Ailsa had a broom in her hands that was as tall as she was, carefully sweeping the debris on the floor into a pile. Toby was on her knees before the hearth, a flint stone in hand as she attempted to light some kindling. When they heard the door open, two sets of lovely eyes turned to look at Tate.
He stood in the doorway, his massive hands resting on narrow hips as he surveyed the room. “I left you two sleeping,” he said with mock sternness. “Whose bright idea was it to rise and go to work?”
He was looking directly at Toby. With a sheepish grin, she brushed the hair off her forehead and stood up.
“It would do no good to refute you so I must therefore confess,” she said as she moved towards him, flint still in her fingers. “I am the slave master. Ailsa is accustomed to it.”
Tate’s lips twitched as he focused on her lovely face; she appeared much better than she had earlier in the day. In fact, there was even a bit of color to her cheeks. She was starting to look like the woman he had first met at Forestburn, beautiful and composed and strong. He realized, as he looked at her, that his heart was doing strange things against his ribs.
“You have a brutal streak in you, mistress,” he winked at her as he looked at Ailsa. “And you, young woman; I suppose that you are hungry?”
Ailsa nodded eagerly. “I am famished.”
“And your cruel sister is working a starving girl?”
Ailsa grinned, looking at Toby as she spoke. “She does it all of the time.”
Tate cocked an eyebrow as Ailsa giggled and put the broom aside. “We will have no more of that,” he told Toby in a quiet growl, all the while his gaze raking over her lovely face. “Supper is served in the great hall and I insist you allow your sister to eat before you drive her into service.”
Toby coyly shrugged, moving back to the hearth to set the flint stone back where she found it. “If you insist,” she said, setting the stone aside and brushing her hands off on her surcoat. “Am I permitted to eat also?”
“Only if you swear to never again abuse your power.”
“I cannot swear it.”
Ailsa giggled again and went to take Tate’s hand. She held it tightly as Tate had eyes only for her sister.
“I can force you to swear it, you know,” he told Toby.
“You can try, my lord. But I do not surrender easily.”
Tate tried to hold back the smile but found he could not. Teeth flashing, he shook his head in submission. “I believe that. God help me, I believe it implicitly.” He held out his free arm to her. “Would you come with me, then, and we may discuss it further over supper?”
Toby took the offered elbow. “My surrender is non-negotiable.”
“We shall see about that.”
Ailsa was the first one through the door, still clutching Tate’s hand tightly, but Tate and Toby were sharing a private glance between them. It was an enchanted moment; the mood was lighter than it had been in days. With Ailsa still tugging on him, Tate leaned into Toby so he could speak softly and not be overheard by little ears.
“To be truthful, I do not wish to discuss your surrender,” he said quietly. “Could we not speak on more pleasant things?”
He was very near and Toby was having difficulty breathing. “Like what?” she asked breathlessly.
“Like Paris in the spring and our future trip to Rome.”
Toby smiled broadly, remembering those subjects from their very first in-depth conversation. “So you still intend to escort me to those places, I take it?” she asked.
“I told you that I would.”
“You said you would do it only if I did not find a husband to take me.”
“That is what we will discuss.”
Toby’s smile faded and she stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise. He gave her a bold wink, lifting the hand that gripped his elbow and kissing her fingers sweetly. Toby was so upswept in his last statement and subsequent kiss that she could hardly form a coherent thought. Was it possible he meant what she thought he meant? Or was she simply reading too much into his kindness?
As Toby and Tate lost themselves in each other’s eyes, Ailsa let go of Tate’s hand as they neared the narrow stairs. She skipped around, telling her sister to mind the stairs that were narrow and treacherous. But she apparently did not listen to her own advice; before Tate could grab her, Ailsa slipped on the top step and fell, screaming, down the entire shaft.
And then… silence.
