8. Charm & Manners
Charm trying to get a reaction from her was the most entertainment he had in the coming weeks. They were nearly halfway to the Wylds and his people, but the road ahead was still long.
Cypress gave a very unladylike snort and shook her head. “Mother help whoever you lay your sights upon.”
“You wound me.”
Cypress laughed, pulling her chair around the table so her back was to the wall, giving her good visibility around the room. Torren did the same, the pair sitting on one side of the rectangular table.
She cut a look toward him, rolled her eyes, but relaxed in her chair. Or at least, she wanted him to think she was relaxed, but Torren could see the line of tension along her brow, how her gaze sought out every nook and cranny, memorized every face in the room– just as he was doing.
The Lass was cataloging everything down to the minute details. Even Torren could admit the skill that took.
“Relax, Lass. Have a nice meal, and then ye can go to your room and mind your business while I mind mine,” Torren said, just as the brunette arrived with a decanter of wine and a pair of short glasses which no doubt more often had spirits much stronger than wine inside.
Torren gave the woman a smile of appreciation, almost unable to resist the urge to follow her into the nearest broom cupboard and have his way with her once more.
Cypress nodded her thanks to the barmaid as she disappeared and took a small sip of the wine. “What do you suppose he meant by ‘the trouble’ I’ll bring?”
Torren bided his time by taking a long draught from the wine, grimacing as he pulled away.
Finest wine my arse.
“Keep your voice lowered,” Torren murmured, then answered her question. “Some villages like this one don’t take kindly to women who have… let's say, personality.”
“And so naturally you thought the best place to bring me was here?” Cypress snarked, taking another sip of her wine. “Ugh, what is this?”
Torren laughed, giving his glass of wine a dubious look. “ Probably the swill.” He took another drink, shuddering as he swallowed. “As far as you go, Lass, you would have been fine if you hadn’t decided to show off on your horse just outside.”
“I was not showing off-”
“Sure you weren’t, Lass. And I’m not an exiled Prince.”
Cypress’s face turned mottled red, lids narrowing over mismatched brown and green eyes. “Perhaps if I had known I was about to be in mixed company, things would be different. Maybe next time, warn me and save yourself the gold mark.”
Torren took a slow drought of his wine, clearing the glass– if only so he could order something else– and said, “Lass. I don’t care about the gold mark.”
“Then what’s your problem?”
“Who said I have a problem?”
Cypress curled her lip and gestured at… well, Torren’s entire body. “You’re… exuding it.”
Torren scoffed, then reclined in his chair and threw a leg over the arm. “What am I exuding, Lass?” He asked, giving her a grin.
Cypress glared at him through her lashes, but didn’t have time to respond before the barmaid arrived carrying their food. After she placed the two plates on the table before them, Torren asked: “Do you have anything stronger than wine?”
“Yes, Milord. There is Brandlewine, though it will cost you.”
Torren held out two more gold marks, and the barmaid scurried away with promises to return as quickly as she could.
Cypress already had a fork-speared baby potato halfway to her mouth, making Torren huff a laugh.
“Did you ever eat in front of the royal family– or at court?”
Cypress cut a look toward him out of the corner of her eye. “Why?”
Torren pulled a face, shrugging. “Just wondering.”
Cypress laid her fork down, though the–admittedly quite dull– knife was still in her hand. “What?”
He paid her no mind; instead, he cut a slice of his roast, savoring the flavor as the meat practically melted in his mouth. This was certainly worth the gold marks. “For someone who by all appearances was placed to blend in with the ladies, you don’t much act like one.”
She blinked, slow and measured, then softly said, “I seem to recall you falling for the Lady act quite easily.”
Two new glasses were placed before Torren and Cypress, a deep purple liquid sloshing around the rim. Torren nodded his thanks to the server without breaking his gaze from the mismatched one of his companion.
“You are good, Lass, but not that good,” Torren said rather than admitting the truth.
Cypress had played the part of startled, afraid fawn– just like so many of the Ladies he’d been privileged to meet in his life. She had fooled him and beaten him in a fair fight to boot.
Cypress lifted her cup, and in the one act alone, it was like she transformed. Her movements were somehow daintier, her eyes rounded, mouth poised, and chin raised elegantly. Cypress held her wine up with the slightest grasp around the glass, her pinky and forefinger raised in a refined arc.
She took the smallest drink, demurely blotted her lips with a napkin, then sliced a tiny bite off the roast and chewed thoroughly, silently. Torren was transfixed, staring blatantly at the side of Cypress’s face.
“What is it, Milord?” She asked, her voice softened into something like a child’s tone, innocent and fragile.
Torren hated it.
“Now that is bloody spooky,” he said, trying to control the burning in his veins.
Cypress laughed, and immediately, she was back.