suspect. Love is for fools. Your sisters are doomed to lives of disappointment, misery, and dashed hopes. Oh, and please to be leaving your legless men on the battlefield. Did I miss anything?”
He exploded into laughter.
Stilling, she looked up and was greeted by a wicked gleam in his eye. The man perplexed her utterly.
He nodded at her food. “Your mum used to scold you for that. ”
Marjorie looked to her hand, still poised in her bowl, where she was swabbing up the remains of her stew with a hunk of bread. She finished mopping the bowl and took a bite. “She did at that. But soaking your bread with the sauce is the best part. ”
“I'm not disagreeing,” he assured her. “She was merciless, as I recall it. ”
“My mother?” Marjorie gave a rueful laugh. “Aye, the woman prized her manners. ” There was a moment's companionable silence, and then he asked, “How did she die?” She sighed. “A fever. When I was sixteen. It happened quickly. ”
“I don't imagine it was easy for a young girl to weather such a loss. You'd have been just beginning to think about a husband. ”
She merely shrugged. It had been hard — incredibly so. But life in the Highlands was. As for the other, she'd made the decision never to marry long before her mother died. She had been ten, in fact, and her best friend Cormac had just turned his back on her.
“You'd have made her proud,” he told her.
“A titled husband and a gaggle of bairns is what would've made her proud,” she retorted. “No, I'm lucky Uncle Humphrey is so patient with me. Though I suppose it's less about his patience and more that he likes keeping me about to fetch the more obscure tomes from his uppermost shelves. ” She gave a resigned shake of her head. “Either way, I'm thankful. There aren't many men who'd abide a self-appointed spinster for a niece. ” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and the scrutiny unnerved her. She shifted her attention back to her meal, needing to break the connection.
Cormac gestured to her bowl. “You've a bit of dinner on your knuckles,” he said, a broad smile spreading across his face.
She groaned. Finally, the man smiles, and the only cost had been her dignity.
Marjorie pulled her hand up. Dark brown sauce glistened on her thumb and two of her fingers. She hesitated. She had no napkin, just the clothes on her body. With a defiant shrug, she simply raised her knuckles to her mouth and quickly licked them clean. She shot Cormac a challenging look, daring him to say something.
His face went blank. “You liked it, then? Your stew?”
“Yes, thank you,” she replied in an exaggeratedly ladylike tone.
He stood abruptly, gathering the bowls and placing them outside. “I imagine the day has caught up with you,” he said, bustling around her.
She stood and dusted off her skirts. “I suppose it will eventually, but I don't seem to be tired yet. ”
“Good night, then. ” He lay on his pallet with his back to her, his movements stilted, as he pulled his plaid over his shoulder.
She plopped onto the bed, stunned at his sudden shutdown. Could it mean that this arrangement unsettled him as much as it did her?
You'll not get off so easy, Cormac.
A purposeful smile curved her lips. She'd enjoyed their conversation and wasn't nearly done. She lay on her belly, pulling the last of the pins from her hair. She tossed them haphazardly, one by one, onto the side table.
“Would that we were having a grand Aberdeen adventure, rather than searching for Davie,” she ventured. Though silence greeted her comment, she hadn't really expected him to answer. Which was fine —
as long as he was
listening.
She contemplated her clothing for a moment. Finally, at a loss, she simply blew out the stub of candle on the side table and stretched out on the bed. Her outfit was restrictive, but she was uncertain what to do about it. She hoped she'd eventually fall asleep despite the uncomfortable bodice and layers of skirts. At least the heavy arisaid would keep her warm.
“This inn is more pleasant than I expected. ” She shifted, feeling free to give a sharp and unladylike tug to her bodice in the darkness. Better. The dried heather of the overstuffed mattress crackled as she scooted under the blanket. “And it's more comfortable, too. ”
She attuned her ears to the silence, taking in the sound of distant voices downstairs, the creak of timber as Cormac turned, the rhythm of his breathing.
“Gormelia,” she mused after a time. “It's a strange thing. Having a new name like this. Almost as though we could be anybody, do anything. ”
She brought her hands to her belly, tracing up and down the hard lines of her stays, wishing she could be free of the blasted things altogether. At least what she currently wore was far simpler than some of her gowns.