He placed the cup beside him and I watched him from the corner of my eye, admiring his jaw line. I did like him greatly.Especiallyhis strong jawline.
“Thank ye, Wilfrey.”
He nodded, looking down at his hands. “You are welcome.” He exhaled. “I have never had to touch a dead body before.” He whispered, “Or stab one.But…”
His voice trailed off.
“What were ye going tae say, Wilfrey?”
“I suppose having done this will improve my craft.”
I scoffed. “Ye might want tae speak tae God about thoughts like this.”
“That is why I did not want to say it out loud.” He asked, “How much trouble am I in?”
“Some.”
“Define ‘some.’”
“His son John is coming tonight. He is generally more pleasant than his father.” I turned the cup in my hands. “He has also been trying tae get out from under his father’s thumb for thirty-five years, so his grief may be — measured.”
Wilfrey considered this. “That… sounds good.”
“Aye, tis.”
Another silence.
I said, “Also, he daena like Balloch much, there might be a way tae talk him from taking over.”
Wilfrey raised a brow. “That might be helpful.”
“It could be.”
He said, “And you think… she is safe from…?”
“I believe so, aye. I am grateful tae ye. Ye saved her life,allour lives.”
“I should probably have a story.”
“Ye hae a story. Ye went up there because his insults demanded ye protect my honor. He drew first and ye defended yerself.”
“That’s true, exactly that.”
“Aye, I ken tis, that is all that matters. May God hae mercy on his soul.” I drained my cup and placed it down. “He insulted me in front of not only ye but the whole household. Ye went up tae demand an apology as was yer right as my husband. He lost his temper, as he always did, aseveryonein this castle has witnessed a thousand times, and he drew on ye. And ye fought him with yer blade.” I smoothed my skirt. “Tis practically a ballad.”
“It is practically a play.”
I gave him a smile. “Practically Shakespearean.”
He chuckled, softly, the exhausted kind, the kind that has nowhere else tae go.
I watched him as he stopped laughing and looked at his cup again. “What a day this has been. I am a time traveler, went tochallenge an Earl, covered up a,” he whispered, “crime…ended up in a dungeon in the eighteenth century.”
“Ye still like this century now that ye are in a dungeon?”
“My admiration for the year 1710 has grown thin.” He held out his cup for more wine, saying, while I poured. “I could have just accepted the insult, many men would have. If I had never gone up there?—”
“Then Lizbeth would be here in this dungeon, Wilfrey, she is a mother, a sister, my daughter — this would be a terrible fate for her, I am glad ye went up, I am relieved we found her. Ye were heroic.”
