Read Online Patricia Ryan - [Fairfax Family 01] by Falcons Fire - Free Book Online

difficult?”
    Estrude interrupted. “Our Thorne is reputed to be a man of unusual endurance. ‘Tis well known he prides himself on his self-control.” She leveled a peculiar, knowing look at him. “How nice for young Lady Martine to have made a friend so quickly. Edmond will be sure to appreciate your kindness.”
    Thorne bit back the urge to answer Estrude’s sly innuendo with some clever barb. ‘Twas best to let the matter lie, for, as usual, she had paired insolence with keen perception. In truth, he did find the lady Martine desirable, although he shouldn’t. She was ill humored and aristocratic, both characteristics he normally abhorred in women. She was also obliged by contract—a contract that Thorne himself had arranged, and upon which his future depended—to marry young Edmond.
    Then why was he so drawn to her? Why did he ache to touch her? Why did her scent stir him as it did? The answer, of course, was that it had been weeks since he had shared his bed, and his body craved the touch of a woman, any woman, without regard for good judgment or common sense. Chastity might be all right for men like Rainulf, men of the spirit, but it made him restless; worse, it made him susceptible to the charms of the wrong women.
    When Rainulf reentered the hall, Thorne quickly rose and returned his friend’s place to him. The serving girls came back with dessert, and Thorne smiled at the plump redheaded woman in charge. “How goes it, Felda?”
    “Same as always, Sir Thorne.” She set before him a bowl of fragrant candied orange peel and one of sugar. “How was Hastings?”
    “Same as always.”
    Guy said, “Felda! What’s the new girl’s name?” Thorne followed the gaze of the others to a beautiful woman moving down the table, replacing pitchers of wine and ale with new ones of brandy and spiced beer. Felda grinned at Guy while the new girl acted as if she hadn’t heard.
    “Her name’s Zelma,” Felda said. “But she only speaks English, so save your breath.”
    “I don’t need words to tell her how I feel,” said Guy. “Zelma!” When the wench glanced in his direction, he blew her a kiss, whereupon she wheeled around and sauntered away from him, looking vaguely bored. She had dark, heavy-lidded eyes and arched black eyebrows, but her most striking feature was her great mass of thick, blue-black hair, which she wore in a linen snood. The loose hair that spilled from it in unruly tendrils gave her a disheveled air, enhanced by the fact that the cord lacing up the front of her low-cut brown kirtle had come loose. Her generous bosom swelled precariously above the gaping fabric. Should she stretch just so or lean over too far, her breasts would surely be revealed in their entirety.
    Thorne watched her discreetly over the top of his tankard as he took a drink, grinning to himself when he noticed Rainulf doing the same. Albin, Peter, and Guy, on the other hand, gaped at her much as the dogs gaped at Loki.
    Lady Martine looked from Zelma to Thorne and back again, then dropped her gaze to her lap and proceeded to pet her cat with studied—and almost certainly pretended—indifference. Could it be that she was jealous? Perhaps Estrude had been right when she hinted that Martine seemed to be under some spell of enchantment.
    It was a spell, then, that had been cast upon them both. Luckily, however, it was a spell with a simple cure, at least as it affected him. If abstinence made him lust unwisely, then all he really needed to set him straight was a friendly tumble—but not, God knew, with Estrude of Flanders. Her kind demanded tedious affairs, for which Thorne had little patience. Complicating matters in this case would be Estrude’s husband, Bernard, quite possibly the most dangerous man Thorne knew.
    Father Simon broke Thorne’s reverie by rising and delivering a stream of long-winded good-byes. A group of adolescent boys in the corner watched in silence as he exited the hall. The moment he disappeared,