“Here,” she said. She poured the iced water into the tin cup. The sound of the water hitting the metal was the loudest thing in the world. The dark-haired man looked up. His eyes were a startling, piercing gray. "They were intelligent, sharp, and currently narrowed in deep suspicion.
He looked at the cup, then at her face. It's clean," she said softly, misunderstanding his hesitation. “Please drink it before the sun warms it.” He didn't speak. He reached out. His hand was large, scarred, and trembling slightly from muscle fatigue. His fingers brushed against hers as he took the cup.
His skin was rough, burning hot to the touch. He brought the cup to his lips and drank. He didn't gulp it down like a starving animal. He drank it with a strange, controlled desperation. When he lowered the cup, he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting out a long, ragged breath. "Mr. Croft's voice cracked like a whip behind her.
“What are you doing? These men are not to be coddled. We have a schedule to keep.” Norah ignored him. She poured a second cup and handed it to the man next to him, a younger boy who looked no more than 16. The boy took it with trembling hands, whispering a rushed. “Bless you, miss.” She turned back to the dark-haired man.
He was watching her. The anger that had been radiating from him earlier had vanished, replaced by a quiet, intense calculation. He was studying her face, taking in the faded dress, the lack of jewels, the dirt smudged on the hem of her skirt where she knelt. "You will ruin your gown," he said. His voice was a shock. It was deep, gravelly from the dust, but the accent was strangely crisp.
It lacked theavy, rounded vowels of the local laborers. “It was already ruined,” Norah replied, meeting his gaze squarely. It has been washed too many times. Dirt is an improvement.” a faint, almost imperceptible twitch pulled at the corner of his cracked lips.
It wasn't quite a smile, but it was close. “You shouldn't be here,” he said softly, keeping his voice below Croft's shouting. “The steward is going to take it out on you.” “The steward has no power over me,” Norah lied smoothly.
I am a guest, though a poor one. She poured another cup of water and held it out to him. “Drink. You look as though you are about to fall into the earth you're digging.”
He took the cup again. “It is not my intent to die in a ditch today,” he murmured. “Then keep drinking.” “Get away from there!”