Read Online Firethorn by Sarah Micklem - Free Book Online Page A

said a horse had kicked him. And this? He didn’t remember, or had other games in mind.
    We lay in the field all night. In the morning I was sore and covered with goose bumps. Under the Sun my tongue was tied. He said he’d find me again, but I didn’t believe him. We parted on the hill where one footpath leads to the manor’s front gate and the other to the crofts in the village. He flashed a grin at me and said farewell.

    UpsideDown Days are fickle days. I’d found a man who pleased me well for a night beside a hedge. It was Carnal Night, and no wonder Desire’s lamp had burned for us. I hoped to remember the hollow of his throat and the taste of his sweat, the feel of muscles shifting under his skin, his fingers digging into my haunches, for such are gifts of the festival.
    For the rest, I meant to put Sire Galan out of my mind easily, and most of all the way he looked before the torch burned out, when I was first under him. He’d raised himself above me with his weight on his palms, and reared back his head and closed his eyes and plowed me deeper into the furrow. I could have been anyone, or no one, the earth itself, like the clods that crumbled under my hands.
    But I was a fool to think Ardor was done with me. Surely a spark of Ardor Wildfire had kindled Desire’s lamp, and showed me the unexpected path at my feet.

    That evening Sire Galan found his way to Az’s door and asked for me. I was surprised to see him, and glad in a way that worried me. He lifted me up for a kiss. It was the UpsideDown Days, so Az shrugged and shut the door, leaving us out in the yard.
    â€œCome back to the manor, where there’s a bed,” Sire Galan said.
    â€œI can’t. I’ll be seen.”
    â€œWhat does it matter? We’ll have a whole bed to ourselves. Sire Alcoba and I have been sharing one of the cabinets, but I offered to let him ride my black courser for the hunt tomorrow if he’d go elsewhere for two nights. He would do anything to ride Semental—and besides, he’ll have no trouble finding a soft maid or two to pillow him.”
    I hadn’t planned to go back to the manor that way. I was going to wait for the feast at the end of the UpsideDown Days, so I could see Sire Pava and Dame Lyra bend their proud necks to serve us mudfolk sitting at table. But this had a good savor to it: cabinet beds were for guests, not drudges. I’d never slept in one in my life. I ducked into the hut for my shawl. Az made a face and waved me out.
    The hall of the manor was dim and smoky and smaller than I remembered it. There were men everywhere, some sleeping, some pricking women in the corners, and others dicing and drinking and gnawing bones. The place stank like a fox den. The Dame would not have allowed it, not even during the UpsideDown Days. She would not have used torches, either, for they cast sparks and blackened the tapestries. She never stinted on candles when the occasion called for it, thrifty as she was.
    Sire Pava was sitting before the fire with Dame Lyra, the Crux, and two of the other cataphracts. They had a low screen about them to set them apart from the revels. Dame Lyra sat stiff and quiet with a wooden smile, and she kept her best gown tucked about her as if a flood of dirty water swirled around her slippers. Sire Pava was flushed, exalted by the honor or too much wine. He called out, “Look what Galan has dragged in. You worry me, Cousin, if that’s the best you can find on a night when every woman in the village will flip her kirtle over her head.”
    Sire Galan answered back, “I have all the luck tonight. She fits me to the hilt.” He put his hand on the small of my back and pushed me forward into the hall, through the crowd of men sitting on the floor. He wore an easy smile, but I noticed his other hand was on the dagger at his belt.
    I’d have killed them both at that moment if I’d had the means—or less sense.
    Sire