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“They are much too forward for my liking,” d’Abella continues. An odd silence descends over the group, broken by him. “I met one in particular, the blacksmith’s daughter, who seems to have strange notions about the role women should play. As if they are equal to us men.”

The group laughs, and although it’s exactly the kind of remark that would normally move me to anger, I’m disappointed instead. Despite the look he gave the ship captain, I’d hoped he would not be one of those men who see women as nothing more than property. Even here, in Murwood, there are those who are still influenced by Southern ideas. After all, Murwood End was originally founded by former Southerners.

“Mayhap she believes such things because she is not comely.”

I nearly choke on my ale.

“Nay,” the coxcomb says, “she is quite comely. More comely, in fact, than any woman I’ve met before.”

Stupid heart, that it would beat so erratically for a man such as this. If I thought his arrogance was bad, his thoughts on women are even worse.

“’Tis a fact?”

Again, silence. He does not answer. I resist the urge to spin in my seat, knowing Lord d’Abella is facing me. But I look forward to telling Kipp, when he does return, to sail back out at once and never speak to the king’s men, who want only to use him, I’m sure, for their own nefarious purposes.

“Aye, ’tis very much a fact.”

I do look up then, for the words are whispered into my ear. I did not even hear him approaching. My shoulders rise and fall in . . . anger? Nay. Excitement. I’m disgusted by the knowledge, but there’s no denying it.

“How long have you known I was here?”

The commander sits across the table from me, ale in hand. Did he say those things for my benefit? Knowing I was here? Or do I only wish it to be so?

“Since the moment I came inside.”

His gaze is much too intense.

“Because you are trained to notice threats to you and your men?”

He takes a swig of ale, slow to answer.

“Nay. Because a woman such as you could not escape my notice, even with a hood covering her head.”

I hate that his words affect me so.

Taking down the hood, I sip my ale to afford myself a moment to think.

“Strange notions indeed,” I mutter.

I am wholly unprepared for Lord d’Abella’s smile. Faint lines form around his amused eyes, and I know for certain he did say those words for my benefit.

I repeat his man’s words. “Mayhap she believes such things because she is not comely.”

“I informed my men we had a companion,” he says with a smile. “And they caught on quickly.”

So it was all a ruse.

“Do you enjoy sporting with women so, Lord d’Abella?”

In answer, he leans back, crossing his legs in front of him.

“As I said Aedre, ’tis not our way to insult strangers, and I cannot answer that question without causing offense to you.”

He could say my name over and over and over again, and I’d not tire of hearing it.

“So ’tis true,” I say. “You are a cruel man, indeed.”

His smile remains.