Page 24 of Enlightened
“The bath was wonderful,” David assured him gravely. “I stayed in so long my fingers were like prunes when I got out.”
“Me too.” Murdo grinned. “And I have high hopes for dinner. The food doesn’t smell half-bad.”
As though he’d heard them—and perhaps he had—Foster chose that moment to enter, bearing a basket of new-baked bread in one hand and a dish of butter in the other.
“Good evening, my lord,” he said with a deep bow to Murdo. He looked odd, bowing like that with the basket and butter dish still in his hands. He turned to offer a smaller bow to David. “Sir.”
David nodded and murmured a “good evening” of his own, but it was lost as Murdo bit out angrily, “I thought you said this was aprivateparlour?”
The innkeeper blanched, freezing in the midst of straightening from his bow. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”
“You damn well ought to!” Murdo continued. “Haven’t you heard of knocking before you enter a private room?”
David swallowed, suddenly mortified. Could Murdo make it any more obvious that they craved privacy? Then he dismissed his own thoughts impatiently. Murdo was right. Itwasmeant to be a private parlour, and Foster wouldn’t necessarily assume that, just because his male guests wanted privacy, they wanted one another. They could simply be discussing private business.
“Well?” Murdo snapped.
“Please accept my apologies, my lord,” Foster stammered. “I forgot myself for a moment. It won’t happen again.”
It didn’t. Foster stayed away after that, and the nervous young serving maid he sent in his place nearly knocked the door down each time she brought a new dish, her hands shaking as she laid the rattling crockery down. Murdo was polite to her, though. Gentle even.
There was a bit of a disaster when she brought the gravy. She was balancing too many things, and the sauce boat overturned, upsetting its contents all over the white tablecloth.
“Oh no!” she gasped. “Mr. Foster’ll have me guts for garters!”
Flushing scarlet, she began trying to wipe up the mess with her apron.
Murdo put a hand on her arm to still her. “What’s your name, girl?”
“Peggy, m’lor’,” she said, looking at him obediently, though her anxious gaze flitted back to the table.
“Right then, Peggy,” Murdo said firmly. “Go back to the kitchen and tell Mr. Foster that His Lordship overturned the gravy boat, and now he wants a fresh tablecloth brought and this one burned. And the cost is to be added to my bill, if you please.” He said it all in his most supercilious tone, giving the girl the right words to parrot to her master, then he smiled his most coaxing smile. “Do you have that?”
She stared at him, eyes wide, and repeated what he said. Twice through, at Murdo’s insistence. When he was satisfied, he released her, and she scurried away.
Once she was gone, Murdo turned to David. “What?” he said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“That was kind,” David said simply, then he chuckled. “And not a little devious.”
“Devious?” Murdo’s tone was outraged, but his expression was amused, the winsome dimple that David loved making a rare appearance.
“I wouldn’t have approached it like that. I’d have spoken to Foster on her behalf instead.” David paused, then admitted, “I’d probably have made it worse for her.”
Murdo chuckled. “Honest to a fault, that’s you.”
David chuckled too, ruefully. “That’s what my mother’s always said about me.”
“You’re direct,” Murdo said. “Uncompromising.”
“You think me inflexible,” David accused without heat.
Murdo inclined his head. “At times. Sometimes I hesitate to tell you things because—” He stopped, his gaze suddenly troubled.
“Because what?”
“You’re very black-and-white about everything. I’ve never met anyone who has such a strong sense of right and wrong.”
David considered that echo of Chalmers’s words from a few days before. “I’m not sure that’s true,” he said, frowning. “I struggle more than anyone I know with what’s right and wrong.”