Joining by Johanna Lindsey

least, especially since he was forced to turn about to return to the other end of the table. He couldonly be grateful that he had not compounded his embarrassment by thanking the first twin for her misleading warning.
    Reaching her again, he lifted the bench Milisant sat on, literally off the floor, to move it back so he had room to sit down. He heard her gasp, and grab the table for support, and felt much better as he took his seat next to her.
    She was now glaring at him, which helped even more to soothe his disgruntlement. But she was also quick to hiss, “Next time give warning ere you move the furniture.”
    He raised a brow at her. “Next time do not pretend to be who you are not.”
    “I pretended naught,” she insisted. “I merely asked you a logical question. Considering all the frowns I have received from you since your arrival, I assumed you would not want to share this meal with me.”
    “When you dress like a villein, wench, one must worry about catching lice. Little wonder you elicit frowns.”
    She was blushing now, profusely. “Think you I would lose my lice just from changing clothes?”
    He chuckled. “Nay, I suppose not.
Am
I like to catch them from you?”
    She smiled tightly. “One can surely hope.”
    He did not get to reply to that as the food was being ushered into the hall by a long line of kitchen folk, and a servant leaned between them to set down the large crust of bread that they would share as a trencher. Another came to pour wine, then another …
    Wulfric gave up the idea of conversation forthe moment and sat back to wait until their trencher was filled. He was almost smiling, and amazed, actually, that he felt like it, after the red cheeks he had just worn to the table.
    Who would have thought that he would find Milisant Crispin amusing. Her attitude was not. Her habits were not. Yet what came out of her mouth either infuriated him or amused him. And he could not say why it amused him, when that was certainly not her intent. Nay, her intent was clearly to insult, last eventide and again now.
    Mayhap that was all it was. As insults went, hers were paltry at best. But then, he had never been insulted by a woman before, and that might be why as well. ’Twas not exactly a talent most women aspired to perfect, when a typical insult could lead to drawn swords.
    By courtly custom, he was supposed to feed his lady, finding the choicest meats and offering them to her. Wulfric simply could not resist saying, once the servants stopped hovering, “Since you prefer to take the manly role, mayhap you would like to do the honors and feed me?”
    She glanced at him with what might be construed as an innocently curious look before she said in a neutral tone, “I had not realized how brave you are, to trust my knife near your face.”
    She then stabbed a chunk of meat with her eating dagger and stared at it for a moment before moving it toward his mouth. He quickly grasped her arm to push it back, but caught the challenge in her green-gold eyes and let go. Incredibly, she was daring him to trust her, afterimplying that he should not. Actually, she was making him regret that he had provoked her.
    But he continued to meet her gaze rather than watch her dagger, though he did warn, “Keep in mind that most actions cause reactions, and do you get clumsy with that dagger, you will not like mine.”
    “Clumsy?” She snorted. “Who said aught about being clumsy? I mentioned trust only because this hand would likely prefer to take a few chunks from your hide rather than feed you, and I had assumed you were smart enough to realize that—after forcing me into these blasted clothes.”
    Blasted clothes? So that was the cause of her present rancor? He should have known she would not give in on that point gracefully.
    “When you look so fetching in those clothes, how can you abhor them?”
    Having said it, he realized just how true that statement was. She really did now look like the one he had been so