Read Online The Crimson Lady by Mary Reed McCall - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Reed McCall
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stood in the doorway. She swept into the chamber without another word, carrying a tray on which balanced a pitcher, a dark-crusted loaf of bread, and a bowl of something warm enough to send curls of steam twisting above it.
“How long have I been here?” he said, wincing at the gravelly, unused quality of his voice.
“Nearly four days.”
She stopped near the bed and set the tray on the little table next to it before turning back to him and bending to examine the wounds on his chest and arms in a matter-of-fact way. Of a sudden Braedan was acutely aware that he was sitting half-clothed in the presence of a woman he hardly knew; he shifted in embarrassment, and then as abruptly stiffened. Christ’s Blood. It wasn’t just his tunic and shirt that had been removed. All of his garments were gone. Every bit of clothing.
Fiona didn’t seem to notice his discomfiture, continuing to inspect his bandages and feeling his brow until he squirmed again, pulling away from her touch to tuck the bedcovers more firmly around his hips. She straightened and backed up a step at his show of modesty, surprise and perhaps a bit of annoyance showing in her expression. But then she just shook her head and made a clicking noise, moving instead to the task of readying the food she’d brought in for him.
Relieved to have proved the victor in this minor clash of wills, at least, Braedan leaned back on the bolster, not entirely feigning his fatigue, all the while trying to pretend it didn’t matter to him that Fiona had seen him naked…that she’d likely been the one who’d stripped his clothing from him. It shouldn’t have bothered him, he knew; she was a courtesan, after all—a woman of vast experience who had surely seen hundreds, if not thousands, of men completely undressed.
But not you , a voice inside of him chided—not until now, anyway, when he hadn’t even been awake to say aye or nay against it.
“You must be hungry,” Fiona murmured. “If you’ll sit up a bit more, I’ll help you with this pottage.”
“Nay.”
His response was too quick and far too vehement, he knew, but he covered his awkwardness by adding in a mumble, “I’ll eat later. Just leave it here, and I’ll get to it eventually.”
“Nonsense,” she answered, plunking herself down onto the stool at his bedside.
Cursing himself for the heat he felt spreading up his neck, Braedan decided that he had better reassert his masculine independence without delay. He shifted his gaze toher, intending to use the force of his glare to intimidate her into obeying his request. To his dismay, he saw thinly veiled amusement lighting her eyes and quirking her sensuous lips.
She raised her brow. “Stew should be eaten warm, you know. Besides, you need to rebuild your strength and quickly if we are to meet with Will as I’ve arranged for tomorrow noon.”
“You found him?” Braedan sat up straight again in his surprise, wincing both at his own sudden movement and the spoonful she thrust at his mouth.
“Aye. I was able to send word to him, and he responded in kind,” she answered, making him take the bite. “It will be an hour’s journey to reach him.”
Instinctively chewing and swallowing the richly seasoned pottage, Braedan glowered and yanked the bowl none too gently from her with a grumbled comment about being well capable of feeding himself.
That half smile flirted over her lips again, but she leaned back to watch him, seeming content as long as he continued to eat on his own. They settled into a companionable silence, the only sounds that of his spoon scraping the bowl and the birds chirping in the breezes outside the shutter. After a bit, she murmured something about tasks to accomplish and got up again to begin tidying the chamber, putting some odd-looking pots and bundles of dried herbs back into a leather purse and humming a bit as she poured water into a basin to wipe down a mortar and pestle.
Between bites Braedan watched her, noting that
“How long have I been here?” he said, wincing at the gravelly, unused quality of his voice.
“Nearly four days.”
She stopped near the bed and set the tray on the little table next to it before turning back to him and bending to examine the wounds on his chest and arms in a matter-of-fact way. Of a sudden Braedan was acutely aware that he was sitting half-clothed in the presence of a woman he hardly knew; he shifted in embarrassment, and then as abruptly stiffened. Christ’s Blood. It wasn’t just his tunic and shirt that had been removed. All of his garments were gone. Every bit of clothing.
Fiona didn’t seem to notice his discomfiture, continuing to inspect his bandages and feeling his brow until he squirmed again, pulling away from her touch to tuck the bedcovers more firmly around his hips. She straightened and backed up a step at his show of modesty, surprise and perhaps a bit of annoyance showing in her expression. But then she just shook her head and made a clicking noise, moving instead to the task of readying the food she’d brought in for him.
Relieved to have proved the victor in this minor clash of wills, at least, Braedan leaned back on the bolster, not entirely feigning his fatigue, all the while trying to pretend it didn’t matter to him that Fiona had seen him naked…that she’d likely been the one who’d stripped his clothing from him. It shouldn’t have bothered him, he knew; she was a courtesan, after all—a woman of vast experience who had surely seen hundreds, if not thousands, of men completely undressed.
But not you , a voice inside of him chided—not until now, anyway, when he hadn’t even been awake to say aye or nay against it.
“You must be hungry,” Fiona murmured. “If you’ll sit up a bit more, I’ll help you with this pottage.”
“Nay.”
His response was too quick and far too vehement, he knew, but he covered his awkwardness by adding in a mumble, “I’ll eat later. Just leave it here, and I’ll get to it eventually.”
“Nonsense,” she answered, plunking herself down onto the stool at his bedside.
Cursing himself for the heat he felt spreading up his neck, Braedan decided that he had better reassert his masculine independence without delay. He shifted his gaze toher, intending to use the force of his glare to intimidate her into obeying his request. To his dismay, he saw thinly veiled amusement lighting her eyes and quirking her sensuous lips.
She raised her brow. “Stew should be eaten warm, you know. Besides, you need to rebuild your strength and quickly if we are to meet with Will as I’ve arranged for tomorrow noon.”
“You found him?” Braedan sat up straight again in his surprise, wincing both at his own sudden movement and the spoonful she thrust at his mouth.
“Aye. I was able to send word to him, and he responded in kind,” she answered, making him take the bite. “It will be an hour’s journey to reach him.”
Instinctively chewing and swallowing the richly seasoned pottage, Braedan glowered and yanked the bowl none too gently from her with a grumbled comment about being well capable of feeding himself.
That half smile flirted over her lips again, but she leaned back to watch him, seeming content as long as he continued to eat on his own. They settled into a companionable silence, the only sounds that of his spoon scraping the bowl and the birds chirping in the breezes outside the shutter. After a bit, she murmured something about tasks to accomplish and got up again to begin tidying the chamber, putting some odd-looking pots and bundles of dried herbs back into a leather purse and humming a bit as she poured water into a basin to wipe down a mortar and pestle.
Between bites Braedan watched her, noting that
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