She swallowed her ire as he strolled toward his clothes. Food. Drink. She must keep him happy. No matter whether or not it killed her. Then he'd well, the list couldn't be endless, could it?

"I have some brandy and some claret. Which would you prefer?"

"Either. Long as it's good."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him wedge the apple between his teeth, then tug his shirt over his head.

"Long as you don't go putting any arsenic in it."

"No, and ...