"I could give him—"
Ian shook his head.
"Then he could give her—"
"Nay, Thomas. Jamie wouldn't accept your money; it would insult him."
"But no one worries about insulting me," Thomas pointed out.
Ian shrugged with a grin. "You'll have bairns enough to drain your coffers. Now, as I was saying, let Jamie give her an inheritance so she feels as if she could make her own way if necessary. Then are you both on the same footing."
"And then I can put money into her checking account?"
"Bingo," Jane said with a smile.
"I think I just don't get it."
"Don't try," Ian advised. " 'Twill do nothing but give you pains in your head."
"I think it's very simple," Jane said.
"And I think that maybe a little sword work in the snow is making more sense to me all the time." He looked at Ian. "Interested?"
Ian leaned over and kissed Jane. "I'll return for the dishes, love."
"You cooked, I'll clean," she said cheerfully. "I don't mind."
"You haven't seen Thomas's cooking pot."
"Oh, I'll leave that for him," she said with a grin.
"I imagined you would," Thomas said. "Thanks for the edible half of dinner, Ian."
"You'll improve your skills," Ian offered. "Either that or you won't. There's no middle ground with my cooker."
Thomas was beginning to wonder if there was any middle ground with anything in his life at present.
What he did know was that a few hours of swinging a sword would distract him. He couldn't ask for much more than that at present, so he headed up to his room to fetch his coat.
The house was quiet when he finally put his feet up on a stool near Ian's fire-engine red AGA stove with a cup of cider in his hands. He gave thought to Ian's idea of an inheritance for Iolanthe and surrendered to a greater wisdom than his. Maybe Ian was right, and a passel of kids would drain his bank account soon enough. Maybe he wouldn't be opposed to Iolanthe having her own money. And maybe all Iolanthe needed was to feel like she didn't owe him for so much. He didn't want her to feel obligated. He just wanted her to be happy.
He wondered how things were playing out over at Jamie's. Did she think about him? Or was she wishing he would just pack up his things and go home?
At least working out for hours every day with Ian was taking his mind off things. They were using blunted training swords, but even then, the flat of a blade on his ribs stung like a handful of hornets. He played a game with himself, that it really was life or death and that his skill would be all that saved the day. It was when he treated his training that seriously that Ian began to grin. Jamie had once remarked that when Ian grinned, the true sport began, but that few challenged him enough to bring on that feral smile. Thomas certainly didn't want to credit himself with more skill than he possessed, but it certainly bolstered his pride when his swordmaster smiled.
The kitchen door burst open, followed by a gust of wind. Thomas was on his feet, grasping for his nonexistent sword, which he remembered with a curse was propped up against his bed, when he realized that the body stamping off the snow and blowing on his hands really had no need to do either.
"Chilly out," Ambrose said. He smiled at Thomas. "Well met, grandson."
"Well met yourself, my laird," Thomas said, closing the door and sitting back down with a thump.
Fulbert blew in directly behind Ambrose, followed immediately by Hugh. Apparently, the little party wasn't complete, because Duncan came in just as enthusiastically. The four ghosts drew up chairs, conjured up tankards of ale, and began to warm their toes against the stove as well. Thomas looked at Duncan with pursed lips.
"Are you taking up matchmaking as well?"
Duncan shrugged with a smile. "Seems a goodly work, doesn't it?"
Thomas snorted. "I'm not the one to ask."
"Ah, Thomas lad," Ambrose said with a smile, "give your lass time. As I said before, you've another chance to win her. Who wouldn't want that?"
Thomas supposed there was something to that, but then again, wooing one's lady was much more productive when one had one's lady in the same general vicinity.
Well, she would either send for him, or she wouldn't. There was nothing he could do about that besides wait. In the meantime, there were glorious tales of battle and some damned funny hauntings to listen to. He looked around at the half circle of men and realized they had come to keep him company. He counted himself blessed to be able to see them.
And then a thought struck him.
He looked at Ambrose. "Am I one of your matches?" he asked, interrupting the man.
"Well, aye, lad. Of course."
Thomas frowned. "What's your success rate?"
Ambrose grinned. "I'll let you know later, laddie. I'll let you know later."
Thomas buried his sigh in his mug. Apparently, some questions were just better left unasked.
He sipped and listened and laughed, and the longer he did so, the more he realized that he couldn't just sit and wait any longer. Training with Ian was good for his body, but he wasn't sure it was so good for his soul. What he needed was to be climbing. Maybe at the top of a mountain, he would find the peace he was so desperately in need of.
Or at least a damn good diversion until Iolanthe made her decision.
Yes, out in the wild was the place for him. He felt better already knowing that he would get up in the morning and start looking for a place to pit his skills against, skills that were his, skills that were
