Chapter 7
Drystan took his time leading Ceridwen through the halls of the manor. She had a tendency to try to trail behind him, often distracted and staring at one thing or another, but that only encouraged him to slow further. He enjoyed the sight of her taking her surroundings, inspecting his temporary home. Most all the furnishings belonged to the manor itself, used by whatever Lord Protector might be in residence at the time, but her obvious wonder and admiration still had a sense of pride swelling in his chest.
It’d been long, probably too long, since he’d spent any time around someone new, particularly someone outside the nobility and their servants. He supposed the manor would look grand in comparison to the modest home in which she lived, and he wasn’t quite certain about the young woman’s history before her family moved to this city. A country upbringing, Jackoby had heard, but the details of it were limited at best.
“I’m to have a room of my own?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper despite the quiet of the hall, punctuated only by the click of their boots across the marble floors. She’d left her flute behind in the study at his request since she’d play for him again that evening, and without it to hold, her hands had a tendency to twist with each other in front of her.
“Of course,” Drystan replied. “You are my guest.”
Ceridwen paused in a stream of light flowing in from between the curtains. Many of the windows on this hall were completely covered, but this one had been left askew by a careless maid. Normally that would irk him, but the light shimmering over her aroused a different feeling.
A frown took shape on her pink lips as she glanced away. “If I were a guest, I’d be free to come and go.”
His lips twitched. “You’ll have to excuse my want of privacy.” Drystan held out a hand to her. “Come along.”
Ceridwen tentatively met his gaze, a slight blush on her cheeks. She reached out to take his hand but stopped just short, her attention glued to his skin.
Damn it all.He’d forgotten his gloves, and with the light streaming in, she easily spied the scars marring him, a few of them still recent and scabbed.
She glanced up at him, eyes wide. “You’re—”
He jerked his hand away and turned on his heel. “It’s nothing. Come along.”
For a moment, he feared she might protest or ask more questions, but eventually, the soft click of her boots resumed behind him, where he let her linger for the duration of the walk, his previous pleasure shattered by her observation.
Questions would follow, and he had no good answers for her, at least none that he would give.
At length they reached the door Drystan sought, which he threw open before ushering Ceridwen inside. He”d left the decision of her room to his housekeeper, Gwen, who he must admit had chosen well. The bedroom was sumptuous with its green walls and golden accents, though they’d been dimmed by time. Carved wooden couches with pale cream and gold cushions dotted the space, with matching dark wooden tables composing the sitting area. Even he could find nothing amiss with the tall four-poster bed and matching armoires. Kent had already seen to depositing her trunk at the foot of the bed. Or at least he assumed it must be hers. While much of the room, and the manor, were dated, the poor trunk looked like it could fall apart at any moment, its paint peeling badly in one corner.
Thankfully, Ceridwen was so distracted examining the room that she didn’t attempt a further look at his hands—or the rest of him. He might as well have vanished the moment he opened the doors.
Something about that irked him, though it was for the best.
“My housekeeper shall be along shortly to inquire after your needs.”
This got her attention. Ceridwen spun around, her skirts twirling around her legs. She stared up at him, almost as if she’d forgotten he was there.
“Thank you,” she said. “The room is— It’s so lovely.” Her eyes sparkled, showing the truth of the compliment.
That stubborn bit of pride grew behind his ribs again, and he was thankful he’d taken the time to show it to her himself rather than passing her off to one of his staff. For more of that look alone, he’d have given up a whole day.
Lingering close to her could be more dangerous than he anticipated.
“You’ll join me for dinner tonight and play after. Anything you need, my staff will acquire for you.”
Before he could give in to the temptation to stay, he turned from the room and closed the doors behind him.
Inviting Ceridwen to dine with him only seemed proper, but being unused to guests, he lost track of time and was late coming down from his room in the tower.
Kent stood at the base of the stairs, waiting. He opened his mouth to speak, but Drystan cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I know. I’m late.”
“Just so,” the young man said, stepping into pace at his side. “Miss Ceridwen is already at the table.”
Good. Something about that knowledge set him at ease. As they approached the dining room, Kent hurried to open the doors for his lord, but Drystan halted him with a whispered, “Wait.”
What a person did when they thought few were watching spoke volumes about them, and he was curious to see how the young woman staying under his roof handled his tardiness. The door was already cracked, light from within spilling out into the dimmer hall.
“He shall be here soon, miss,” Jackoby said from within. “Apologies, he is unaccustomed to keeping a strict schedule.”
Drystan huffed air through his nose. Accurate, as always.
Ceridwen sat in her assigned place at one end of the table, her back to the doors. She released a fork she’d been holding, and it clattered onto the porcelain plate. Hastily, she moved it into its original position, arranging it just so and then doing the same with the other pieces. Was she nervous?
His lips quirked up in one corner as he stepped away from the door. What a curiosity she presented. Drystan nodded to Kent, an order to open the doors and grant him entry as planned.
“My lady.” Drystan gave a short bow at the waist before sliding the chair out from the table and landing heavily between the armrests shaped like great paws.
“You’re quite late,” she said by way of reply.
Deep laughter rumbled from his chest before he could stop it. She wasn’t wrong—the candles had already burned down quite a ways, but he couldn’t help responding to her prod with one of his own. “And here I thought I might be greeted by a fearful mouse or meek silence.”
Color raced to her cheeks. “At least I don’t look like a wild man living in the woods,” she muttered. Her hand flew to cover her mouth, where it gaped open after the words fell free.
Not a mouse at all. Perhaps she had some of her sister’s snark, after all. What a pleasant surprise. He shouldn’t enjoy it the way he did, his grin stretching wide across his features in a way it hadn’t in months. Things would be easier if she were meek and quiet, but he quite liked this twist to his evening. He had the sudden urge annoy her more often, just to see how she would respond.
“Perhaps, from your perspective,” he replied. It had been some time since he’d shaved, but that was purposeful. His beard hid the scars on his chin and lower cheek, and he had no desire for that to become a topic of conversation. “But even wild lords need food, and so do sharp-tongued young women.”
Ceridwen flushed a deeper shade and stared at her empty plate.
Wild man, she mouthed silently, probably chastising herself.
Poor girl.It wouldn’t do to put her too out of sorts on her first evening.
Jackoby cleared his throat and announced, “Dinner is served.”
Servants filed in from the kitchen carrying platters of food. Generally, he wasn’t one for such formality, but it seemed appropriate with a guest in residence. Besides, the staff was eager to try out the set of fine platters trimmed in little roses. A bit feminine for his taste, though he always did love to grow things, roses especially. They required work to get them to grow just right, their blooms a beautiful reward for a job well done. If only that knack for patience and diligence had taken root in him during his youth, his life might not have taken the poor turn it had. So many things could have been avoided, so much death…
Dinner passed in mostly companionable silence. Where Ceridwen had been quick to speak and sharp-tongued at his entrance, she said little the rest of the meal, only giving brief answers to his questions about the weather and her opinion of the city. Perhaps she was afraid of speaking her mind too openly and offending him. A wise fear. With most, he might have flown into a rage, but such a retort from her sparked humor in him rather than his customary emotions, though he couldn’t say why. So delightfully odd.
When he was certain she’d eaten her fill, and she no longer reached for her utensils or eyed the rich fare with barely disguised lust as she had at the start of the meal, Drystan pushed back his chair and rose. He circled around the table as Kent rushed to pull back Ceridwen’s chair. Silence over dinner was one thing. He didn’t pay her for witty conversation. However, a deep gnawing hunger ate at him from within for a different kind of sound, one that she could grant.
As she stood, he extended his gloved hand to her. “Will you join me in my study?”