Page 48 of The Seeker
“Research partners?”
His eyes went round and innocent. “Of course.”
“Researchpartners?”
“Yes, that is what I said.” Maarut refused to look at her.
Oh no. Meera glanced at Rhys, who was ambling their direction, still stopping every now and then to examine a new thing or take a picture or type a note with his mobile phone. Then she looked back at her father. Then back to the house where she could see her mother on the back porch, watching all of them.
“She is trying to set me up with him!” Meera hissed at her father. “She’s trying to matchmake, isn’t she?”
The look on his face revealed everything. Her father might have been a stoic warrior to hundreds of Tomir warriors, but to his daughter, he was an open book.
“My Meera—”
“I told her she was not allowed to do this. I told her—”
“You can tell her whatever you want,” Maarut said. “Do you really think she’ll pay attention to you? Yes, she’s part of your retinue, but she’s also your mother. You’re nearly four hundred years old, and she wants to see you settled. She wants grandchildren.” He crossed his arms. “We had an arranged marriage, and look how happy we are.”
“I am not you. This is not… six hundred years ago. I came here so I could—”
A shout from the cottage put their argument to rest. Meera shot her father one more dirty look over her shoulder before she rushed up the porch and into the fray of one of Sabine’s “episodes.”
“I hate you!” Sabine screamed in French. “You pig! Give me the wine bottle, for I will beat you with it. You cannot do this to me. Send for my carriage and leave me alone!”
“Cher, you know I can’t do that,” Roch replied in his smooth accent. “And I’m not going to give you a wine bottle. It’s too early for wine. How about some lemonade? I made some fresh coffee and you only spilled a little bit, but we can get you something else if you don’t want the coffee.”
His tenderness stayed any lingering resentment Meera felt. She could see both the love and torment in the scribe’s face.
Meera leaned against the doorjamb. “Good morning, Sabine.”
Sabine looked her direction. “Who are you? Did we get a new servant? Who isshe, Roch?”
“I’m your friend Meera, remember?” Meera felt Rhys at her back and reached behind to take his hand. “I brought a gentleman to call with me today. I hope you don’t mind. Mother said you wanted me to come for breakfast.”
Sabine’s light brown cheeks blushed. “Meera, why didn’t you tell me you were bringing a gentleman to visit?” She stopped struggling and turned in Roch’s arms. It was as if a switch had flipped. She moved from anger to hospitality in a blink. “Mon ange, can we have one of the servants set up a table in the garden? We should make sure Meera’s friend is welcome, and the garden is so nice right now.”
“A beautiful idea,” Roch said. “I’ll ask Maarut for help, shall I? And I’ll leave you with Meera to introduce you to her friend.”
Sabine was wearing a silk robe over her nightgown that morning, and she clutched the robe together at her breast. “I’m so sorry. Let me go change my clothes.” Her laugh lit up the sitting room. “I don’t know why I’m still dressed for sleeping.”
As soon as she retreated to the bedroom, Meera turned to Rhys. “She’s a flirt and she loves compliments. I should have known bringing a handsome man to the house would help her mood.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “You think I’m handsome?”
Meera rolled her eyes. “False modesty is irritating, Rhys.”
“So you do think I’m handsome. Good to know.” He wandered over to look at a vintage gramophone in the corner. “Does it work?”
“It does, and she loves to dance.”
Rhys flipped through the stack of records on the table beside the gramophone, picked one out, and put it carefully on the turntable before he cranked the lever to start the music.
Meera smiled at the cheerful tune that played. “What is it?”
“It’s called ‘Cuban Moon.’” He held out his hand. “How about you? Do you dance?”
The sight of him holding out his hand was tempting. Hewashandsome. Handsome, intelligent and—when he wanted to be—very charming. She liked his gruff moods and his relentless curiosity. She liked his intensity, even his arrogance.
