Read Online The Crimson Lady by Mary Reed McCall - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Reed McCall
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she seemed calmer—even more comfortable, somehow, in his presence—than he’d seen since that night he’d found her. He couldn’t help wondering what had broughtabout that change in her demeanor. Was she biding her time, confident in some plot she’d hatched against him to escape? Logic denied it. The fact that he was resting here and not being held under guard gave him reason to believe that she hadn’t called in the law on him. Nay, he’d wager his sword that she’d even tended to him in his illness herself, using in the process some of those herbs that she was stowing away now. Vaguely, he remembered the sensation of swallowing some bitter liquid in the midst of his fever; it was she who was responsible, he was sure of it.
And that meant he owed her a debt of gratitude, not only for sheltering him but for helping to heal him as well.
The thought caught him for a moment, the idea of it as discomfiting as his current lack of clothing. He’d always believed women of her ilk to be self-absorbed creatures, dedicated to their own concerns above all else. The enigma of her increased with every hour he spent at her side, and he wasn’t so sure that he liked the way she kept unbalancing his neatly ordered perceptions.
Setting his empty bowl down, Braedan turned his full attention back to her. She was in the process of sweeping out the hearth now, and he noticed that she wore a kirtle of a far plainer weave and design than the crimson garment she’d donned for her first appearance at the inn. But like that magnificent gown, this one was also fitted to her shape in a way that her former dark and matronly garments never had.
It was clear that whether she wore sackcloth or silk, the true Fiona was an exceptional beauty, with a contrast of angelic face and tempting curves that would call any man still capable of breathing to sin. In fact the sightof her now, bending and twisting as she went about her tasks, not to mention the alluring, delicate scent of her that wafted through the air as she moved by, set his pulse to racing and released an unexpected flood of heat through his body, sweeping in a direct path to his groin and hardening him uncomfortably.
Damn .
It wasn’t like him to be so affected by a woman. Not he, the blistering sword arm of the king, used to battling for his sovereign’s right in all manner of foreign climes, surrounded by countless exotic females who offered themselves freely for his taking. Shamed, he shifted in an attempt to prevent Fiona from seeing the painfully hard evidence of his lustful reaction to her, forcing himself to look away toward the window shutter. He tried to concentrate on discerning the time of day by the amount of light outside—anything to keep his mind from the heated thoughts her nearness inspired.
He’d almost brought himself under control when she apparently finished what she was doing and sat on the stool next to him. The tantalizing whisper of her scent gripped him again, and he swallowed hard, knowing that he couldn’t avoid looking at her forever. He decided that a conversation about a necessary but uncomfortable topic might do much toward helping him suppress his disruptive imaginings.
“What have you done with my clothing?”
He willed his gaze to be steady on her as he asked the question, pleased that he managed to make his voice obey in kind.
“They are down below, in the kitchen chambers.” That hint of humor colored her tone again as she continued, “I thought it best to have them cleaned while you were unable to make use of them.”
“Aye, well I have use of them now.” Braedan resisted the urge to look away from her again, despising the renewed warmth in his face. “ Right now as a matter of fact.”
“I’ll fetch them in a moment.” She sat forward a bit and fiddled with something beneath the edge of the fitted smock sleeve at her wrist. “We need to discuss a few particulars about tomorrow first.”
“Is it that important, that we
And that meant he owed her a debt of gratitude, not only for sheltering him but for helping to heal him as well.
The thought caught him for a moment, the idea of it as discomfiting as his current lack of clothing. He’d always believed women of her ilk to be self-absorbed creatures, dedicated to their own concerns above all else. The enigma of her increased with every hour he spent at her side, and he wasn’t so sure that he liked the way she kept unbalancing his neatly ordered perceptions.
Setting his empty bowl down, Braedan turned his full attention back to her. She was in the process of sweeping out the hearth now, and he noticed that she wore a kirtle of a far plainer weave and design than the crimson garment she’d donned for her first appearance at the inn. But like that magnificent gown, this one was also fitted to her shape in a way that her former dark and matronly garments never had.
It was clear that whether she wore sackcloth or silk, the true Fiona was an exceptional beauty, with a contrast of angelic face and tempting curves that would call any man still capable of breathing to sin. In fact the sightof her now, bending and twisting as she went about her tasks, not to mention the alluring, delicate scent of her that wafted through the air as she moved by, set his pulse to racing and released an unexpected flood of heat through his body, sweeping in a direct path to his groin and hardening him uncomfortably.
Damn .
It wasn’t like him to be so affected by a woman. Not he, the blistering sword arm of the king, used to battling for his sovereign’s right in all manner of foreign climes, surrounded by countless exotic females who offered themselves freely for his taking. Shamed, he shifted in an attempt to prevent Fiona from seeing the painfully hard evidence of his lustful reaction to her, forcing himself to look away toward the window shutter. He tried to concentrate on discerning the time of day by the amount of light outside—anything to keep his mind from the heated thoughts her nearness inspired.
He’d almost brought himself under control when she apparently finished what she was doing and sat on the stool next to him. The tantalizing whisper of her scent gripped him again, and he swallowed hard, knowing that he couldn’t avoid looking at her forever. He decided that a conversation about a necessary but uncomfortable topic might do much toward helping him suppress his disruptive imaginings.
“What have you done with my clothing?”
He willed his gaze to be steady on her as he asked the question, pleased that he managed to make his voice obey in kind.
“They are down below, in the kitchen chambers.” That hint of humor colored her tone again as she continued, “I thought it best to have them cleaned while you were unable to make use of them.”
“Aye, well I have use of them now.” Braedan resisted the urge to look away from her again, despising the renewed warmth in his face. “ Right now as a matter of fact.”
“I’ll fetch them in a moment.” She sat forward a bit and fiddled with something beneath the edge of the fitted smock sleeve at her wrist. “We need to discuss a few particulars about tomorrow first.”
“Is it that important, that we
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