Read Online A Whisper of Rosemary by Colleen Gleason - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Colleen Gleason
Ads: Link
comely as Maris Lareux wouldn’t escape the notice of the unmarried, land-greedy barons at court.
Lady Maris’s voice broke into Dirick’s thoughts as she led him around into the area reserved for the men-at-arms and other important visitors. It was a large room, cordoned off from the rest of the hall by a heavy oaken door—much nicer than many of the men’s quarters he’d slept in throughout England and France. A fire roared in the corner, and a serf slumped against the wall, snoring, with a stack of wood within reach.
“ You may place your pallet anywhere you like, Sir Dirick,” Maris offered. She handed him a pile of blankets, more than generous enough to keep one warm—especially with a blazing fire in the same room.
“ Thank you, my lady,” he took the bundle.
She paused for a moment as if contemplating her next words, and when she spoke, a small grin tickled the corner of her enticing mouth.
Her words, however, when they came, eliminated any hint of innocence. “Papa bade me see to your comforts. If your need is as great as ’twas yestereve, I will send a woman to you.”
Dirick felt his face flush hot as he ground his teeth together in an attempt to maintain his dignity. Words escaped him, and before he could gather his wits, the little minx took his silence for dissent and whirled away down the dark corridor.
He could only stare after her, trying to decide whether he wanted to murder her or kiss her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Maris dressed without Verna’s assistance the next morning. She’d wakened earlier than usual and found too many thoughts trundling through her mind to make more sleep likely, so she rose. It was a frigid morn, and the sun had not even begun to peek over the edge of the earth to warm it.
Down the stone steps she went, breezing through the hall where several men-at-arms were sprawled in a corner. Obviously, they’d not made it to the knights’ quarters where she’d left a dumfounded Sir Dirick the night before.
A bemused smile quirked her face at the memory of his shocked expression, and, engrossed as she was, Maris misstepped and trod upon the cat’s tail. The tabby emitted a yowl of protest (the sotted men still did not stir) and the feline stalked off through the matted rushes, refusing to accept Maris’s apologies.
She tsked at herself, fearing that the cat’s reaction was merely a foreshadowing of what her father would say if he heard of her unladylike gibe at Sir Dirick. She couldn’t keep from glancing again toward the common sleeping area, where he was likely sprawled out on his pallet.
For a moment, she imagined his thick dark hair tufted and curling where he rested his head, his pleasing face lax and smooth in his rest. Mayhap an arm would be thrown out, away from his blanketed body…or a leg might be lying atop the woolen blanket whilst the rest of him slumbered in comfort. His disturbing grey-blue eyes would be closed in sleep—those eyes that looked at her with such intensity that her heart dodged about in her chest. Yet, when they were not focused on her, she’d noticed that they were a soft, cloud like grey, flecked with blue. The color of Langumont Bay on a winter day, and fringed with the longest, darkest lashes she’d ever seen, or noticed, on a man.
Maris started, realizing in confusion that she had paused in the hall and stood, staring toward the sleeping area as these thoughts danced through her mind. Though no one was about to see her actions, her cheeks warmed and she turned resolutely away. Although there was no harm in mooning over one’s betrothed, she had balked against marriage for so long that it felt odd for her to relish the thought of knowing all aspects of a man’s body. Maris gathered up her heavy wool tunic and draped it over her arm as she stepped over an up ended bench.
The kitchen was deserted except for Bit, the daughter of the cook, who slept in the corner on empty
Lady Maris’s voice broke into Dirick’s thoughts as she led him around into the area reserved for the men-at-arms and other important visitors. It was a large room, cordoned off from the rest of the hall by a heavy oaken door—much nicer than many of the men’s quarters he’d slept in throughout England and France. A fire roared in the corner, and a serf slumped against the wall, snoring, with a stack of wood within reach.
“ You may place your pallet anywhere you like, Sir Dirick,” Maris offered. She handed him a pile of blankets, more than generous enough to keep one warm—especially with a blazing fire in the same room.
“ Thank you, my lady,” he took the bundle.
She paused for a moment as if contemplating her next words, and when she spoke, a small grin tickled the corner of her enticing mouth.
Her words, however, when they came, eliminated any hint of innocence. “Papa bade me see to your comforts. If your need is as great as ’twas yestereve, I will send a woman to you.”
Dirick felt his face flush hot as he ground his teeth together in an attempt to maintain his dignity. Words escaped him, and before he could gather his wits, the little minx took his silence for dissent and whirled away down the dark corridor.
He could only stare after her, trying to decide whether he wanted to murder her or kiss her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Maris dressed without Verna’s assistance the next morning. She’d wakened earlier than usual and found too many thoughts trundling through her mind to make more sleep likely, so she rose. It was a frigid morn, and the sun had not even begun to peek over the edge of the earth to warm it.
Down the stone steps she went, breezing through the hall where several men-at-arms were sprawled in a corner. Obviously, they’d not made it to the knights’ quarters where she’d left a dumfounded Sir Dirick the night before.
A bemused smile quirked her face at the memory of his shocked expression, and, engrossed as she was, Maris misstepped and trod upon the cat’s tail. The tabby emitted a yowl of protest (the sotted men still did not stir) and the feline stalked off through the matted rushes, refusing to accept Maris’s apologies.
She tsked at herself, fearing that the cat’s reaction was merely a foreshadowing of what her father would say if he heard of her unladylike gibe at Sir Dirick. She couldn’t keep from glancing again toward the common sleeping area, where he was likely sprawled out on his pallet.
For a moment, she imagined his thick dark hair tufted and curling where he rested his head, his pleasing face lax and smooth in his rest. Mayhap an arm would be thrown out, away from his blanketed body…or a leg might be lying atop the woolen blanket whilst the rest of him slumbered in comfort. His disturbing grey-blue eyes would be closed in sleep—those eyes that looked at her with such intensity that her heart dodged about in her chest. Yet, when they were not focused on her, she’d noticed that they were a soft, cloud like grey, flecked with blue. The color of Langumont Bay on a winter day, and fringed with the longest, darkest lashes she’d ever seen, or noticed, on a man.
Maris started, realizing in confusion that she had paused in the hall and stood, staring toward the sleeping area as these thoughts danced through her mind. Though no one was about to see her actions, her cheeks warmed and she turned resolutely away. Although there was no harm in mooning over one’s betrothed, she had balked against marriage for so long that it felt odd for her to relish the thought of knowing all aspects of a man’s body. Maris gathered up her heavy wool tunic and draped it over her arm as she stepped over an up ended bench.
The kitchen was deserted except for Bit, the daughter of the cook, who slept in the corner on empty
Similar Books
