He stood not four feet away, so there seemed little reason for shouting. "Stanford," Dugald said softly, nodding slightly from his seat at the trestle table and ignoring the many faces that turned from their meals to stare at them. "You are a coward and a bastard," Stanford said, his tone strained and his reed thin body stiff. Dugald remained very still. He was not a man easily riled, but the past days had been trying at best, and his nerves were already stretched taut. Still, he had learned early the importance of holding his temper, so he nodded with as much equanimity as he could muster. "I shall keep that in mind for future reference," he said, and turned back to his meal. Stanford spun him back around with a hand on his shoulder. "You shall apologize!" he growled. Anger bubbled slowly upward in Dugald's gut, but he carefully tamped it back down. He nodded again. "My apologies, then." "Not to me, you craven bastard!" Grabbing the front of Dugald's tunic, Stanford dragged him to his feet.
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