Read Online Sing Me Home by Lisa Ann Verge - Free Book Online Page A

intensity, and now she stood here, breathing hard, fingering the thinness of Matilda’s silken kirtle, wishing he hadn’t touched her even as she wondered when he’d kiss her again.
    “If you pull it anymore,” a female voice whispered in her ear, “you’ll pull it apart.”
    Matilda’s musky perfume wafted over her, the same scent that clung so faintly to the fibers of the bright yellow tunic Maura was wearing. She turned to find Matilda’s dark eyes alive with mischief.
    “It’ll be easier than you think,” Matilda said.
    Maura let go of the roof-tree. The pregnant minstrel had taken a particular interest in her tonight, helping her choose this costume. While Matilda helped her dress, Maura had discovered that this dusky-haired woman concealed a sharp mind and an even sharper eye. Maura was grateful that—for the moment at least—Matilda had misinterpreted the reason for Maura’s anxiety.
    “I can’t imagine they’ll want to listen to a dull convent girl,” Maura murmured, “after watching those twins.”
    “You’re here for the ladies,” Matilda said. “No mistress of any castle would ever allow us to enter the halls if the only entertainment we offered were shaking breasts and flashing white thighs.”
    Maura felt herself blush. She’d gotten to know Matilda better during the long walks between towns, but she hadn’t yet become accustomed to the woman’s casual frankness.
    Matilda mused, “When I first started dancing in front of crowds, I used to pretend they were animals.”
    “Animals?”
    “Look at The O’Dunn.” Matilda nodded toward the redheaded chieftain seated in the center of the bench. The little metal beads on her costume jingled with the motion. “He’s a pig,” she said. “Definitely a pig.”
    Maura sucked in a breath as she noticed a wicked resemblance to a pig in the chieftain’s flushed cheeks and upturned nose.
    “That woman next to him, his wife.” Matilda said, tapping her chin with the drinking horn. “The one who looks like she swallowed cow dung. Yes, that little mouth.” Matilda mimicked the woman’s pursed lips. “That white cap tight on her head. The little black eyes looking here and there, all about. I’d say she’s a weasel.”
    Maura would laugh if she weren’t feeling as tense as Nutmeg when she commanded him to walk a slender rope held taut between her hands.
    “The rest,” Matilda said, dismissing them with a wave of her beringed fingers, “they’re all chipmunks, squirrels, and skittering little vermin—”
    “Are you scaring the lass to death, Matilda?”
    Colin swaggered over to them, hazel-mead sloshing out of his cup, and instantly Maura became aware of how very low this kirtle was cut across her breasts, how gossamer the bright, shiny fabric. She felt half-naked under his perusal, as devoid of modesty as she always found herself in her dreams.
    “I’m giving her a little advice, no more.” Matilda tapped him on the chest. “I haven’t warned her about you—not yet.”
    Then Matilda sashayed away with a wave of scent, leaving the two of them alone behind the screen.
    She searched his gaze now as she’d searched it every time they looked at each other since their kiss, and found in that gaze a guarded, quiet amusement. How could he appear so calm, she thought, when inside, she was a storm of feeling?
    “This won’t do, Maura,” he murmured. “This won’t do at all.”
    Colin reached for the ties of her coif and pulled them free.
    “No,” she gasped, grabbing for her coif as he swiped it off her head, catching nothing but air.
    “Hold still. You’re as skittish as a mouse under a hawk’s shadow. You have straw in your hair from the stables, it needs to come out.”
    She flattened against the roof-tree as he thrust his fingers in her hair. His fingers caught on a tangle he worked loose with gentleness. Her heart kicked up a beat. Around them the servants fretted about, delivering ale and mead. Beyond the screen, couples