“Bull, pass the mead.” He held his hand out expectantly, staring at roaring fire in front of him. Or, perhaps, just past the fire at the whelp trying to woo Anne. He was young, blue-eyed and baby-faced, and he’d been grinning at her all day.
Anne, despite sometimes frightening men away, was a very sociable person and had made little, if any, attempt to dissuade the boy in his conversations. He was sitting a little too close, in Will’s honest opinion, and was grinning far too much to be trusted. He saw her lean away from him as the boy scooted closer.
He was up and moving across their circle before he realized what he was doing. The fire cast shadows across his face as he looked down at the whelp, making him seem a frightful, foreboding figure. When the boy had scurried away he sat himself down beside her, ignoring the look she was giving him.