There was a strange…fluttering in her chest when Robert stepped forward, took her hand, and promptly laid a kiss upon the soft flesh with his even softer lips. For a moment, Eirian had forgotten to breathe as she watched with surprise that…wasn’t at all unpleasant, she noted—before discarding the thought and composing herself before Robert could rise. And then she reminded herself to breathe again.
Afterward, Eirian had nodded when Robert asked for a private place to convene, setting the apron neatly on the kitchen table before herding the men into Turner’s room—it wasn’t exactly the fanciest meeting place, nor the most spacious, but she figured it was the best place to go to avoid Turner. The last place the excitable child would have wanted to be was his room—for fear of being forced to take a nap. Evidently, however, she had been thoroughly mistaken in the decision. At first, maybe, it seemed to have been going well, but as soon as Robert had said what he had come to say, and Eirian had eagerly agreed to the proposition…
“Oops!”
Eirian went pale. Turner had come up on them so fast Eirian hadn’t had the chance to catch him before the spoon in his hand splattered across Robert’s chest in the apparent effort to give the stranger a taste of the night’s dinner. She had to give Robert credit; he handled himself gracefully in the face of children…it had actually caused a spark of delight to rise in her chest—not that it lasted long in the endless sea of her embarrassment as she pulled Turner to her knees. “I’m sorry,” she professed, “I thought we’d be…safe…”
Behind her, her father was chuckling lowly, but it hardly concerned the young woman. Instead, she found herself growing even more horrified as her mother, newly refreshed from her short nap, glided to the doorway with her usual cheer and bright smile. “My goodness!” Giggling, she observed the scene in front of her, but her eyes landed almost immediately upon their handsome visitor. “You must be Robert; Oh! It looks like my son likes you—he even brought you a messy present, the silly billy. Eirian, be a dear and fetch a…”
The woman was cut off only by Robert’s lips against the back of her hand—a gesture that reminded Eirian of the twin kiss she had received. It brought a quick jump to her heart, and she felt her throat tighten. Just a formality, Eirian reminded herself as her mother complimented Robert on his gentlemanly ways, nothing to be bothered over.
“I was just leaving. I must change before I report back to the King.” He explained.
“Oh, now wait just a minute! You can’t leave so soon, not when dinner’s just about ready and you’ve come all this way. Stay and eat with us–you can borrow one of my husband’s shirts to make up for Turner’s accident.”
The woman was insistent, not that Eirian was surprised. Her mother’s hospitality knew no bounds—there had even been an instant where Eirian had been forced, while she had still been a member of the Academy, to bring Robert a slice of cake that her mother had baked, out of appreciation for his hard work in training her daughter. Eirian doubted he still remembered that…or at least, hoped he didn’t. And now, imagining Robert sitting with them at their table, eating the food that she had cooked…it wasn’t embarrassing, exactly, and not quite that unpleasant, but she wasn’t exactly sure if she’d be able to bear it. Especially if he happened not to like it. Eirian didn’t want him to get a new impression of her as a bad cook—if she was to be his coworker, after all, that could prove to be highly distracting.
“Mother,” Eirian tried, seeing the desperate look upon her mentor’s face, “I really don’t think it’s—”
“Posh!”
Guinevere Lindval waved a dismissive hand at her daughter before putting her hands on (flustered) Robert’s shoulders and practically steered him out of the room and toward the master bedroom. “I insist! You can change in here, dear—just pull a shirt from the closet.” Shooting him another smile—well, the same smile had never really left her fair face—she spoke to Eirian once more.
“I’ll have your father help me in the kitchen if you fetch a towel for your handsome friend to clean himself up with.”
Eirian sputtered, not sure how to respond or what to try and counter first…before ultimately heaving a sigh and giving an apologetic glance at Robert before nodding. “Go with Daddy, Turner,” she prompted the young boy, who was quickly scooped up into his father’s arms (before the large man lumbered out after his wife after he gave his daughter a proud squeeze on the shoulder), then followed everyone out and fetched a towel from the cupboard.
Taking a deep breath, Eirian contemplated changing before facing Robert once more, her hand heavy upon the knob of the cupboard, but instead shook the idea from her head. At this point, the best plan of action was to act casual. I’ll only draw attention to myself if I show insecurity, so—
Eirian stopped dead in both her tracks and her thoughts as she made her way to her parents’ room and came face-to-face with a set of (she had to admit) well sculpted abs. Not that she had expected Robert to have anything less but it was improper to expect anything at all, let alone see it! Willing herself not to blush and averting her gaze bashfully, Eirian held out the towel for Robert in exchange for the soiled shirt he had been wearing.
“My mother can be…excitable,” she professed apologetically, “once she gets an idea into her head it can be difficult to assuage her…”
To her surprise, he smiled. It was an interesting comment with the stock-straight pose he carried himself in. “Not to worry, Eirian. Determination is hardly something to apologize for. It’s a good trait to possess. And one that runs in families, I believe.”
Eirian found it harder not to blush, that time, but saved face by giving a small smile before turning away from him. “I’ll give you your privacy to change; I’m sure the table will be set and ready by the time you’re done.”
Closing the door behind her, Eirian threw his shirt in the wash—figuring it would be ready and dried by the time that they had finished eating.
Sure enough, Eirian was just setting the casserole on the table when Robert emerged from the hallway, and she shot him a smile, glad that the shirt fit him well enough to not look severely uncomfortable. Motioning for him to take a seat, the rest of the family likewise pulled out chairs—except for Turner, of course, whom Guinevere lifted into a higher chair by her side.
When everyone had filled their plates, her mother was, of course, the first to speak. “Eirian made this herself, you know,” she informed as she looked at Robert, then reached over and squeezed her husband’s hand in hers lightly before bringing it back. “She’s such a wonderful help, I’m almost cross with you for wanting to take her away from me!” Then, with a small laugh like bells, she positively beamed. “I’m only joking, of course. I’m just as thrilled as they are about this opportunity. Do you quite enjoy your job, Robert?”
“Every job poses its challenges,” the guest responded cordially as he mulled over his food. “This one offers…very unique and specific ones. But the Princess is a gracious employer and Mr. Dubhan is as steadfast a partner as I could ask for.”
The lot of them smiled (Turner giggled merrily), but Eirian’s smile was the softest of all. She knew she hadn’t officially received the position but she couldn’t help but feel Robert’s words excite her. To meet the Princess…to work directly with the royal family, side-by-side with honorable and capable guards…it sounded like a dream.
It was Turner that Robert turned his gaze to, his expression tender as he watched the way in which the small boy played with his food. With a chuckle—Eirian could have sworn that there was a bit of relief for the shift of attention away from himself—he commented, “He’s quite an energetic child. I…don’t recall E…”
Eirian snapped her eyes from Turner to Robert just as the man amended, “…Miss. Lindval mentioning a brother in her time at the Academy.”
“He wasn’t born until a couple of weeks after I graduated,” Eirian confessed before her mother could take the opportunity to ramble.
“We hope that when he’s old enough, he’ll make a fine cadet,” Russell boomed, much more relaxed now that he was surrounded by his family. His smile was as large as he was. With a laugh, he added, “I’m sure he’ll be spry enough, if nothing else.”
“If he’s anything at all like Eirian, Turner will be just perfect,” Guinevere chimed. Eirian’s smile was much more superficial, this time, as well as more obviously uncomfortable as she found her eyes falling to her plate. She ate the rest of the meal quietly, doing her best to listen to the idle chatter that spanned the rest of the meal—answering questions or prompts when necessary. To tell the truth, Eirian had never really been much a fan of idle chatter. So much thought could be filled in the span of a silence, but talk of such things as the weather had always felt a measure…contrived. The young woman was almost relieved when the meal was over, and leaned over to take Robert’s plate for him and put it in the kitchen when her mother stopped her.
“I’ll clean up, sweetie—I’ll be needing to give Turner a bath, anyway. Spend time with your friend!” Turning her brilliant smile once more to Robert, she confessed, “it was absolutely lovely meeting you at last; our doors are open any time you feel like visiting.”
Trying to suppress her awkwardness, Eirian was quick to fetch Robert’s shirt for him, and waited patiently as he changed out of her father’s and back into his own. It wasn’t until Eirian saw Robert to the door that time finally started to slow down again. Walking side-by-side with him was almost…nostalgic. All that was missing was a stack of books he was helping her carry after she found herself being tripped by a fellow cadet who was…well…less than a fan. Not that those were particularly welcome memories, but Eirian had found that any rotten situation became instantly more positive when it gave her the opportunity to socialize with Robert. He was, after all, her mentor, and had given her more than enough drive not to take to heart any of the mean-spirited jibes by her peers. Upholding virtue and honor wasn’t always met unchallenged.
Eirian was taken out of her thoughts when she felt Robert’s hand slip into hers. Startled, she watched as he quickly brought her hand up to meet his lips once more, that familiar yet oh-so-foreign feeling of warmth creeping under her skin she couldn’t quite understand. “I’m glad…Miss. Lindval,” he murmured as he did so, “to have had a chance to have seen you again. I admit I did not think I would again.”
Then, relinquishing her from his grasp and cleaning his throat, he stood straight as the soldier he was, informing her that a dress would be sent to meet the protocols of the palace, and that he would pick her up promptly at 8.
There was a pause, and for a brief instant he softened again, as he quietly informed her, “I’m pleased I was wrong.”
“As am I,” Eirian replied, and she stayed upon her doorstep, reflecting on how true those words were, as she watched Robert reach the sidewalk. It almost seemed a chore to drag herself back inside.