Read Online Master Of Surrender by Karin Tabke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karin Tabke
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wryly. For the invaders.
Mouthwatering aromas drifted from the kitchens. Servants hurried about setting the tables. Lacking several servants at the moment, Isabel hurried to the kitchen to oversee the preparations. Finding the room bustling with activity under the capable hands of Astrid, the unchallenged lady of the kitchens, despite the lack of hands, Isabel nodded in praise. The Normans might think Saxons lacked courage, and mayhap some did, but her people were of hearty industrious stock, and even under duress they found a way to go forward with the day’s chores. Seeing that she was not needed, Isabel looked down at her damp, soiled gown. ’Twould not do for the feast. Quietly, she moved from the bustling kitchens up the back stairway to find her maid.
Rohan stepped down into the great hall, feeling rested and clean. Since his days lying in the urine-and feces-infested mud on the floors of Jubb, he had become an aesthete in his desire to be free of grime. It was the same for the rest of his brothers. They bathed regularly and vigorously. And sometimes, Rohan thought, it was not enough to erase the stench of death. His eyes scanned the hall, looking for the Lady Isabel. He frowned. She was nowhere to be found. An unexpected stab of loss sparred with his anger at her disregard for his authority. It mattered not. He would find her and set a man to guard her. Putting her from his mind since she did naught but cause him ire, Rohan continued to scan the room, his gaze landing on the seven knights who since that time in Iberia six years ago moved together as one with him. They were never far from one another. As they were now. They’d pulled the lord’s table down from its spot of prominence and pushed it close to the blazing hearth where their fallen brother lay.
“Rohan!” Thorin called, raising a goblet of wine. “Come enjoy the spoils of our labor!”
Ioan, Rorick, Warner, Stefan, Wulfson, and Rhys raised their overflowing cups. “Aye, to Rohan, may William reward your efforts with this most worthy of fiefs!” Warner called. “And if you should find the Lady Isabel’s tongue too sharp for your mail?” Warner drained his cup, the wine flowing down his chin to his surcoat. He slammed the empty cup down and challenged Rohan with his grin. “I’ll wager she will find my prick more to her liking!”
Rohan scowled. Of all of them, Warner was the clear cock of the walk. He liked to prattle of love to maids and matrons alike. They seemed to find his pretty words endearing, for he had more bastards than the rest of them combined to his credit.
Rohan strode to the table and took the proffered cup of wine from Thorin. “Warner, should the maid be able to find the prick you boast so fondly of, I will stand back.”
The table laughed uproariously while Warner scowled. Rohan slapped him hard on the back. “Come now, my friend, we know of no fewer than half a score of bastards you’ve left the camp whores with.”
Warner grinned and filled his cup. “Aye, but girls all of them!”
“Warner,” Ioan said, “you have not yet found the womb worthy of your man seed.”
“’Tis a curse we are all afflicted with!” Rorick cried out, and raised his cup but held it high, not drinking from it. His eyes widened, and a small smile twisted his lips. His gaze lay unwavering past Rohan’s shoulder. He noticed his men had all stopped their bantering and looked past him. Slowly, Rohan turned.
His body jerked as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Something in his gut did a slow, hard roll. His mouth went dry, and he felt his rod rise against his thigh.
Her beauty rivaled the sun’s brightness. And with the realization of how profoundly she physically affected him, Rohan scowled.
Isabel had bathed, and the plainer clothes of her day wear were no more. Now she was richly gowned in a deep crimson undergown with gold embroidery at the hem. Her kirtle was a rich purple and gold velvet with what looked to be
Mouthwatering aromas drifted from the kitchens. Servants hurried about setting the tables. Lacking several servants at the moment, Isabel hurried to the kitchen to oversee the preparations. Finding the room bustling with activity under the capable hands of Astrid, the unchallenged lady of the kitchens, despite the lack of hands, Isabel nodded in praise. The Normans might think Saxons lacked courage, and mayhap some did, but her people were of hearty industrious stock, and even under duress they found a way to go forward with the day’s chores. Seeing that she was not needed, Isabel looked down at her damp, soiled gown. ’Twould not do for the feast. Quietly, she moved from the bustling kitchens up the back stairway to find her maid.
Rohan stepped down into the great hall, feeling rested and clean. Since his days lying in the urine-and feces-infested mud on the floors of Jubb, he had become an aesthete in his desire to be free of grime. It was the same for the rest of his brothers. They bathed regularly and vigorously. And sometimes, Rohan thought, it was not enough to erase the stench of death. His eyes scanned the hall, looking for the Lady Isabel. He frowned. She was nowhere to be found. An unexpected stab of loss sparred with his anger at her disregard for his authority. It mattered not. He would find her and set a man to guard her. Putting her from his mind since she did naught but cause him ire, Rohan continued to scan the room, his gaze landing on the seven knights who since that time in Iberia six years ago moved together as one with him. They were never far from one another. As they were now. They’d pulled the lord’s table down from its spot of prominence and pushed it close to the blazing hearth where their fallen brother lay.
“Rohan!” Thorin called, raising a goblet of wine. “Come enjoy the spoils of our labor!”
Ioan, Rorick, Warner, Stefan, Wulfson, and Rhys raised their overflowing cups. “Aye, to Rohan, may William reward your efforts with this most worthy of fiefs!” Warner called. “And if you should find the Lady Isabel’s tongue too sharp for your mail?” Warner drained his cup, the wine flowing down his chin to his surcoat. He slammed the empty cup down and challenged Rohan with his grin. “I’ll wager she will find my prick more to her liking!”
Rohan scowled. Of all of them, Warner was the clear cock of the walk. He liked to prattle of love to maids and matrons alike. They seemed to find his pretty words endearing, for he had more bastards than the rest of them combined to his credit.
Rohan strode to the table and took the proffered cup of wine from Thorin. “Warner, should the maid be able to find the prick you boast so fondly of, I will stand back.”
The table laughed uproariously while Warner scowled. Rohan slapped him hard on the back. “Come now, my friend, we know of no fewer than half a score of bastards you’ve left the camp whores with.”
Warner grinned and filled his cup. “Aye, but girls all of them!”
“Warner,” Ioan said, “you have not yet found the womb worthy of your man seed.”
“’Tis a curse we are all afflicted with!” Rorick cried out, and raised his cup but held it high, not drinking from it. His eyes widened, and a small smile twisted his lips. His gaze lay unwavering past Rohan’s shoulder. He noticed his men had all stopped their bantering and looked past him. Slowly, Rohan turned.
His body jerked as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Something in his gut did a slow, hard roll. His mouth went dry, and he felt his rod rise against his thigh.
Her beauty rivaled the sun’s brightness. And with the realization of how profoundly she physically affected him, Rohan scowled.
Isabel had bathed, and the plainer clothes of her day wear were no more. Now she was richly gowned in a deep crimson undergown with gold embroidery at the hem. Her kirtle was a rich purple and gold velvet with what looked to be
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