Page 23 of A Wife for the Highland Wolf
He was hoping to fluster her, but aside from a slight blush she didn’t react. “Aye. Unless I say otherwise. Tis what we agreed, and I’ll nae be changin’ that.”
Her words were both maddening and intriguing. He’d taken the condition to be a maiden’s reticence when she’d first proposed it, but her appearance in his quarters suggested otherwise. A maiden so shy would never have sought him out in the absence of a chaperone or escort.
At the very least, he would have expected her to request Wilma’s accompaniment, but she didn’t seem discomfited by being alone with him, just by the notion of being physically intimate with him.
He wondered if a concern for her virtue directed the matter, or something else. Whatever her reasons, he’d not discover them unless he took the time to get to know her.
She was still watching him expectantly, so he dipped his head to acknowledge her response. “As ye will. A new condition of our betrothal; we’ll dine together every night and get to ken one another, but I’ll be a gentleman about it, unless ye say otherwise.”
Her smile filled him with warmth, but also trepidation. One way or another, he very much suspected that suppers with Lydiawere going to test his self-control far more than anything else he’d ever experienced.
Lydia discovered that securing Murdoch’s agreement to the supplementary condition to their betrothal turned out to be the most tranquil part of the evening. The man was more reserved and reclusive than even Hunter had been.
“Did ye have a productive meeting with yer advisors?”
“Aye.” Beyond that single word, he made no further effort at conversation, instead focusing on his food and eating with an almost single-minded concentration.
She tried again. “Do ye eat here often?”
“Aye.” Again, no more was forthcoming.
“Wilma says ye told her that ye dinnae wish to dine with her because she has too much energy and chatter, and ye dinnae like it. Is that true?”
His response this time was a grunt that could have meant anything. She considered his previous responses, then rephrased the question. “Do ye really object to Wilma’s enthusiasm while dinin'?”
Murdoch paused for a moment, and she felt a momentary hope that he would reply to her query with a full sentence. Murdoch shook his head. “Nay.” He returned to eating, leaving her to scowl at her own plate in vexation.
She could ask questions of Murdoch all night, but never do more than scratch the surface of his likes, dislikes, and general personality. She was almost tempted to ask something rude, just to see if he’d react. The only thing that held her back was the newness of the situation, and the bairn sleeping on the chair nearby.
Mayhap if I asked less pointed questions he would be more forthcoming. At the very least, I may get something more out of him beyond yes or no.She tried again. “What’s yer favorite color?”
That earned her a shrug and a noncommittal mumble. “What about seasons? Mine is winter. Tis a cozy time to sit by the fire and read, or spend time in games with yer family.”
“Aye.”
Did the man really not have an opinion on anything, or was he just determined to thwart her at every attempt she made on getting to know what sort of man he was?
She’d intended to keep the conversation light and simple, but she was sorely tempted once more to edge slide towards rudeness, just to see if he could engage his mouth and unsettle his uncooperative composure. Even so, she didn’t think it rightto press him too hard, when she was already intruding on his quiet time with his son. “What sort of foods do ye like?”
He grunted and made a vague gesture toward his plate. She had no idea if he was saying he liked everything or trying to indicate a particular portion of his meal. “Do ye prefer mead or beer with yer meals?”
No answer, but he gave her a pointed look, before indicating the flagon on the table. Clearly he expected her to know his preferences simply by what he’d been served for supper. As if she knew him well enough to know whether he demanded certain meals according to his tastes or ate whatever the cooks felt like making.
Alex would eat and enjoy anything he was served and rarely expressed a desire for or a dislike of a specific dish. Leo, on the other hand, had defined preferences. He’d eat other things, but anyone who spent much time around him knew he had some foods he much preferred over others. In part, it was because his son sometimes took ill from certain plants, but not always.
Hunter was again different. He had no determined preferences, but there were some things he absolutely would not eat, like porridge, or bread that wasn’t freshly baked, or small beers and watered wine.
Lydia scowled at her betrothed. Why had he suggested she stay and agreed to her alteration of their previous agreement, if he was going to be so stubborn in his refusal to get to know her, or allow her to get to know him?
She had been asking a lot of questions. Perhaps that was the problem. She took a deep breath to calm her exasperation. “Ye ken, ye can ask questions of me if ye want.”
“Aye.”
Frustration won out. “Are ye always this stubborn?” Too late, she realized she’d raised her voice and spoken louder than she’d meant to.
Finn stirred restlessly on his makeshift bed and they both froze. Murdoch glared at her as he set aside his plate and stood to check on his son. Lydia set aside her own plate and followed.
The bairn shifted for a few moments, rolling over to bury his face in the soft cloth of the blanket, and settled once again.
