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A look of confusion passed over Javan’s face. It struggled with his conviction that he was right, and neither the expression of confusion nor the conviction won, rather that of angry annoyance.
“I’m not a slave!” Javan burst out. “Not to anyone, I’m not! I’m not afraid of anyone. Not - not Thornden or even lord Eodwine, that’s what. And I never said you were a murderess! I just said that the others might think you are. You never wanted to kill anyone! And I think that if you spent more time thinking about your present freedom and how jolly well you have it now and less time feeling sorry for yourself and what happened, you’d be much happier and you might not be stuck scrubbing stupid floors and breaking your back in menial tasks day in and day out.”
He aimed a kick at the bucket of water to illustrate his point. The blow was harder than he meant it, and the water sloshed violently as the bucket leaped sideways a foot. Most of it spilled, soaking Rowenna’s skirts.
Javan clapped his hand over his mouth in dismay. “Oh, golly,” he said in a much quieter tone. “I’m awfully sorry, Rowenna. I didn’t mean to make you wet. I’m so sorry. . .” He was kneeling again beside her instantly, pulling the bucket away and mopping the water up with the nearest cloth he could find. He stopped after a moment, appalled, realizing the cloth was Rowenna’s skirt. “I...” he blinked. How utterly unfortunate. She must think him a dunce. “I’m so sorry.”
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