‘Is it when evidence of your attendance at Court belies otherwise?’
She was a twice-born fool. She ached even while he insulted her. And this wasn’t how she’d gain suitors or a traitor.
‘If you’re simply going to insult me, then why start any pleasantries?’
Why indeed? Hugh had no idea what he had wanted to say to Alice when he’d turned to her, but insulting her wasn’t it. Yet as the meal progressed, he seethed inside; wanted to prevent the conversations she engaged in. Jealousy? When he had never felt it before?
Of course he’d feel it with Alice. Even so, the King had demanded he stay close to this family because of the Half-Thistle Seal, and it wouldn’t do to insult her.
It also wouldn’t do to apologise. That would be admitting to feelings. He could havenofeelings when it came to her.
‘Insults? I’m merely commenting on the food, and the differences of the fare laid before us.’
Alice’s eyes lit with fire. He still hadn’t been careful enough with his words. He didn’t want to be careful. Simply hearing her talk to the other men burned in his heart, when he shouldn’t feel anything for her at all. Not after all these years—not after his past or his present deeds.
‘What I eat and with whom is hardly an interesting topic of conversation,’ she said.
‘Oh, I disagree.’ He lowered his voice, leaned in, caught the warmth of her skin, the scent of rosemary and wool. ‘Is this how it has been?’
‘How what has been?’
‘Since that day when you tried to kiss me? You holding court like this...garnering the attention of men.’
She opened her mouth, closed it. Started to speak again. ‘And for what purpose do you think I garner the attention of men?’
Stop. He should stop. And yet his conscience, his heart, prodded him to continue.
‘You were in the King’s private chambers over long. I’m surprised you deign to consider these men worthy of you.’
‘And you say you do not trade insults?’
He did, and he was, and he was a bastard for it, too. He only knew that no man was worthy of her—especially himself. Yet he relished the knife-prick of the words. He didn’t like Alice laughing with other men.Hadshe turned to another after he had denied their kiss, or was the King her first?
‘I merely reflect on the facts before me,’ he said.
She frowned. ‘This conversation isn’t appropriate for the St Martin’s Day feast.’
They shouldn’t be having this conversation at all. Yet he couldn’t help it. For some reason, she continued to face him too.Whywas she acknowledging him?
She wasn’t merely acknowledging him. She was studying him. His insults...his reminders of the past. Words laced with bitterness and truth. Not held back because he was here. Because he had drunk before he’d come, and that Alice was sitting next to him.
The various shades of grey in her eyes, the cadence of her words, her scent...all were too achingly familiar.
‘What are you doing here, Hugh?’
‘Having dinner,’ he said quickly, to hide his surprise that she’d asked the question. She should have turned away from him by now, and yet she held his gaze.
God, he loved her eyes.
‘In Swaffham?’ she said.
‘It is the start of the Christmas season, isn’t that a good time to be home?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘When you never have come before?’
Suspicion and frustration laced her words, but there was something else too, like worry or fear. He scanned the company around them. Everyone was busy with their trenchers or their conversations.
He had expected her surprise at his arrival. And anger, perhaps, because of their conversation in the garden. He hadn’t expected the apprehension underlying her words.
