"I have other plans for that woman…"
Bors' statement filled Jocelynn with so much dread that she nearly dropped the embroidery hoop and thread in her hands and blood drained from her face as drops of sweat formed between her shoulder blades. Plans for 'that woman' couldn't be good, no matter what they were.
"What, what do you have in mind for her?" Jocelynn asked carefully. "And have you… have you consulted with Count Rhys about it?" As odd as it felt to refer to her father by his first name, at the moment, Bors thought she was his wife, the Marchioness and though she almost said 'my father', she caught herself and held fast to the script that would conform to Bors Lothian's delusion.
"After the mess he's gotten us into, he should thank me for settling his affairs," Bors said gruffly as he started nibbling on small bites of tender beef cheek. Bland food or not, his appetite hadn't left him, which only added one more thing that didn't fit with his apparent ailment.
