with. I suppose we would do well to insist on a food taster.”
“I think I can manage well enough for us.”
“Can you?”
“You may want to add your own bit of whatever it is you could add to improve the flavor,” she said, “but I think I could see if there was anything vile in it to start with.” She looked up at him. “Will you think about that spell later? The one I tried?”
He nodded. “I may have to borrow your lexicon. I’m not as familiar with the Cothromaichian tongue as I likely should be. Nor with what useless fluff passes for magic there.”
“You’re such an elitist,” she said with a smile.
“Born and bred, my love,” he said, trying to mirror her light tone. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint my grandfather, the most elite of them all.”
“Would he approve of the lassies downstairs, do you think?”
Ruith snorted before he could stop himself. “Absolutely not,” he said before he realized that Sarah was asking more than just that. He looked at her. “My grandfather is a difficult sort—”
“Who will expect you to wed a princess,” she finished for him. “Which is as it should be.”
“He’ll expect me to wed someone I love,” Ruith corrected. “As will Sgath, who, if you’ll know the truth, spent most of the time we were at Lake Cladach telling me to wed you before you realized what you would be saddling yourself with.”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Surely not.”
“He’s saving that piece of ground he showed you, that little clearing on the shore, just for you. And I’m telling you that against my better judgement because he said he didn’t much care if I came along to build you a house there or not. It’s yours if you want it, simply because he saw into your soul and was pleased with what lay there.”
She looked up at him then, her eyes swimming with tears. “Do you want me blubbering into my poisoned soup?”
“Nay, you should most certainly not, else you’ll leave me doing the same thing.” He took her face in his hands, then kissed both her cheeks before she could plow her fist into his nose. “Supper first, then . . .”
She nodded and pulled away, then carefully dabbed the tears from her cheeks. “I’m fine.”
He tucked her hand under his arm again and walked with her down to the great hall. He put on his best courtly manners, then spent soup and the main course making certain that the spells that occasionally fell from the ceiling appeared to cover Sarah, but didn’t. And just to further distract the queen, he rose soon after dessert and begged her for the pleasure of a dance with her eldest daughter.
The girl was beautiful, he would give her that, and she certainly danced well enough. Her conversation, however, was limited to questions about the luxuries to be found at Seanagarra and how soon he planned to wed so she—er, so his very fortunate bride might enjoy them.
The next two princesses he danced with were less interested in his treasures surely stored in his grandfather’s vaults than they were in him personally, but he wasn’t any more swayed by that than he had been by their eldest sister’s curiosity.
He had a small sip of wine back at the supper table, then made Sarah a low bow. “If you would?”
If the servant behind her pulled her chair out a bit too quickly or the queen glared at her a bit more than necessary, she simply ignored it. She walked around the back of the table, then put her hand into his.
He was rather relieved they had taken the trouble to brush up on his dancing at Léige, no matter how much improvising they would now need to do. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised by how easily Sarah had memorized the steps. Franciscus had, as she had said more than once, made certain that her education was far greater than anything her mother could have offered her.
Franciscus, the father of Athair who had been slain—allegedly—by Morag of An-uallach, leaving behind a wee gel whose name Uachdaran’s bard hadn’t been willing to divulge?
Ruith was beginning to think he might be able to supply that name, if pressed.
“You dance very well,” Sarah said, interrupting his thoughts.
“As do you.”
“Which is all your doing,” she said with a smile. “With, I will admit, a bit of aid from Franciscus.”
“He has a surprising number of skills you wouldn’t think an alemaster should have,” he remarked politely.