Marcello stopped at the door to the room he was sharing with Niabheara, hesitated, and finally, after some consideration, knocked politely.

"Niabheara?" he asked. "It's Marcello. May I come in?"

Niabheara had finally gotten around to changing out of her riding trousers and back into something more suitable for another round of guests, and also to shake off the last of the cherry brandy. This last part was not going so well, as she still smelled a bit like a cordial. At the knock on the door and subsequent announcement, she whipped around so abruptly that her ankle clipped a hassock. "Shit!" Quickly she amended, "Not you, dear!" and came limping to the door.

"Are you all right?" Marcello called, not knowing if that meant he was supposed to open the door or not.

Niabheara threw open the door and leaned against it, struggling to get her unbound hair out of her eyes. "Nothing, hassock shot out between my feet, you just missed it, it was quite astonishing . . . ah." She smiled up at him, a bit sheepish. "Come in, please. Did you find the kitchens?"

"I did," Marcello replied, as he walked into the room, catching her by the waist to plant a kiss on her cheek. Then he stopped and frowned. "How did you know I was going to the kitchens?"

"They're on standing orders to admit you," she said dryly, and gave him a peck on the cheek in return. "So long as you don't use anything they've laid out for the next meal."

"Ah." Marcello raised an eyebrow. "So I, er, go there a lot?" he asked. "I..." He frowned. "Well. I suppose that would make sense. How are you?"

"Getting ready to make social calls 'round the house before this evening. Some of these ladies are people I only see four times a year, and if I see them more often than that, it's because someone's getting sued or else we're at war." She gave him a smile and started to pin up her hair. "And yes, they all know you in the kitchens. If you wander off, I can usually find you there."

"I must eat a lot," Marcello observed. "Your cook isn't furious that you're marrying someone who'll eat you out of house and home?" he teased, and stepped up beside her. "Do you want any help?"

She let out a bright laugh. "The head cook doesn't know what to do with you. By rights the lord of the house can go anywhere he likes and eat anything he damn well pleases." Niabheara turned toward him, hands in her hair. "Can you do a herringbone plait?"