Read Online Once Upon an Autumn Eve by Dennis L. McKiernan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dennis L. McKiernan
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die. Mayhap his père or mère, or whoever it might be, put him at a place where it was certain the woodcutter would find him.
And why would an armsmaster become a woodcutter? Was he simply tired of combat and took up a more peaceful occupation?
And this bookseller who never charged and perhaps couldn’t make a living in a village where few could read, what of him? Is he a fugitive in hiding?
And the teachers: were they willing to work for room and board and little else, or did the armsmaster have a stash of gold or silver or copper to pay them for Luc’s education?
And the training that Luc underwent: for what purpose? Did the armsmaster know that this babe that he had cared for would one day become a knight-errant? Perhaps that was the goal all along. Perhaps the armsmaster himself had been a chevalier, or mayhap he always wished to be one and is living out his dream through Luc.
And the horse and weapons: who and where did they come from? Rémy says that the sword is of the best bronze, and Eugéne tells me that the steed—Nightshade—is elegant and of great worth. He says that when he travelled in the mortal world, he saw such in Andalusia, though most were grey or white and some were bay and only a few were black, and the blacks are highly prized.
Is Luc telling the truth, or is he simply a charming rogue?
Rogue? Luc? No, I think not.
La, here I lie awake, consumed with thoughts of Luc, yet I wonder if he, too, is lying awake, mayhap thinking of me, mayhap as he first saw me.
Liaze flushed, and a surge of yearning filled her being. After a moment she rose from her bed and stepped to a basin and poured cold water from an ewer. She splashed the chill liquid on her face and neck and breasts, trying to cool down. She padded back to her bed and slid under the covers, yet she still felt the heat of a passion unquenched.
After long moments of tossing and turning, once more she rose, and this time went to the nearest window and drew wide the drapes and lowered the sash and threw open the shutters, and moonlight and air streamed in. In the brisk autumn night, she stood and looked out upon the manor grounds. Argent rays slanted across the sward below, the silver half orb low in the sky and nigh to setting. A ruddy dim light reflected against distant trees; red coals from the pyre yet lived. Below and pacing their rounds, two members of the houseguard strolled by, and Liaze drew back into the shadows, unwilling for them to see her standing nude in her window above.
Thoroughly chilled and leaving the window open, back to her bed she went, and, shivering, climbed under the covers for warmth. Yet in spite of the cold, her ardor had not diminished, and she felt the heat of it, and with thoughts of Luc—his eyes, his smile, his soft voice, his gentle and open way, and his long and lean body—it was quite a while ere she fell into a shallow and restless sleep.
“My lady, my lady, ’tis time to rise.”
The voice came from a distant place.
“My lady,” again came the call, this time seeming right at hand.
Liaze opened her eyes. Zoé stood at one of the windows, having just drawn back the remaining drapes and opened the shutters wide. Sunlight streamed in at a high angle.
Liaze yawned and stretched, Zoé suppressing a yawn in echo to Liaze.
“What mark is it, Zoé?”
“Midmorn, Princess,” said Zoé, holding out a robe. “You’ve slept quite late.”
“Oh, my,” said Liaze, scrambling from bed and slipping into the garment. “And here I thought I would never get to sleep.”
Zoé laughed and said, “Ah, visions of Luc kept you awake, eh?”
“Zoé!” exclaimed Liaze, and she headed for the bath, Zoé trailing behind and smiling unto herself, for the Princess had not denied Zoé’s claim.
“I wonder if he plays échecs? ” said Liaze as she slid into the warm water.
“Échecs?” asked Zoé.
“It is something amusing we can do and it will not tax his injuries.”
“Oh, my lady, isn’t
And why would an armsmaster become a woodcutter? Was he simply tired of combat and took up a more peaceful occupation?
And this bookseller who never charged and perhaps couldn’t make a living in a village where few could read, what of him? Is he a fugitive in hiding?
And the teachers: were they willing to work for room and board and little else, or did the armsmaster have a stash of gold or silver or copper to pay them for Luc’s education?
And the training that Luc underwent: for what purpose? Did the armsmaster know that this babe that he had cared for would one day become a knight-errant? Perhaps that was the goal all along. Perhaps the armsmaster himself had been a chevalier, or mayhap he always wished to be one and is living out his dream through Luc.
And the horse and weapons: who and where did they come from? Rémy says that the sword is of the best bronze, and Eugéne tells me that the steed—Nightshade—is elegant and of great worth. He says that when he travelled in the mortal world, he saw such in Andalusia, though most were grey or white and some were bay and only a few were black, and the blacks are highly prized.
Is Luc telling the truth, or is he simply a charming rogue?
Rogue? Luc? No, I think not.
La, here I lie awake, consumed with thoughts of Luc, yet I wonder if he, too, is lying awake, mayhap thinking of me, mayhap as he first saw me.
Liaze flushed, and a surge of yearning filled her being. After a moment she rose from her bed and stepped to a basin and poured cold water from an ewer. She splashed the chill liquid on her face and neck and breasts, trying to cool down. She padded back to her bed and slid under the covers, yet she still felt the heat of a passion unquenched.
After long moments of tossing and turning, once more she rose, and this time went to the nearest window and drew wide the drapes and lowered the sash and threw open the shutters, and moonlight and air streamed in. In the brisk autumn night, she stood and looked out upon the manor grounds. Argent rays slanted across the sward below, the silver half orb low in the sky and nigh to setting. A ruddy dim light reflected against distant trees; red coals from the pyre yet lived. Below and pacing their rounds, two members of the houseguard strolled by, and Liaze drew back into the shadows, unwilling for them to see her standing nude in her window above.
Thoroughly chilled and leaving the window open, back to her bed she went, and, shivering, climbed under the covers for warmth. Yet in spite of the cold, her ardor had not diminished, and she felt the heat of it, and with thoughts of Luc—his eyes, his smile, his soft voice, his gentle and open way, and his long and lean body—it was quite a while ere she fell into a shallow and restless sleep.
“My lady, my lady, ’tis time to rise.”
The voice came from a distant place.
“My lady,” again came the call, this time seeming right at hand.
Liaze opened her eyes. Zoé stood at one of the windows, having just drawn back the remaining drapes and opened the shutters wide. Sunlight streamed in at a high angle.
Liaze yawned and stretched, Zoé suppressing a yawn in echo to Liaze.
“What mark is it, Zoé?”
“Midmorn, Princess,” said Zoé, holding out a robe. “You’ve slept quite late.”
“Oh, my,” said Liaze, scrambling from bed and slipping into the garment. “And here I thought I would never get to sleep.”
Zoé laughed and said, “Ah, visions of Luc kept you awake, eh?”
“Zoé!” exclaimed Liaze, and she headed for the bath, Zoé trailing behind and smiling unto herself, for the Princess had not denied Zoé’s claim.
“I wonder if he plays échecs? ” said Liaze as she slid into the warm water.
“Échecs?” asked Zoé.
“It is something amusing we can do and it will not tax his injuries.”
“Oh, my lady, isn’t
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