He catches that from the corner of his eye; a little bit of his tension relaxes. Of course, without the distraction of scheming and manipulations to keep his mind occupied, he becomes abruptly more aware of how damned cold it is up here. He suppresses a shiver. What a sad lot - cold, but unable to even show any sign of it lest she use that as an excuse to hand his coat back. There is no hell worse, in his opinion, than to have the joy of unhappiness without the joy of being able to complain about it.

How...very strange, though. She's obviously galactic - that's clear from her accent, her clothing, and her appearance - but to be on Barrayar with no knowledge of the planet at all...? Well. "Once upon a time," he intones windily, "the Emperor of Barrayar was pleased by the service of one of my noble ancestors. Vlad Rutyer, if I don't misremember. And so he cursed that poor sod with the title of nobility - the Vor title - and some pretty lands out on the Western coast.

"The Vor are the ruling class of this planet. You can trust most of them to be superior, haughty, and care not a whit for the lives of proles and galactics such as yourself. But if you can shame them into remembering that they're expected to be chivalrous and honorable, sometimes you can get them to behave."