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An uncomfortable and unwelcome wave of jealousy washed over Scyld as he watched Thornden escort Rowenna out onto the dance floor. Well, if he liked it so ill, he should have asked her first, he scolded himself irritably. There had been ample opportunity; it was not as though Thornden had snatched her up without giving another a chance. So if he had not asked her, he could hardly be upset that she had found another partner.
So said the rational part of his brain.
He had feigned lack of interest and told Aldric that he had not wished to ask her to dance because he was a poor dancer. In truth, however, he was scared, and that bothered him. Afraid of a woman? Ha! He had faced many things far scarier than the rejection of a woman.
But she seemed so happy dancing out there with Thornden! And why not? Thornden was a good man, with a not immodest post here at the hall. A good dancer, too, Scyld saw. So be it, if that was what she wanted.
“So she'll dance with that ninny but not with me?” snarled Aldric. So he, too, had noticed. But for once, the thought of needling him further held no allure. The remark was not particularly directed at Scyld anyway, so he did not respond.
What is wrong with me? So she's sharing one dance with Thornden! So what? I'll ask her for the next one, that's what I'll do.
Aldric's conversation had gone on: “You can always cut in on him,” suggested one soldier. This cannot end well, thought Scyld. He briefly considered trying to send him towards Ginna, who stood alone without a partner, but could not bring himself to set such a boor on an unsuspecting girl. He was done interfering. It was too late anyway; Aldric was up and swaggering towards the dance floor.
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