Refuge(27)

“Oh no, we actually have something in common? How dreadful.” My tone was teasing, but with him it was impossible to know how he’d take it.

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Tragic indeed,” he retorted, but some of the edge had left his voice. “Well, since you are determined to make yourself at home here, I suppose I should know your name.”

“Sara Grey.”

He gave a shaky but elegant bow. “Desmund Ashworth, seventh Earl of Dorsey.”

“Aha! I knew you were some kind of English lord.” He arched an eyebrow, and I said, “You’ve got aristocrat written all over you.”

He seemed inordinately pleased by my remark, and a smug smile tugged at his lips. For the first time since I’d met him, the wildness left his eyes. “You have good taste in books and music so there is some hope for you,” he stated as if he was appraising my worth. “What else do you like?”

“I draw, but it’s nothing like the art on the walls here. You probably wouldn’t like it.”

“Probably not,” he agreed, and I had the urge to stick out my tongue at him. He could at least pretend to be courteous. “Do you play chess by chance?”

“No. I can play checkers, though.” Roland’s uncle Brendan had taught me to play checkers, and we used to have a game whenever I stayed over at the farm. I’d even beaten Brendan a few times, and that was no easy feat.

He scoffed. “Anyone can play draughts. It requires a much more organized mind to master chess.”

Something told me that Desmund’s mind was about as organized as my closet, but I wisely kept that thought to myself. “It’s been a while since I played, but I think I could give you a run for your money in checkers. Too bad we don’t have a set.”

His eyes lit up, and he spun back to the cabinet where he leaned down and pulled out a dark mahogany box. He carried the box to my table and laid it in front of me, then opened it to reveal a polished checkerboard. Inside the box was another flat box that contained a set of ebony and boxwood checkers. Desmund took the chair across from me and spilled the checkers out onto the board. “Lady’s choice.”

I hesitated for a moment before laying aside my book, even though his eagerness told me he was probably extremely good at either game. I reached for the boxwood pieces and started to line them up on my side of the board.

We were not long into the game before it was evident that Desmund was in a totally different league from Brendan, and I had to concentrate hard to keep up with his moves. I earned a few scowls when I captured three of his pieces, small victories compared to his dominating play. He didn’t gloat as much as I thought he would when he won, but he wasn’t all graciousness either.

“You have some potential, but it will probably take us years to polish you up.”

“Gee thanks,” I replied. “Maybe after a few hundred years, I’ll be as good as you.”

Desmund pursed his lips. “Doubtful, but you will make a decent opponent.”

I shook my head at his cockiness. “How old are you anyway?” The Mohiri didn’t have the same hang-ups about age as humans so I saw nothing wrong in asking.

He paused as if he’d forgotten the answer. “I was born in sixteen thirty-eight.”

Wow. “I can’t imagine living that long. I only found out a few months ago I was Mohiri.”

“Ah, you are that orphan. I knew there was something different about you.”

“That’s me.” I couldn’t help but think that it’s probably not good when someone as eccentric as Desmund thinks you’re different. “I’m not exactly like the other trainees here; they are all such good fighters. I don’t think I’d make a good warrior – or know if I even want to be one.”

He gazed out the darkened window. “‘It is better to fail in originality than to succeed in imitation.’” When he looked back at me, he wore a little smile. “Melville. Words to live by.”

I smiled back. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“So, shall we have a rematch?” He deftly rolled one of the ebony pieces between his long fingers.

“Not tonight,” I said with real regret. Desmund was a little unbalanced, but he was also intelligent and interesting and I couldn’t help but like him. I began gathering checkers to put them away. “It’s getting late and I have training in the morning.”

“Another time then?” His question was casual, but he was not able to hide the glimmer of hope in his eyes. It struck me that he must be lonely up here, even though he drove everyone away.