His words cut to the deep. Anger, such as she had never known toward her brother, boiled through her veins. Her lip curled into a snarl and she raised her hand, poised to strike that handsome visage of his. But then she stopped herself, not because she didn't want to hit him (because she really... really... really... wanted to hit him), but because she felt a certain resolve gather within her. She curled her fingers into a fist and lowered her arm, tilting her head and saying ever so softly, "Go to the devil, Robert Carrington. I don't want to speak to you. Get out."

It was said with such a voice that he probably had never heard from her before, dripping venomously from the fangs of each word that hung between them. She lifted her hand again, firmly, and pointed with a stiff gesture toward the door. She repeated herself, "Get out. Now. Go dog Magnus' heels. He's the very devil, after all."