Chapter 10 #3
She stood near the south end of the wide table, facing him.
Her left hand rested near the carved wooden box containing the penknife, sealing wax, and seal.
From behind her, mote-ridden rays of the lowering sun through the arrow-slit streaked golden highlights in her hair, giving her an undeserved halo.
“Doubtless,” she added when he remained silent, “Rosalie would say you should at least leave the door open.”
“We’ll have this talk without an audience,” he said, his voice carefully even. “You ripped up at Corinne before supper, and you’re angry with me, too. I want to know why.”
When her cheeks darkened, he said, “Come now, Robby. You’re rarely so reticent about sharing your thoughts. Tell me.”
Pressing her lips tightly together, she glowered at him as if his statement of the simple facts had made her angrier.
Then, straightening her shoulders and raising her chin, she said, “I shan’t trouble you by explaining what I said to Corinne, sir.
She is still innocent in the ways of men, though, so you should not encourage her to flirt with you. Nor should Cousin Wat.”
Dev had all he could do not to laugh at her description of the forthright, obviously man-hungry Corinne.
He’d seen the maidservant in the yard with Jem Keith.
She flirted as naturally as she breathed and was as enticing and amiable a lass as he’d ever met.
But Robby was an innocent. He would have to tread cautiously.
Or… perhaps not. He had been about to offer her a dismissive platitude when a second thought struck him, one that he was nearly certain would irk her. It might also reveal more of the truth than she wanted to reveal.
Accordingly, he said, “Are you saying that you believe Wat and I were flirting with your maid and the sight made you jealous, Robby? Is that it?”
Her jaw dropped, her eyes flashed, and for a long moment she remained speechless, staring at him. “Jealous!” she squeaked at last. “Me? Are you mad?”
“Do you think so? In troth, if I’m wrong, it much relieves my mind, because jealousy in a woman is most unbecoming.
Her temper becomes uncertain and shrill.
Her eyes lose their luster; and her lips grow chapped and ugly because, in her foolish misery, she chews them.
Also, more times than not, she fails even to ask the chap if she has cause to be jealous.
In this instance, you certainly have none. ”
Her mouth had fallen open again. She shut it. Then she said tartly, “I was thinking of Corinne’s welfare, not of you or me.”
“Blethers,” he said. “You were jealous.”
“I was not!” As she snapped the words out, she scooped up the wooden box with her left hand and hurled it and its contents at him. Her aim was uncannily accurate, too, especially as she had thrown the damned thing with her left hand.
Dev caught the box inches from his face with his left hand and the stoppered inkpot, when it lurched out of the box, with his right.
He let the lid and the other items crash to the flagstone floor.
After the clatter, silence fell.
Aghast at what she had done and hoping to avoid the likely Devilish consequence, Robina stepped hastily back, anxious to put the table between them.
“Stand right where you are,” Dev ordered curtly.
Her legs threatened to fail her, so she obeyed, resting her hand on the table again to steady herself. What demon had possessed her to throw anything at him?
Then, to her shock, he smiled. “If you can shoot as accurately as you throw,” he said, “I’d be a damned fool not to give you a bow and a quiverful of arrows.”
“Father and Rab taught me to shoot and to throw,” she said. Her voice felt shaky, so she cleared her throat. “I should not have done that.”
“No,” he said. “But I’m glad I had the privilege of seeing that throw. Pick up the penknife and the other things now, and don’t ever do that again.”
She did not reply but picked up the box lid and the wax sticks, seal, and penknife while he crossed the room to return the box and its inkpot to the table. He stood there, waiting, until she put the other items where they belonged.
She hesitated then, staring at the carving on the lid, grateful that it had not cracked, and seeking the will to face him again.
He put a hand to her shoulder. “Look at me, Robby.”
She did, exhaling and squaring both shoulders to brace herself. But when her gaze met his, her mouth curved of its own accord into a weak but rueful smile. “I’ve never thrown anything at anyone before,” she said. “I was so angry. Even so…”
“We’ll say no more about that,” he said quietly. “I do want to say one thing, though, and you would be wise not to rip up at me until you hear me out.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” she muttered.
“Ah, Robby, if only I could believe that,” he said, shaking his head. “However, the next time you rebuke a servant—or fly out at me in anger—consider first how much more you can achieve by doing so privately.”
She nodded. “I do know better. Father was always respectful. He tried to teach me and Rab, but”—she swallowed hard—“but we both have such fiery tempers that…”
“I understand about fiery tempers,” he said.
She looked away, bit her lip to keep from smiling at the understatement, and then looked back at him to say, “By my troth, Dev, I will strive to remember.”
“Then I will, too,” he said. He held her gaze, and suddenly, she could almost feel his warm lips against hers again. Then, hastily, he added, “Meantime, I expect you should rejoin Rosalie and Janet before one of them comes looking for you.”
“I must see Benjy to bed first,” she said.
“I’ll see to the laddie,” Dev said. “I want a word with him, too.”
“Mercy, what has he done?”
“That, Robby-lass, is between Benjy and me. But don’t worry; I’m not angry with him. I just want to get to know him better.”