waiting too long, though. I would like to get going and have some adventures of my own—see the world, do important things. But that’s fine. I will wait for you to be ready and change your mind.”
“I won’t change my mind. Do not wait for me. I won’t be back.”
“All right, Lothair. No need to shout and upset Thunder. I heard you.” She tried to grin but the expression washed away too quickly. “Perhaps you want to be the one to woo me? I know some boys are like that. Want to be the hunter instead of the hunted.” She flipped her manner again and winked at him. “No worries. We shall play the game by your rules and see who wins out in the end. We both know who landed the first point in this round.”
Popping up high on her toes, she threw her arms around his neck.
She kissed him with bruising force, pulling away with a gasp, “That would be my second. You are shockingly slow with your defense, Lothair.” She giggled softly and tugged a hair ribbon from her sleeve. “Throw it away or keep it. I really don’t care.” Bouncing away with a skip in her step, she froze mid-step. Turning back around with a warning glare, she added, “Just don’t give it to another girl.”
She winked at him and Lothair groaned, fully aware of his lack of defense. She was slaying him with her soft smiles, her sweet scent and fluttering eyelashes. If she kissed him again, he would be wed before the farewell feast.
He looked down at the rose-colored silk ribbon. She’d worn it in her hair yesterday. He had no clue how to respond. Thunder snorted with impatience and Lothair looked up to discover Katia was gone. She had disappeared as furtively as she had appeared.
He twirled the ribbon through his fingers. It felt as soft as the skin behind her ear.
Chapter 5
Four years later . . .
Bogolyubovo Palace, Kievan Rus Territory
Markov’s hand shot out and his nails sank into her right bottom cheek. Katia reached for her hidden dagger up her sleeve; she thought better of it and retreated. She meekly slapped the hand of her attacker instead. The pox-marked worm released her with a spank to her bottom, chuckling along with his foul-breathed soldiers, who had all taken their turn trying to grab her backside.
You are a mouse
, Katia told herself.
Mice don’t stab men in the throat, no matter how much they desire it.
She had to have this particular conversation with herself several times throughout the dinner service. Being a spy, pretending to be a submissive servant—was a lot harder than she had imagined only a short time ago. Not to mention the ache and exhaustion of being run off her feet.
Katia hurried down the long corridor toward the kitchen, her wool skirt chafing against her legs. Serving wenches in Bogolyubovo were not given the luxury of an under-tunic or a linen shift. The heedless, unmannered, swine-faced Prince Andrei treated his horseflesh better than his serfs.
There were ten paces between each wall sconce, which created deep, cavernous shadows that crept in around her. Her arms were loaded with empty platters and she did not want to miss a step, so she walked close to the whitewashed stone walls. Black, greasy finger marks were smeared on the surface. She flinched her shoulder away.
Disgusting!
In her years spent traveling throughout the Swedish empire, she had come to realize that not all castles or palaces could be as carefully designed and cared for as her father’s.
The kitchen smoke funneled through the side passageways that led directly into the main hall. It created a layer of soot that settled on all available surfaces within a few hours of cleaning them. After several meal services, Katia’s eyes had become accustomed to the smoke and stench of the kitchen and hall. However, she had not yet become accustomed to the molesting hands of the servicemen. Never in her life had she thought men-at–arms so ill-mannered. Norrland had a reputation for the most savage warriors in any realm, but she had
“I won’t change my mind. Do not wait for me. I won’t be back.”
“All right, Lothair. No need to shout and upset Thunder. I heard you.” She tried to grin but the expression washed away too quickly. “Perhaps you want to be the one to woo me? I know some boys are like that. Want to be the hunter instead of the hunted.” She flipped her manner again and winked at him. “No worries. We shall play the game by your rules and see who wins out in the end. We both know who landed the first point in this round.”
Popping up high on her toes, she threw her arms around his neck.
She kissed him with bruising force, pulling away with a gasp, “That would be my second. You are shockingly slow with your defense, Lothair.” She giggled softly and tugged a hair ribbon from her sleeve. “Throw it away or keep it. I really don’t care.” Bouncing away with a skip in her step, she froze mid-step. Turning back around with a warning glare, she added, “Just don’t give it to another girl.”
She winked at him and Lothair groaned, fully aware of his lack of defense. She was slaying him with her soft smiles, her sweet scent and fluttering eyelashes. If she kissed him again, he would be wed before the farewell feast.
He looked down at the rose-colored silk ribbon. She’d worn it in her hair yesterday. He had no clue how to respond. Thunder snorted with impatience and Lothair looked up to discover Katia was gone. She had disappeared as furtively as she had appeared.
He twirled the ribbon through his fingers. It felt as soft as the skin behind her ear.
Chapter 5
Four years later . . .
Bogolyubovo Palace, Kievan Rus Territory
Markov’s hand shot out and his nails sank into her right bottom cheek. Katia reached for her hidden dagger up her sleeve; she thought better of it and retreated. She meekly slapped the hand of her attacker instead. The pox-marked worm released her with a spank to her bottom, chuckling along with his foul-breathed soldiers, who had all taken their turn trying to grab her backside.
You are a mouse
, Katia told herself.
Mice don’t stab men in the throat, no matter how much they desire it.
She had to have this particular conversation with herself several times throughout the dinner service. Being a spy, pretending to be a submissive servant—was a lot harder than she had imagined only a short time ago. Not to mention the ache and exhaustion of being run off her feet.
Katia hurried down the long corridor toward the kitchen, her wool skirt chafing against her legs. Serving wenches in Bogolyubovo were not given the luxury of an under-tunic or a linen shift. The heedless, unmannered, swine-faced Prince Andrei treated his horseflesh better than his serfs.
There were ten paces between each wall sconce, which created deep, cavernous shadows that crept in around her. Her arms were loaded with empty platters and she did not want to miss a step, so she walked close to the whitewashed stone walls. Black, greasy finger marks were smeared on the surface. She flinched her shoulder away.
Disgusting!
In her years spent traveling throughout the Swedish empire, she had come to realize that not all castles or palaces could be as carefully designed and cared for as her father’s.
The kitchen smoke funneled through the side passageways that led directly into the main hall. It created a layer of soot that settled on all available surfaces within a few hours of cleaning them. After several meal services, Katia’s eyes had become accustomed to the smoke and stench of the kitchen and hall. However, she had not yet become accustomed to the molesting hands of the servicemen. Never in her life had she thought men-at–arms so ill-mannered. Norrland had a reputation for the most savage warriors in any realm, but she had
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