Read Online Bride of the Beast by Sue-Ellen Welfonder - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sue-Ellen Welfonder
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every move, his dark eyes carefully hooded to shield his adoration.
A condition Caterine suspected she alone was aware of.
"This should do it," Eoghann's gravelly voice drew her attention. He filled a small bucket with hot water from an iron cauldron suspended over the cook fire, then poured the bucket's steaming contents into her larger pail.
Newly bathed himself, but with cold water drawn from the cistern just beyond the kitchen wall, the seneschal returned the scooping bucket to its hook above the hearth. "The good sirs will have baths worthy of any great lord's hall," he said, a note of pride in his voice.
"And you, dear sir, aught not have to serve as a common bathman." Ire pricked her conscience at seeing the loyal retainer thus demoted.
"Nor should you be doing the work of a kitchen lad, my lady." The deep voice, so English yet irresistibly compelling, laid fast claim to the torch-lit kitchen and all within its smoke-stained walls.
Caterine whirled around, hot water spilling onto the floor. He stood in the open doorway, the stone-walled passage to the keep looming dark behind him. Fire glow from the wall torches gilded the length of him, emphasizing the wide set of his shoulders and his great height.
With his injured friend cradled in his arms, he looked more the lord of the castle than her late husband ever had, even in his best years.
A wave of heat washed over Caterine, an inner blaze that had nothing to do with the room's smoky warmth.
She'd half-dreaded, half-desired this moment ever since the need to offer heated baths arose, yet now her heart lodged firmly in her throat and despite her best efforts, she couldn't squeeze the simplest greeting past it.
"Set down the pail," he said, and she obeyed, any refusal she may have attempted made futile by the sheer intensity of his gaze.
Stayed by his piercing perusal and the obvious care with which he held his friend.
A depth of concern even one who loathed the English couldn't deny, though acknowledging its portent, that he possessed a good heart, held ramifications she didn't care to consider.
Fisting her hands against her attraction to him, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.
Even Leo appeared awed. The instant the English knight came forward, the little dog scurried away to a dark corner where he scooted beneath a chair to growl at his latest foe from a safe distance.
"God's eyes, man, put me down." Lachlan squirmed in the Sassunach's arms. "By the Mass, I've but a wee scratch and you coddle me as if I've lost a limb!"
"Moderate your words, my friend," Sir Marmaduke said, the camaraderie in his tone cushioning the reprimand. "Or would you have the ladies think you are of the same cloth as the beggarly varlet who cut you?"
He eased the strapping young knight onto one of the backless benches set against the wall as if he weighed no more than a sack of goose feathers.
His friend comfortably settled, if scowling at the unwanted attention, he crossed the kitchen with long, purposeful strides, reaching Caterine's side before she could so much as blink.
Without a word, he took her hands. Turning them, he trailed the backs of his fingers over her reddened palms.
"May the saints smite me here and now would I dare allow your hands to grow as calloused as a simple scullion's," he vowed, a slight pulsing in his jaw revealing an inner tension held masterfully in check.
An equally tense silence descended, a palpable quiet so heavy Caterine could almost hear her heart knocking against her ribs.
"I've told her the same myself," Eoghann's genial voice broke the spell. He glanced at Caterine's tub-bound stepson. "Isn't that the truth of it?"
James nodded. "We still have servitors enough to see to such tasks would she allow them to do so."
A wide grin spreading across his lined face, the seneschal bobbed his head. "See?" He beamed at the English knight. "It gladdens my ears to hear you tell her so. She won't listen to us. Mayhap she'll heed you."
"I
A condition Caterine suspected she alone was aware of.
"This should do it," Eoghann's gravelly voice drew her attention. He filled a small bucket with hot water from an iron cauldron suspended over the cook fire, then poured the bucket's steaming contents into her larger pail.
Newly bathed himself, but with cold water drawn from the cistern just beyond the kitchen wall, the seneschal returned the scooping bucket to its hook above the hearth. "The good sirs will have baths worthy of any great lord's hall," he said, a note of pride in his voice.
"And you, dear sir, aught not have to serve as a common bathman." Ire pricked her conscience at seeing the loyal retainer thus demoted.
"Nor should you be doing the work of a kitchen lad, my lady." The deep voice, so English yet irresistibly compelling, laid fast claim to the torch-lit kitchen and all within its smoke-stained walls.
Caterine whirled around, hot water spilling onto the floor. He stood in the open doorway, the stone-walled passage to the keep looming dark behind him. Fire glow from the wall torches gilded the length of him, emphasizing the wide set of his shoulders and his great height.
With his injured friend cradled in his arms, he looked more the lord of the castle than her late husband ever had, even in his best years.
A wave of heat washed over Caterine, an inner blaze that had nothing to do with the room's smoky warmth.
She'd half-dreaded, half-desired this moment ever since the need to offer heated baths arose, yet now her heart lodged firmly in her throat and despite her best efforts, she couldn't squeeze the simplest greeting past it.
"Set down the pail," he said, and she obeyed, any refusal she may have attempted made futile by the sheer intensity of his gaze.
Stayed by his piercing perusal and the obvious care with which he held his friend.
A depth of concern even one who loathed the English couldn't deny, though acknowledging its portent, that he possessed a good heart, held ramifications she didn't care to consider.
Fisting her hands against her attraction to him, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.
Even Leo appeared awed. The instant the English knight came forward, the little dog scurried away to a dark corner where he scooted beneath a chair to growl at his latest foe from a safe distance.
"God's eyes, man, put me down." Lachlan squirmed in the Sassunach's arms. "By the Mass, I've but a wee scratch and you coddle me as if I've lost a limb!"
"Moderate your words, my friend," Sir Marmaduke said, the camaraderie in his tone cushioning the reprimand. "Or would you have the ladies think you are of the same cloth as the beggarly varlet who cut you?"
He eased the strapping young knight onto one of the backless benches set against the wall as if he weighed no more than a sack of goose feathers.
His friend comfortably settled, if scowling at the unwanted attention, he crossed the kitchen with long, purposeful strides, reaching Caterine's side before she could so much as blink.
Without a word, he took her hands. Turning them, he trailed the backs of his fingers over her reddened palms.
"May the saints smite me here and now would I dare allow your hands to grow as calloused as a simple scullion's," he vowed, a slight pulsing in his jaw revealing an inner tension held masterfully in check.
An equally tense silence descended, a palpable quiet so heavy Caterine could almost hear her heart knocking against her ribs.
"I've told her the same myself," Eoghann's genial voice broke the spell. He glanced at Caterine's tub-bound stepson. "Isn't that the truth of it?"
James nodded. "We still have servitors enough to see to such tasks would she allow them to do so."
A wide grin spreading across his lined face, the seneschal bobbed his head. "See?" He beamed at the English knight. "It gladdens my ears to hear you tell her so. She won't listen to us. Mayhap she'll heed you."
"I
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