“Thank you,” she said stiffly. She realized that this might be the strangest day that she has ever had in all of her years of living.
Before she could speak again, the door opened. A plump, middle-aged woman entered with a bowl of soup in both hands, moving carefully. Her cheeks were rosy from the kitchen heat, and her expression bright with interest.
“Well, so she’s awake, is she?” the woman said, and her accent was Scottish too.
Mrs. Sinclair turned her head.
“Rowan, mind yourself,” she said, and there was warning in her voice.
Rowan did not look chastened. She took two more steps into the room and held the bowl up slightly.
“I’ve brought soup,” she announced, “Proper soup. None of that thin water they call broth, and I am certain that this’ll put strength back in you.”
Charity’s stomach clenched at the smell of it, which was rich with meat and fragrant herbs. She felt ravenous so suddenly it shocked her, but she didn’t reach for the bowl. It dawned on her only a moment later that she had a small audience, all three people were staring at her with great interest as she fought with her own hunger with the soup.
“Why are you all staring at me like that?” Charity demanded, finding the whole thing bizarre.
Rowan blinked, then laughed as if Charity had said something strange. “Well, because we’ve never had an English lady wake up in one of our beds. It’s not every day, is it?”
But before any more words could be exchanged, the air of the room changed again. This time, it was because the door opened and Duncan entered without hesitation. His gaze went straight to Charity, then swept the room once, taking in everyone gathered around her bed like a crowd.
Everyone spoke at once.
“Your Grace….”
“She’s awake….”
“She’s not touched the soup….”
Duncan’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed slightly.
“Out,” he said.
No one dared to argue, and Charity felt the decisive authority that she had associated with him on display again. It was strange, but she found herself a bit impressed by it, rather than annoyed or scared.
Though that was not the right feeling. She pushed it down immediately. Everyone left in a hurry, leaving only Duncan, who stood a few feet from the bed.
“What are you going to do with me?”
Duncan didn’t answer and instead stepped toward the table, picked up the bowl of soup with one hand, and turned back to her. He came to the side of the bed and held the bowl out toward her.
It occurred to her then that there was something ratherbeast-likeabout his mannerisms. And how fitting it would be to describe him as such, as he had found her out of nowhere, perhaps even kidnapped her, and now he had her at his mercy at his Castle?
“Eat,” he said, oblivious to her little internal monologue regarding him.
“Is that the only word you know?” Charity blinked.
Duncan’s brows drew together, and Charity reveled at how she might be able to get a reaction from him. But it was of little use, as his expression tightened into one of neutrality once more.
“I don’t trust you,” she continued when he did not answer.
“I don’t care what particular sentiment you might hold regarding me,” he snarled at her, and she almost flinched at the sight. He could well be a terrifying presence if he wished. “But hear this clearly, because I’m only going to say it once: if I wanted you dead, you would already be dead.”
Charity went still, as there was an unignorable truth to the words. Her stomach chose that moment to betray her, giving a low growl.
Duncan’s eyes flicked down briefly, and for a second, she saw something that looked almost amused. But the annoyance returned immediately. “Eat,” he repeated.
Charity was blushing now and shifted carefully, propping herself up against the pillows. Slowly, she reached out and took the bowl with shaking hands.
