Read Online Lord of the Mist by Ann Lawrence - Free Book Online Page B

she
quieted and fell asleep. She placed her back in her cradle.
    “Oh, aye. Nonsense is it?” Alice settled on a bench and in
moments was snoring.
    With a glance to the sleeping woman, Cristina drew the cloth
from the mallows she’d been mashing when Simon had interrupted her. She dripped
eight and twenty drops of morning dew into the mixture, one drop for each year
of her life. Next she lit a candle, newly made with strawberry and cobwebs from
the chapel.
    Last, she set the dew mixture to heat over the special
candle. When the aroma told her it was ready, she lifted the bowl, stood in the
morning sun, and drank. As the heated drops slid over her tongue, she closed
her eyes tightly and fixed her mind’s eye on Lord Durand. She conjured every
line on his face, every shade of gray in his eyes, the small scar by his mouth.
    “May I resist him,” she whispered.
    * * * * *
    “Lord Durand, I insist you do something. Alice is a menace.”
    Durand crossed his feet at his ankles. He examined his toes.
The hall stretched nearly empty behind the merchant, save for servants. It
would fill again that evening. Oriel had planned music and song for Lady
Sabina, who had arrived within the hour. He yawned. “Surely, Simon, menace is a bit strong?”
    “A menace? A witch!”
    “I cannot send Alice away. She was my wife’s favorite nurse.
There was some deathbed promise made.” Durand hoped God was busy listening in
on someone else’s conversation. Yet the lie did not trouble him overmuch.
    “But my lord! She keeps me from my wife.”
    “Hmmm. Still, she cannot be moved.”
    The merchant paced before his chair. It gave Durand ample
opportunity to examine him. The man was certainly handsome. He was as finely
garbed as a courtier, but his wife wore mended gowns. His irritation edged
toward ire.
    “I’m sure I need not tell you that a wife has duties!” Simon
drew to a halt before him.
    Durand rose. He was as tall as Simon; they stood eye-to-eye.
“I understand that your wife is Felice’s wet nurse. Those are the only duties I concern myself with.”
    For an instant Durand thought Simon might protest. “Of
course, my lord. Forgive me for implying your daughter’s needs come after mine,
but—”
    “But?” Durand lifted one brow and crossed his arms on his
chest.
    Simon’s gaze dropped to the torque about his neck. “But
nothing, my lord.”
    “Is there aught else I might do for you?”
    “Nay, nay. All is well. That saddle has arrived, if you wish
to see it.”
    “I’ll ride over on the morrow.” Durand lifted one hand in
dismissal. Simon bowed deeply and strode away.
    “Goodness, brother, what was that all about?” Luke asked.
    “Must you sneak up on me?” Durand felt the heat in his face.
How much had Luke heard?
    “One hears no gossip if one stomps about like a shod horse!”
    “ Jesu . What possible gossip was there to be had from
le Gros?”
    “He feels some need to have you think his wick needs dipping
at the hands of the ethereal Cristina.” Luke gave Durand a toothy smile. “I
happen to know he has it regularly trimmed at the Raven’s Head. But one must
pity the man the loss of the fair Cristina’s favors. I wager she handles the
wick most gently.”
    Durand’s lifeblood pooled in his groin. He dropped into his
chair behind the table.
    “Care you for a ride to the village?” Durand ventured.
    But Luke did not answer. He had hooked a serving wench about
the waist and was whispering in her ear, Simon and Cristina forgotten.
    Durand could not so easily forget. His thoughts turned to her ,
just a few rounds up the stairs, conjuring some seductive soap or lotion. How
much longer could he resist her?
    * * * * *
    Musicians strolled the hall, strumming and singing as
servants dodged them with trenchers of roasted swan and partridge.
    Cristina approached the hearth where the ladies sat
stitching. Several men, Lord Durand prominent among them, stood nearby. She
took a seat far to one side.
    “Mistress le