Read Online Honor & Roses by Elizabeth Cole - Free Book Online Page A

Alric could ever seek her hand. And he would never press attention on her if his intentions weren’t completely honorable. She knew Alric. He was honor itself. He was bravery itself, too. And loyalty. Such a paragon of knightly virtues…
    She found herself remembering the feel of his body beneath her fingers, and flushed in the darkness. She was hardly thinking of him as her longtime friend and ally, was she?
    In fact, she was thinking of him in quite another way.
    Cecily had to stop swooning over him. In the morning, good sense would reassert itself. She would forget the few moments of madness in the night, when all she wanted was to wrap her arms around Alric and explore the tantalizing new sensation of his mouth on hers…
    Cecily. Cease your nonsense.
She reprimanded herself as she would another lady who was dreaming over a man. Alric would never think of
her
in such a physical way.
    Or would he? Men were far more base than women. He might be dreaming of her at that moment, desiring another kiss from her…
    Cecily!
    She turned to her other side, careful not to disturb Agnes, who slept beside her. What was wrong with her? Alric’s return should be an occasion of pure joy, just as the return of any friend would be. Once she got over the changes in his appearance and demeanor, all would settle back into the old pattern of life. His smile would merely warm her, not send waves of shivers all up and down her body. They would walk together. They would play chess through the cold months.
    And in the spring, he would leave again. For battle.
    Lord in heaven
, she prayed silently.
Keep Alric safe. And keep me sane.
    * * * *
    The next morning brought the measure of sanity Cecily had prayed for. She woke up early, her mind filled with all the tasks she had to complete today. High summer meant constant work in the gardens, because so much had to be harvested and processed before the cooler weather came. Cecily hurried out to the gardens after stopping by the kitchens for some fresh bread. Steam curled up, along with the yeasty aroma that made her even hungrier. She tore into the little loaf as if last night hadn’t been a feast, and soon devoured it all. Her main meal would come later in the day, when the heat drove people inside for a time.
    Happily, there was so much to do that she lost herself in her work. Cecily stripped leaves off of stalks, sorted seeds, and readied more herbs for drying. She constantly went in and out of her little work hut, from sunshine to shadow and back again.
    Just before noon, she entered the hut with her arms full of poppies. Cecily saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone was inside the hut, hoping not to be seen.
    She stopped short. “Who is it? Come out, please. I wouldn’t want you to break any of the pots stacked up there.”
    After a moment, a person moved out of the shadows.
    “I beg your pardon, my lady.” It was the same beggar who’d spoken to her at the feast. His posture was slumped, and his straw-colored hair hung over his face.
    “Bertram, is it not?”
    “Yes, my lady,” he said with a clumsy bow.
    “Well, before I pardon you, Bertram,” she said, “I must know why you’re here. Can I help you?”
    He took another tentative step toward her. “I was told you make a syrup that mends the throat.”
    “So I do,” she said. Now that she knew the young man only needed some treatment, she relaxed. “Are you in need of such?”
    “I took a chill a few weeks ago, while I was still sleeping in the fields. It’s hurt since then.”
    “How does your throat feel? Wet and raw? Or merely dry?”
    “Dry. It hurts to swallow. I drink as much water and ale as I can, but it’s stayed.” He paused, looking about in awe at the hut and all the shades of green of the drying plants. “Broth helps, especially if it’s greasy.”
    “Then you should continue to drink broth. Ask for it from the cooks—there’s always some, especially for any who work for it.”
    As Cecily