The honesty did not bother him. He preferred a forthright conversation and a woman who spoke her mind. “I can’t say as I like being here either.”
She stared at him, as if questioning whether he was trying to be funny. Then she dismissed it, asking, “Did you remember to eat? Or was that too much of an inconvenience?”
“I have the supplies Davin sent.” They were of the lowest quality, the bread heavy and coarse. Nevertheless, he’d eaten the food in solitude.
He picked up the board he’d used the other day and began sketching her eyes. A deep sea blue, they held such sadness. Haunted, they were. “I saw you weeping this morn.”
“It’s none of your affair.”
True enough. Though women cried often, it wasn’t something he liked to see. His sisters often used it to their advantage, weeping whenever they wanted something. They’d known he would relent to their demands.
Seeing Iseult weep was another matter. He sensed that her grief went beyond anything Davin could fix. Or perhaps it was because of Davin.
“We all have our secrets,” he answered in turn. “Keep yours, if you will.”
After changing to another piece of the board, he drew her mouth. It was symmetric, rather ordinary. Never had he seen it smile, not even around her betrothed.
She straightened, looking even more uncomfortable. “Will this take very long?”
He set down the charcoal. “You are free to leave, any time you wish.”
“Unlike you. I know.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t think I haven’t considered leaving. But the sooner I get this over with, the less time I have to spend here.”
He kept his attention focused on her mouth, though he gripped the piece of charcoal harder. As he drew and time passed, her lips began to soften.
He’d been wrong. This was not an ordinary mouth. Full and sensual, when she let herself relax, this was a woman any man would want to kiss. Would she taste as good as she smelled?
The piece of charcoal slipped from his fingers.Stop thinking about her.
Iseult rested her chin in her palm, her attention upon the glowing hearth. Pensive and quiet, he liked the way she felt no need to fill up the silence with chatter.
He sketched more angles of her face and eyes, continually switching the edge of the charcoal to gain a sharper corner. At last, she spoke again.
“Did you truly carve the figure of that boy? Or was that a lie?” Without waiting for a response, she continued, “I suppose you’d say anything to Davin to get your freedom.”
“I don’t lie.” He tossed the charcoal aside, reaching for a different piece. There was no need to argue his skill. The wood itself would offer the evidence.
He heard the sound of liquid pouring, and Iseult brought him a cup of mead, crossing the room to stand beside him. He didn’t have time to hide the drawing.
She drank from her own wooden cup, tilting her head to look at it. “You haven’t drawn my face at all.”
He’d sketched four different expressions for her eyes. On another part of the board, he’d drawn her mouth. He wasn’t satisfied with the drawing yet, for it had not captured her.
“No. It isn’t necessary to draw a complete face.” He accepted the cup and set it down beside him.
“Why not?”
Because he had already memorized it. Because a woman with her beauty would not be easily forgotten.
He drank of the mead, savoring its sweetness. “Because I’m good at what I do.” Setting the cup aside, he picked up the charcoal again. This time he focused on the curve of her cheek, the softness of her ear.
She leaned in, watching him, and her scent tantalized him again. Sweet with a hint of wildness.
“Show me what you’ve carved so far.” Her quiet request slid over him like a caress. He knew she meant nothing by it, but the nearness of her made him react.
Críost, he wasn’t dead. She would make any man desire her. Her eyes looked upon him with doubts.
“No.” He rarely showed his work to anyone, not until it was finished. They wouldn’t understand the patterns and gouges, nor the intricacy, until the end. “It’s only an outline with the background removed.”
