Read Online Fairy Tale by Jillian Hunter - Free Book Online Page A

to manhood, an—”
    “Yes, I have my own opinions of her conduct,” Duncan said in an ironic tone. “But where are the soldiers the Crown sent to remain here and see your orders executed? Don’t tell me they’re holed up in the dungeon?”
    “They disappeared their first night in the castle, my lord,” Abercrombie answered, blinking furiously beneath the basin. “I suspect they were chased off by your clansmen. Possibly even murdered.”
    “Untrue.” Marsali pushed between Duncan and the other man, no longer able to control her anger in the face of the blatant lie. “The big cowards ran off during the night and no one has seen them since. And they stole a month’s supply of provisions.”
    Duncan gently nudged her aside and wrested the sword from Abercrombie’s trembling hands, his voice revealing none of his deep contempt. “Whatever has passed before is past, and Mr. Abercrombie and I will be putting our heads together to make a great many changes.”
    “I am not staying, not another day.” Abercrombie’s voice quavered at the prospect. “No, now that you are here, my lord, I shall collect my things and …”
    His protest died away into a whimper as Duncan lifted the sword a little higher, his face set like flint. “You are going to stay here and help me, Abercrombie, as you have been ordered to do.”
    “Please, my lord.” Abercrombie looked pathetic, his holy-basin helmet sliding down over his forehead. “Cleave me in half wi’ that sword if you will, but don’t make me stay. I cannot face these heathens again.”
    “Compose yourself, Mr. Abercrombie. You’re an embarrassment, begging like a dog for a bone, and in front of a woman, to boot. Where’s your pride, your dignity to behave like this?”
    Abercrombie answered with a loud sniff, sinking back down onto the pew in abysmal dejection at the prospect of remaining inside the castle. “Please, my lord,” he whispered again, only to jump to his feet as Duncan took a menacing step toward him.
    “Pull yourself together, Mr. Abercrombie. Remove that ridiculous bowl—it makes you look like a toadstool—and take me on a tour of the castle.”
    “A t-tour, my lord? We’ll be taking our lives into our hands.”
    “Yes, a tour.” Duncan started to lay down the weapon, then decided it couldn’t hurt his image to be seen walking his domain adequately armed. Besides, Abercrombie had a point: He might damn well need the protection.
    He strode to the door, st opping briefly to consider Mar sali, the fading afternoon light picking out wine-red glints in the tumult of her long curly hair. Again he was struck by her fey loveliness, the illusion of fragility that hid a quick mind and feral heart. Again he felt that tug of haunting familiarity as he stared into her face. Did he know her?
    She gave him an impudent grin. He glanced away before he could grin back.
    “Make yourself useful there, lass,” he said gruffly. “You can start by working on washing my clothes. Come on, Abercrombie. Help me find something decent to wear.” He paused, staring above his head. “By the way, is there a reason why you have five plucked chickens strung up from the rafters?”
    Abercrombie squared his stooped shoulders and followed Duncan to the door. “They were my sustenance, my lord. I fished them out of the moat when the guards were drinking and playing cards, which fortunately for me is the majority of the time.”
    Duncan managed to keep a straight face, hearing Marsali succumb to muffled laughter behind them. “Ingenious, Abercrombie. But you don’t expect me to believe you’ve survived on raw chickens for two entire months?”
    “Och, no, sir.” Abercrombie gave Duncan a smug look. “I roasted them late at night in the sanctuary lamp wi’ a bit of holy oil.”
    Marsali snorted. “And here everyone was wondering where all those delicious smells were coming from in the wee small hours.”
    Duncan shook his head in mock admiration. “My, my,