Good thing he was a man of such discretion, for he sat with her and Da and Reagan, at table. And if the time spent with him was all she could think of, he did not in any way reveal he thought about it also.
Mayhap he did not. It had been but a kiss. A man who looked like him and who possessed such talent must garner many such. He would as soon forget it.
Not until Finlay rose from the board after supper and moved away to his harp did Da succeed in bringing up the matter. Indeed, Katrin had meant to move off also but, lost in watching Finlay, failed to do so.
“Daughter, wha’ is this I hear about ye and the harper going sailing?”
“I suppose Robran told ye.” Katrin focused on her father.
“Nay less than five people told me.” Da scowled. “It seems a daft thing to do.”
Itwasa daft thing to do.
“’Twas no’ sailing. It was but rowing.”
Reagan, who sat by listening, raised a brow and his lips twitched. “Does it make a difference?” he wondered aloud.
“I think it does.” She sought to quell him with a glare.
“Still and all,” Da continued, “why should ye go wi’ the harper out on the water?”
“Did yer spies no’ tell ye that also?”
“Nay spies.” Da looked taken aback. “They merely had some concerns, since ye are no’ in the habit o’—”
“By all that is holy, Da. I am nearly a score and ten years old. May I no’ tak’ a boat out on the water when I choose?”
“Ye are no’ even a score and seven.”
“Same difference.”
“I hope not.” Da glanced at Reagan. “Since ye are my one hope left for an heir.”
Katrin flushed—with annoyance, so she told herself. “Must we discuss that here?” She spoke in a hushed voice that did nothing to disguise how upset she felt, but heads were beginning to turn. “The harper is about to play.”
“Aye, and,” Reagan murmured, “we would not wish to interrupt that.”
Not until later, when Katrin met Reagan behind the armory, was the matter reintroduced. Reagan was limbering up, swinging the sword he used for practice, since he did not use his grand claymore against her, when he said, “Wha’ is all this about the harper, then? D’ye fancy him after all?”
The question stopped Katrin cold. She lowered her own sword and eyed her companion. “Fancy him? I told ye before, I did not.”
One of Reagan’s mobile eyebrows rose. “Didnot. I supposed ye might have changed your mind. Women do, so I understand. The lasses I have known oft spoke offancy. Men have other terms for it, with which I will not insult your ears.”
“The lasses,” she repeated in disgust.
“The fair sex. The gentle beauties.”
“I am neither gentle nor a beauty.”
He made no answer to that, but when she glanced at him, she caught something in his eyes.
“I do no’ go aboutfancyingmen.”
“To my sorrow. Ye may not warrant it, but I have myself been fancied a time or two and consider it a grand compliment.”
She could warrant it. Seeing him standing there as he was, clad in no more than tunic and leggings with his sheen of tawny hair hanging down and every muscle on display, she herself felt a tug.
She snorted.
