She focused back on her plate, her appetite gone. She was not used to men making no effort to speak with her. Usually, she was trying to make themstoptalking, not the other way around.
“What is Betty’s occupation?” she asked curiously, sure that the strange older woman would trigger the exasperated response she had seen earlier.
“She’s a healer,” he said, taking a great swig of wine and glaring at her as though daring her to ask more questions.
He was about to be disappointed if he thought an angry glance would silence her.
“And the other girl?”
“Apprentice.”
“She’s very beautiful.”
His frown deepened. “Is she?”
“Yes.”
He lowered his wine glass with a loud clatter, and Leah winced. He returned to his plate of food as she stared at him, incensed by his unsociable demeanor.
Finally, after almost a full minute of her not taking her eyes off his handsome face, he glanced up at her.
“Aye?” he prompted.
“I can’t think why you wouldn’t have any visitors. I can imagine your conversation is the stuff of legend.”
She lifted her wine glass to her lips and took a hefty swallow. She was not used to feeling so vexed with a person who, by rights, she should be grateful to. He did have a way of grating on her nerves.
“The less conversation we have, the quicker the time will pass, and I can be rid of ye faster,” he said finally.
Her nostrils flared with indignation. “Why did you help me if you prefer your own company?”
“Why do ye need me help?” he fired back, his continuous movement from plate to mouth to plate again finally ceasing as he studied her from the other end of the table.
He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to respond.
“Very well, if you must know, I am hiding from someone. Someone who wishes to end my life,” she said bitterly, her mind filling with hateful thoughts of her father again and whatever old codger he would force her to marry.
She was surprised when every muscle in MacWatt’s shoulders tensed up.
“Someone wants ye dead?” he asked, his voice as dark and brooding as she had ever heard it.
He leaned forward menacingly, and she was given a clear glimpse of what Oskar meant by MacWatt being a warrior.
“No,” she replied, feeling a rush of gratitude that he would so quickly come to her defense. “Someone wants to marry me, and my father has agreed to it without my consent.”
Slowly, Magnus sat back in his chair, his food forgotten, his steady gaze never leaving hers.
“Marry?” he asked. “Who?”
Leah shrugged. “I do not know. Someone who he deems worthy, which means someone who has more money than youth. I imagine he will approach an acquaintance from his club who has been a bachelor for many years and saddle me to a sixty-year-old earl.”
She struggled to keep the anger out of her voice. The thought of that nightmare becoming her future and being unable to prevent it made her breath stutter and her palms sweat. She took a deep breath, trying to find something—anything—to distract her.
“Were you married?” she asked quietly.
MacWatt’s gaze flicked to the fire. He stared into the flames for a long while until, finally, he nodded. “Aye. Ye’re wearin’ the proof of that.”
Leah ran a hand down the sleeve of her dress, wondering what the woman who had owned it had been like.
