opened, admitting Cinnia, lovely as usual in a blue gown that highlighted her curves and softened her brown eyes. She offered him a hesitant smile and a curtsey.
“Good afternoon, dominus .” She’d recently adopted the household’s form of address for him. “This is my sister, Louvaen Duenda.” She stepped aside to allow her companion through the door.
Were Cinnia of royal birth, she’d be renowned and fought over by the prince of every kingdom. Bards crafted songs to beauty such as hers and wrote poetry praising every feminine glory from the curve of the brow to the curve of the hips. None would wax poetic over Louvaen Duenda or battle to make her queen. The two looked nothing alike. Where Cinnia was small and flaxen-haired, Louvaen was tall, towering over her sister. Ballard didn’t possess Gavin’s impressive height, but he was taller than many men, and she could look him in the eye without tilting her head up to do so. He’d caught a glimpse of her hair as she rode across the bridge. Dark, with a hint of a wave, it fell over one shoulder in a thick braid. Wispy strands framed a face too strong to ever be pretty. She had a prominent nose that arched a little too much and accentuated a thin upper lip and high, carved cheekbones. Sweeping black eyebrows arched above eyes the color of ash. A jaw line sharp enough to draw blood defined features stripped of any softness except for a full lower lip and a curved chin similar to Cinnia’s. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was memorable, and Ballard knew when he went to sleep that night, he’d see her proud face behind his eyelids.
She dipped into a hint of a curtsey. “Lord de Sauveterre.”
Ballard liked her voice with its deep, carefully modulated tones. “Mistress Duenda, welcome to Ketach Tor.”
Louvaen clasped her gloved hands in front of her. “My family offers our most profound gratitude for your generosity in paying my father’s markers. I owe your son an apology for doubting his word regarding your family’s holdings.”
Gavin had warned him she was straightforward and spoke her mind. Ballard welcomed the trait, having no patience for a glib tongue that flapped a great deal but said little. “Gavin is very fond of your sister, mistress. The payment was small. Consider it a gesture of appreciation for allowing her to guest with us for the winter.”
She inclined her head and without looking away, spoke to Cinnia. “Cinnia, I’d like to speak with de Sauveterre alone please.”
He watched with interest as the girl cast an uneasy glance at him and then another one at her sister. Ballard refrained from promising her he wouldn’t give Louvaen a second opportunity to rearrange his face. She curtsied and squeezed Louvaen’s arm, though he couldn’t tell if the affectionate gesture was in warning or reassurance. “We’ll meet you at supper then? The hall is drafty so we eat in the kitchen.” She blew a kiss at her sister and left them alone.
Ballard gestured to a nearby chair. “Make yourself comfortable by the fire, mistress. There’s warmed ale and a place for your cloak.” He pointed first to the small table set between the chairs where two goblets rested and then to a large chest pushed against one wall. She glanced briefly at his hands but showed no reaction other than to remove her cloak gloves and drape them across the chest to dry. Her actions gave him a few seconds to admire her unobserved. Graceful as a willow with a slender back and arms, she wore a rust-colored gown that enhanced the russet highlights in her hair. Ballard wondered if her legs were as long as her height suggested.
She turned to face him again, and those smoky eyes took his measure. “Will you not reveal yourself to me as I have to you, my lord?” A challenging question, as if she hoped to gauge his character from his need to remain hidden under the cloak.
Had she waited a little
“Good afternoon, dominus .” She’d recently adopted the household’s form of address for him. “This is my sister, Louvaen Duenda.” She stepped aside to allow her companion through the door.
Were Cinnia of royal birth, she’d be renowned and fought over by the prince of every kingdom. Bards crafted songs to beauty such as hers and wrote poetry praising every feminine glory from the curve of the brow to the curve of the hips. None would wax poetic over Louvaen Duenda or battle to make her queen. The two looked nothing alike. Where Cinnia was small and flaxen-haired, Louvaen was tall, towering over her sister. Ballard didn’t possess Gavin’s impressive height, but he was taller than many men, and she could look him in the eye without tilting her head up to do so. He’d caught a glimpse of her hair as she rode across the bridge. Dark, with a hint of a wave, it fell over one shoulder in a thick braid. Wispy strands framed a face too strong to ever be pretty. She had a prominent nose that arched a little too much and accentuated a thin upper lip and high, carved cheekbones. Sweeping black eyebrows arched above eyes the color of ash. A jaw line sharp enough to draw blood defined features stripped of any softness except for a full lower lip and a curved chin similar to Cinnia’s. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was memorable, and Ballard knew when he went to sleep that night, he’d see her proud face behind his eyelids.
She dipped into a hint of a curtsey. “Lord de Sauveterre.”
Ballard liked her voice with its deep, carefully modulated tones. “Mistress Duenda, welcome to Ketach Tor.”
Louvaen clasped her gloved hands in front of her. “My family offers our most profound gratitude for your generosity in paying my father’s markers. I owe your son an apology for doubting his word regarding your family’s holdings.”
Gavin had warned him she was straightforward and spoke her mind. Ballard welcomed the trait, having no patience for a glib tongue that flapped a great deal but said little. “Gavin is very fond of your sister, mistress. The payment was small. Consider it a gesture of appreciation for allowing her to guest with us for the winter.”
She inclined her head and without looking away, spoke to Cinnia. “Cinnia, I’d like to speak with de Sauveterre alone please.”
He watched with interest as the girl cast an uneasy glance at him and then another one at her sister. Ballard refrained from promising her he wouldn’t give Louvaen a second opportunity to rearrange his face. She curtsied and squeezed Louvaen’s arm, though he couldn’t tell if the affectionate gesture was in warning or reassurance. “We’ll meet you at supper then? The hall is drafty so we eat in the kitchen.” She blew a kiss at her sister and left them alone.
Ballard gestured to a nearby chair. “Make yourself comfortable by the fire, mistress. There’s warmed ale and a place for your cloak.” He pointed first to the small table set between the chairs where two goblets rested and then to a large chest pushed against one wall. She glanced briefly at his hands but showed no reaction other than to remove her cloak gloves and drape them across the chest to dry. Her actions gave him a few seconds to admire her unobserved. Graceful as a willow with a slender back and arms, she wore a rust-colored gown that enhanced the russet highlights in her hair. Ballard wondered if her legs were as long as her height suggested.
She turned to face him again, and those smoky eyes took his measure. “Will you not reveal yourself to me as I have to you, my lord?” A challenging question, as if she hoped to gauge his character from his need to remain hidden under the cloak.
Had she waited a little
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