't you be riding to join the Duke of Cumberland's army?"
He reacted with discomfort. "I've accepted a commission. But the Duke of Cumberland seems to prefer to rely on British regulars."
"But surely now, with the Duke's army so close...?" Brenna had hoped military duties would occupy him elsewhere.
He preened, flattered she thought his services vital to the King. "I expect to join the Duke shortly."
"As I would," Malcolm put in, "if my bad knee didn't make it impossible for me to sit a horse more than an hour at a time."
His glance flayed Brenna for bringing up the subject. Malcolm's injury wasn't a sham. He resented admitting he wasn't fit for military service, and he slouched sourly over the game table.
"Perhaps we should excuse Brenna," he said venomously. "My sister seems to have discarded her tact with her manners."
"On the contrary," Charles objected quickly, "I've seldom spent such a pleasant evening."
Thank the Earl of Stratford's warning to tread lightly with Malcolm. Brenna had already baited her brother enough for one day, and she had been uneasily aware her usual treatment of Charles Godwin's courtship could bring trouble down on her head.
"Then I'll bid you both good night."
To Brenna's dismay, Charles rose and offered his hand to conduct her to the drawing room door, his fingers unpleasantly sticky from the bits of candied fruit he had eaten after dinner.
"I regret I had no opportunity for a dance with you when I was last here. The Rebels won't find any of us napping again."
They were past the double doors and halfway to the staircase in the great hall, well out of Malcolm's hearing .
"Not one of Malcolm's guests was in any danger from Cam or his men," Brenna said in a low furious voice.
The lines in Charles Godwin's face tightened. "So you still defend MacCavan?" He laughed in contempt. "He'll kick from a rope by summer, unless the King devises something more entertaining."
Brenna fought a wave of nausea at the thought. Charles would relish any execution. As a boy, it had been his greatest pleasure to pull the claws from kittens and perform cruel surgery on fallen birds. But she wouldn't let him see how he had shaken her.
"Does King George confide in you, Charles?" she said in as taunting a voice as she could muster. "If he did, I hardly think you'd languish at home with a two penny commission."
His obsidian eyes went flat. "Still the shrew," he grated out. "Smiling sweetly one minute, spitting in my face the next."
Brenna glared at him. "I've never deceived you. I'm still betrothed to Cam, whatever Malcolm may say. Don't expect me to bite my tongue when you make threats about him."
He took a step toward her, so close she could smell his stale breath. "You sorely need someone to curb your tongue."
He caught hold of her with bruising fingers. Brenna gasped, as much in shock as pain. Then, as if
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