Read Online Knights of de Ware 02 - My Warrior by Glynnis Campbell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Glynnis Campbell
Tags: Romance
Ads: Link
her face, warming her through to her bones. When the woman returned with a trencher of pottage and a tankard of ale, she feasted ravenously, unmindful that the greasy fare might turn her stomach later.
No sooner had she gulped down the last morsel of her meal than Roger directed the woman to have a hot bath prepared for Cambria upstairs, grumbling all the while about the cost of Lord Holden’s whims.
For once, Cambria didn’t mind complying with the Englishman’s instructions. Slipping out of her ragged, filthy shift and into the soothing water of the wooden tub, she relaxed for the first time in days. She soaked the myriad cuts on her body and scrubbed her head vigorously with the scraps of scented soap until her hair shone like a silk robe.
But eventually the water cooled. And as her sweet languor faded, she plotted her escape.
“Have ye finished then?” the innkeeper’s wife demanded as she entered, startling Cambria from her thoughts.
“Oh! Aye.” Cambria took the coarse linen towel from the woman and stepped from the tub. As she briskly rubbed herself dry, she glanced sideways at the old crone.
Mimicking her mother’s timidity, she whispered, “They hold me against my will, you know.”
The woman dried her hands anxiously on her grubby apron. “’Tis no business o’ mine, mistress.”
“But they killed my father!” Cambria snapped, and then continued more softly, “And they may kill me as well.”
“Oh, miss.” The woman shook her head. “I’d like to help ye, but I’d be puttin’ a rope around my own neck.”
“Please,” Cambria pleaded. “You wouldn’t have to help me. You could but leave a door open, a shutter ajar…”
The withered old beldame was firm. “I’ll give ye balm for yer hurts, and I’ll give ye a kirtle to wear, but I’ll not call upon the wrath o’ those swordsmen below.”
Cambria pursed her lips in frustration, and then forced herself to smile at the woman. She accepted the balm and the rough kirtle with thanks.
After the woman had the tub taken away, Cambria hastily dressed, then plaited her wet hair into a thick braid. She scanned the room, reviewing the possibilities for escape. She studied the shutters of the room. They were nailed closed.
As she rose to investigate, her stomach churned in protest, reluctant to digest the heavy stew she’d eaten earlier. She cursed under her breath, as much at her poor judgment in wolfing down her meal as at the fact the shutters were nailed tight. She needed something to pry them open. Damn, she decided, clutching her belly as a wave of nausea swelled in her, she needed a concoction for her stomach first or she wouldn’t be able to think clearly.
Of course! She could go to the kitchen to ask the innkeeper’s wife for an elixir and possibly pilfer a tool of some kind to use on the shutters.
She eased the door open. The four de Ware knights were now the sole occupants of the common room, seated around the table close to the fire, swapping boasts and dares. They were obviously well steeped in ale and past all reason. Young Myles swayed on the bench, and Roger pushed at him belligerently every time he chanced to lean upon him. Roger and the rat-like man cuffed each other, more out of habit than malice, it appeared. The black-haired giant snored loudly into his black beard atop the table, while beneath it, his hound crunched contentedly on a bone. Cambria held her breath as she descended the steps, trying to slip past unnoticed.
But Roger spied her at the bottom of the stairs.
“Well, look here, Owen! There was a wench beneath that filth.”
“And a right fair wench, too,” Owen leered. “Seems a waste, all that sweet flesh lying alone up there in that cold chamber.”
“Aye, it’s weeks since I had me a clean-smelling woman.”
Cambria felt as if her legs were caught in a sticky bog, that no matter what she did, she was only going to sink deeper. Unaccustomed to this kind of warfare, she shrank back against
No sooner had she gulped down the last morsel of her meal than Roger directed the woman to have a hot bath prepared for Cambria upstairs, grumbling all the while about the cost of Lord Holden’s whims.
For once, Cambria didn’t mind complying with the Englishman’s instructions. Slipping out of her ragged, filthy shift and into the soothing water of the wooden tub, she relaxed for the first time in days. She soaked the myriad cuts on her body and scrubbed her head vigorously with the scraps of scented soap until her hair shone like a silk robe.
But eventually the water cooled. And as her sweet languor faded, she plotted her escape.
“Have ye finished then?” the innkeeper’s wife demanded as she entered, startling Cambria from her thoughts.
“Oh! Aye.” Cambria took the coarse linen towel from the woman and stepped from the tub. As she briskly rubbed herself dry, she glanced sideways at the old crone.
Mimicking her mother’s timidity, she whispered, “They hold me against my will, you know.”
The woman dried her hands anxiously on her grubby apron. “’Tis no business o’ mine, mistress.”
“But they killed my father!” Cambria snapped, and then continued more softly, “And they may kill me as well.”
“Oh, miss.” The woman shook her head. “I’d like to help ye, but I’d be puttin’ a rope around my own neck.”
“Please,” Cambria pleaded. “You wouldn’t have to help me. You could but leave a door open, a shutter ajar…”
The withered old beldame was firm. “I’ll give ye balm for yer hurts, and I’ll give ye a kirtle to wear, but I’ll not call upon the wrath o’ those swordsmen below.”
Cambria pursed her lips in frustration, and then forced herself to smile at the woman. She accepted the balm and the rough kirtle with thanks.
After the woman had the tub taken away, Cambria hastily dressed, then plaited her wet hair into a thick braid. She scanned the room, reviewing the possibilities for escape. She studied the shutters of the room. They were nailed closed.
As she rose to investigate, her stomach churned in protest, reluctant to digest the heavy stew she’d eaten earlier. She cursed under her breath, as much at her poor judgment in wolfing down her meal as at the fact the shutters were nailed tight. She needed something to pry them open. Damn, she decided, clutching her belly as a wave of nausea swelled in her, she needed a concoction for her stomach first or she wouldn’t be able to think clearly.
Of course! She could go to the kitchen to ask the innkeeper’s wife for an elixir and possibly pilfer a tool of some kind to use on the shutters.
She eased the door open. The four de Ware knights were now the sole occupants of the common room, seated around the table close to the fire, swapping boasts and dares. They were obviously well steeped in ale and past all reason. Young Myles swayed on the bench, and Roger pushed at him belligerently every time he chanced to lean upon him. Roger and the rat-like man cuffed each other, more out of habit than malice, it appeared. The black-haired giant snored loudly into his black beard atop the table, while beneath it, his hound crunched contentedly on a bone. Cambria held her breath as she descended the steps, trying to slip past unnoticed.
But Roger spied her at the bottom of the stairs.
“Well, look here, Owen! There was a wench beneath that filth.”
“And a right fair wench, too,” Owen leered. “Seems a waste, all that sweet flesh lying alone up there in that cold chamber.”
“Aye, it’s weeks since I had me a clean-smelling woman.”
Cambria felt as if her legs were caught in a sticky bog, that no matter what she did, she was only going to sink deeper. Unaccustomed to this kind of warfare, she shrank back against
Similar Books
