Read Online A Bed of Spices by Barbara Samuel - Free Book Online Page A

that makes me think of naught but the shimmer of your hair and the curve of your lips?”
    Her mouth went dry. “I know not of those things,” she whispered.
    “Have you never tasted passion, Rica?” he whispered. “Nay, innocence is your cloak, for all that you drive men mad.” His fingers brushed her cheek. “Lust is an evil thing, ugly and dark,” he said quietly. “Lust is a word too small to speak of the dreams I have.”
    He stepped closer. “It is passion, Rica, that I feel when I see you, passion that haunts me when you are gone.”
    His breath, moist and warm, brushed her cheek. Rica raised her gaze. And it was again the day in Helga’s garden, when his face had been so close.
    “Forgive me,” he whispered, but his head tilted and he moved slowly closer, until the full lips were poised a hair’s breadth above hers. “I have never known a woman who moved me so,” he murmured. He kissed her.
    His mouth was mobile and firm, as luxurious upon her own as the water had been upon her body. He explored her lips with a curious mixture of hunger and hesitancy, expertise and caution, nibbling now, pressing and moving until Rica found her mouth parting of its own accord. Even then, he only used the tip of his tongue to taste her, to ribbon around the edges of her lips and parry with the tip of her tongue.
    The heavy feeling returned to her breasts and spread thickly to her middle. Rica gave herself to the splendid taste of him. Her hands lit upon his arms for steadiness, and her basket bumped his hip.
    In a hundred poems, she had read of kisses. She had not dreamed it would feel thus, so deep and swirling, as if her body had swelled and lightened, until she was near to floating in his loose embrace.
    At last he lifted his head. His palms circled her cheeks, tender and powerful, and his eyes swept her face hungrily. “I would teach you passion, Rica.”
    “There are penalties,” she whispered, riveted in the darkness of his eyes.
    His jaw hardened. “Aye,” he said with a bitter-twist of his lips. “And I am a fool.”
    He backed away, watching her. Rica lifted her hand in wonder to touch her tingling lips. He froze, then turned and left her.
    As if his presence had been all that held her upright, Rica sank to her knees on the ground as he stalked into the trees. Her mouth burned with the press of his lips; her tongue tingled with the ghostly image of his. Her heart skittered in her chest, as wild as a panicked bird.
    Wanton.
    In a crush of shame, Rica buried her face in her hands, her flesh burning with humiliation. She thought of Solomon looking at her as if she were some kind of demon, a she-devil come to torment him. She thought of him turning away in disgust.
    Madness. ‘Twas all madness. Her mind had been overtaken by some force outside herself the moment her eyes had fallen upon his face in Helga’s garden.
    And how she would free it, she did not know.
    In the streets of Strassburg, the merchants and butchers were hawking the last of the day’s goods. A ball of gold sunlight settled over the mountains and lent a gentle gilding to the scene.
    Bemused, Solomon wandered through the streets toward home, admiring the hues of the stone walls and the dull gleam of thick glass in some of the windows. Two snaggle-toothed old women chuckled together near the well, and even they seemed beautiful.
    The very air glowed with a sense of Rica. The gold light made him think of her hair, flowing in streamers over her shoulders. He passed the open door of an apothecary, and the scents from within momentarily blotted out the riper city odors; these, too, gave him a moment’s pause, for his senses were flooded with the taste and scent of the woman who had kissed him.
    No. He swallowed. Let him kiss her.
    He was bewitched. He could not stop the burning he had for her. She haunted his every step, his every dream.
    Only the plain walls of his father’s house sobered him. As he approached the wooden gate, he smelled