Page 60 of The Splendor of Fire
Taking the seat beside her, he placed the napkin in his lap. Isobel put a steaming cup of warm milk in front of him. “Thank you.”
Moira rested her forehead in her hand, her eyes closing, fatigue evident in every part of her body.
Isobel clucked as she made him a trencher of food. “Why don’t you talk to her?”
Léo shifted, his heart doing battle with his iron will. “She’s mute.”
Moira’s head pivoted to the side and she rolled her eyes and pushed up from the table.
What?He hadn’t done anything, why did she take that attitude?
Isobel waved her hands. “Oh no, now don’t leave, love. She’s not daft, Léo, she can understand what you’re saying. Moira and I sit here and chat for the first hour of the day every morning. She’s not much of an early bird, but she’s a lovely listener.”
Moira’s mouth pinched and she sat down, crossing her arms in front of her like a petulant child.
He rolled his eyes. Between the two of them, he was the one who had cause to be disagreeable. Annoyed, he felt his old combativeness rise to the surface. “What’s the matter with you?”
She turned her head slowly toward him and mouthed words.What, the mornings are devoted to prayer?
Isobel went to the far side of the kitchen to retrieve something. He dropped his voice. “Do you mean yesterday?”
Hurt registered in her eyes and she nodded slowly.
He scoffed. “What was I supposed to do, stare at you openly in front of Niall? I endanger you the more I look at you.”
Her mouth moved.You. Hurt. Me.
Temper rising, he picked up his eating knife, poking at the battered wooden table top. “You want to speak of hurt? How about watching you wearing my mother’s coronet? On my brother’s arm. Hearing himtalk about how you please him day and night. Seeing you caress and kiss him.”
Her eyes rolled and she mouthed another word.Ardis.
Shame overcame him, but he tried to remember why he’d done it.Jealousy had seized him so intensely he’d asked for a woman just to hurt Moira as she was flagrantly hurting him. His conscience accused him, and he tried to think of a reasonable explanation that wasn’t the truth.
Tears shone in her eyes and she shook her head and formed words with careful enunciation.Did Mowbray not tell you?
“Tell me what?”
Something flickered across her face.
Isobel put a trencher in front of him. “Here you are, love. You need fattening up still. Pork and eggs, just the way you like.”
Overcome by the smell of a hot meal he said a swift blessing and began shoveling food in his mouth. Moira pushed her chair back and crossed her long legs, watching him eat. She tapped her fingers on the table top. A deep black smudge covered three of her fingers on her right hand.
“Still sketching?”
Her eyebrows raised in silent question. He reached across the table, lifting her fingers, then rubbed at it. It wasn’t charcoal. It was sticky. She jerked her hand away.
He swallowed a thick piece of pork savoring the salty flavor. “Sorry. I forgot. Not mine to touch.”
Her fingers came to her temples in frustration and she made an annoyed grunt.
“Moira!”
The door to the kitchen burst open, and she startled—the barest flicker of emotion crossed her face. Faint, but he’d seen it.Fear.
Malvina stomped across the kitchen. “What on earth are you wearing? You look as if you just rolled out of bed.”
Moira looked at her crumpled leine, shrugged, and mouthed two words.I did.
