Read Online The Lion's Daughter by Loretta Chase - Free Book Online Page B

matter.”
    “Esme,”
he said, “do you have any idea what you're talking about?”
    “Yes.
Jason told me, because I had no family to shelter me. He felt it was
best I understood these matters, lest my ignorance be used against
me.”
    “I
see.”
    “Are
you shocked?”
    “No,
only ...” Pausing, he turned fully toward
her. She halted as well, wondering why he looked so troubled.
    “What
of your mother's family?” he asked. “Your mother
herself?”
    “She
died when I was ten. Jason and I moved about a great deal. He was
always needed somewhere. My grandmother lives in Gjirokastra, but the
others are all dead.”
    Now
Jason as well, she thought, and the ache sped swiftly from her heart
to catch in her throat. She resumed walking. “That was all long
ago,” she said tightly. “Let us speak of something else.”

    AS
IT HAPPENED, they'd no time to change the subject Varian had so
thoughtlessly introduced. Their approach speedily attracted notice,
and in minutes all of Rrogozhina rushed out to welcome them.
    There
was a great deal more to the village than Varian had guessed. He was
quickly surrounded by a crowd of men, on whose fringes stood another
crowd of women and children, all of them talking at once and never
uttering a word he could understand. Nor could Petro, evidently, who
complained that the dialect was impossible.
    Varian's
head pounded and his ears rang. He was tired and hungry, and so
filthy he wanted to crawl out of his skin. Had Esme not taken charge,
he might well have sat right down in the mud and wept.
    As
she'd predicted, the villagers took no notice of the ragged boy Esme
appeared to be, and nearly trampled her as they swarmed about Varian.
She doggedly elbowed her way back to his side, however, and in
minutes had fully obtained their attention.
    Less
than an hour later, thanks to her, Varian was lowering his aching
frame into a large wooden laundry tub filled with steaming water.
    The
tub stood in the central washing room of a cluster of connected
cottages. These belonged to the extended family of his host, Maliq.
Beyond, in the kitchen, Varian heard the chatter of women's voices as
they prepared a feast to honor his lordship. Closer to hand, in the
small passage just outside the doorway, Petro stood, dutifully
brushing his master's clothes.
    Most
of Varian's wardrobe remained on the ship. None of the crew had
proved insane enough to accompany them for any price, and three
people, on foot, could only carry so much. Which meant that Varian
possessed exactly three changes of linen, one coat, one heavy cloak,
and two pairs of trousers.
    Though
accustomed to changing several times a day, Varian had thought he'd
manage adequately for the day or two it would take to reach Tepelena.
It was not as though he expected to attend soirees on a regular
basis. He had never dreamed the journey would involve several tons of
mud and enough crawling creatures to fill Westminster Abbey.
    He
was soaping his neck and contemplating the tragic condition of his
expensive shirts when Esme burst through the doorway, stopped dead,
then hastily backed out.
    Petro' s roar of laughter rang through the
passage.
    “Son
of a jackal!” she shouted. “Why didn't you stop me?”
    “A
thousand pardons, little one,” came the chuckling answer. “I
thought you were in a great hurry to wash his back.”
    “That
is not amusing,” she snapped. “Also, you are a very poor
servant to let someone interrupt your master at his bath. Have you no
respect for his modesty?”
    “Modesty?”
Petro echoed. “Y'Allah, half the women of Italy have seen his—”
    “Petro,”
Varian called out sharply.
    Petro
hastened to the doorway.
    “Yes,
master?”
    “Shut
up.”
    “Yes,
master.”
    The
passage fell deadly quiet.
    Varian
quickly finished his bath, threw on the immense robe his hostess had
left for him, and called them both inside.
    Esme
entered and, without looking at him, gathered up the towels he'd
thrown on the floor and draped