Category: jealous
Quotes of Category: jealous
That was your forest. Where you hunted." He came closer to the painting, gazing at the bleak, empty cold, the white and gray and brown and black. "This was your life," he clarified.
I was too mortified, too stunned, to reply. He walked to the next painting I'd left against the wall. Darkness and dense brown, flickers of ruby red and orange squeezing out between them. "Your cottage at night."
I tried to move, to tell him to stop looking at those ones and look at the others I'd laid out, but I couldn't-couldn't even breathe properly as he moved to the next painting. A tanned, sturdy male hand fisted in the hay, the pale pieces of it entwined among strands of brown coated with gold-my hair. My gut twisted. "The man you used to see-in your village." He cocked his head again as he studied the picture, and a low growl slipped out. "While you made love." He stepped back, looking at the row of pictures. "This is the only one with any brightness."
Was that … jealousy? "It was the only escape I had." Truth. I wouldn't apologize for Isaac. Not when Tamlin had just been in the Great Rite. I didn't hold that against him-but if he was going to be jealous of Isaac-
Tamlin must have realized it, too, for he loosed a long, controlled breath before moving to the next painting. Tall shadows of men, bright red dripping off their fists, off their wooden clubs, hovering and filling the edges of the painting as they towered over the curled figure on the floor, the blood leaking from him, the leg at a wrong angle.
Tamlin swore. "You were there when they wrecked your father's leg."
"Someone had to beg them to stop."
Tamlin threw a too-knowing glance in my direction and turned to look at the rest of the paintings. There they were, all the wounds I'd slowly been leeching these few months. I blinked. A few months. Did my family believe that I would be forever away with this so-called dying aunt?
At last, Tamlin looked at the painting of the glen and the starlight. He nodded in appreciation. But he pointed to the painting of the snow-veiled woods. "That one. I want that one. book-quotejealouspaintingstamlinThere were twenty-three females on the Keltar estate--not counting Gwen, Chloe, herself, or the cat--Gabby knew, because shortly after Adam had become visible last night, she'd met each and every one, from tiniest tot to tottering ancient. It had begun with a plump, thirtyish maid popping in to pull the drapes for the evening and inquire if the MacKeltars "were wishing aught else?" The moment her bespectacled gaze had fallen on Adam, she'd begun stammering and tripping over her own feet. It had taken her a few moments to regain a semblance of coordination, but she'd managed to stumble from the library, nearly upsetting a lamp and a small end table in her haste. Apparently it had been haste to alert the forces, for a veritable parade had ensued: a blushing curvaceous maid had come offering a warm-up of tear {they'd not been having any}, followed by a giggling maid seeking a forgotten dust cloth {which--was anyone surprised?--was nowhere to be found}, then a third one looking for a waylaid broom {yeah, right--they swept castles at midnight in Scotland--who believed that?}, then a fourth, fifth, and sixth inquiring if the Crystal Chamber would do for Mr. Black {no one seemed to care what chamber might do for ; she half-expected to end up in an outbuilding somewhere}. A seventh, eighth, and ninth had come to announce that his chamber was ready would he like an escort? A bath drawn? Help undressing? {Well, okay, maybe they hadn't actually asked the last, but their eyes certainly had.}Then a half-dozen more had popped in at varying intervals to say the same things over again, and to stress that they were there to provide "aught, at all Mr. Black might desire."The sixteenth had come to extract two tiny girls from Adam's lap over their wailing protests {and had stayed out of his lap herself only because Adam had hastily stood}, the twenty-third and final one had been old enough to be someone's great-great-grandmother, and even she'd flirted shamelessly with the "braw Mr. Black," batting nonexistent lashes above nests of wrinkles, smoothing thin white hair with a blue-veined, age-spotted hand. And if that hadn't been enough, the castle cat, obviously female and obviously in heat, had sashayed in, tail straight up and perkily curved at the tip, and would her furry little self sinuously around Adam's ankles, purring herself into a state of drooling, slanty-eyed bliss. she'd wanted to snap {and she liked cats, really she did; she'd certainly never wanted to kick one before, but please--even cats?}, book-quotejealousgabbykaren-marie-moning
