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“I would not be insulted were you to speak to them alone.”

They’d just finished the first course and waited now for the second. “I cannot say the same when you denied my offer of a tour.”

“Your mother,” she said, her voice even lower than before, “did not wish it. I believe she thought it inappropriate for you to escort me unaccompanied.”

His laugh took her by surprise. Rory’s parents both stopped their conversation and turned to him. He shook his head as if to tell them ’twas nothing of concern and then angled his head toward her.

“I did not intend to laugh at you.”

“Nay?” she asked, noticing his parents were not the only ones watching them. There was a maid at the back of the hall who had not taken her eyes from him all eve. Young. Pretty. Freya was fairly certain why she stared.

“Nay,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “’Twas the thought of my mother, a woman who wears breeches and uses the most inappropriate of language, being insulted over such a thing.”

Breeches? His mother wore breeches?

“She clearly did not wish it,” she whispered.

“You misinterpreted her,” he whispered back. “Mother was suspicious of my motives, not yours.” He looked into her eyes. “With good reason. I’ve been too long without your touch.”

Rory had kept his promise to her, with the exception of that night at the Wild Boar. Aside from a few more stolen kisses, none since they woke this morn, they had not been together. And though she craved his touch as much as Rory did hers, Freya recognized that their arrival in his home was not an appropriate time to make contact.

“I’d have taken your tour before supper, as promised, but you never sent for me.”

“Did you not get my message?”

She shook her head.

“I asked Thomas to pass it to you, a message that I was held in the training yard with Conall and would see you again at supper.”

Rory looked out into the hall . . . for Thomas? Apparently unable to find him, he thanked the serving maid who handed them each a bowl of soup.

“It is odd, for him not to have delivered the message?”

“And for him to be missing from a meal. Aye.”

“It seems Bristol’s steward has many responsibilities here?”

“Thomas Cely is Bristol Manor. He is my father’s oldest friend. Was by his side when they fought my mother’s family to regain control of it. Father named him steward that day, and he’s been a constant presence here since. He is like a second father to me. He was in the training yard with Conall and me. When Thomas said he was coming back to the hall, I asked that he deliver the message to you. I thought to give you additional time to settle. As you seemed to very much want to do so.”

She could not resist smiling at the edge to his voice. “You are angry I did not come with you still.”

“Angry?” Rory smiled and leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “Nay, Freya, not angry. Frustrated. As I’d planned to find a way for us to be alone so that I might kiss you into forgetting the promise you wrought from me.”

Freya shivered. “Rory, your parents.”

Though they spoke among themselves, Rory’s father sat much too close for Freya to feel comfortable with such a discussion.

“My father would never condemn his son for desiring a woman so much that he wished to give her pleasure. Though I will admit, I do not wish to think of my parents that way.”

Freya laughed. “I would think not.”

“I love the way you laugh.”

Freya picked up her spoon, catching Rory’s eyes. He loved the way she laughed, but did not love her. He desired her, as he had admitted just now. But that was all. And she supposed it would have to be enough. He would help her regain Edyington, and that was all that mattered.

At least Freya could continue telling herself as much.

“Lord Waryn!” A shout from the same doorway from which they had entered the hall earlier broke her reverie. “Come quickly. Sir Thomas has been injured.”