single unwaxed thread, and she wanted more than anything for him to lower his great, dark head and kiss her.
She shoved at him suddenly—and he let her go, a knowing in his eyes. Swallowing, she regained her dignity, and brushed at her skirts, and said, "My deepest gratitude for your hunting skills, sir."
His eyes dancing, he bowed low. "A grand feast we'll have on the morrow."
"That we will—and I have me much work to do to prepare." She turned, clapping her hands to call for a girl to take Lord Thomas to the bathhouse.
The stag, rubbed thickly with salt and garlic, was set to roasting in a pit over a low fire. Tall Mary's father had gone to town and brought back with him musicians, and raisins and white sugar for cake. From her chamber, Lyssa heard the faint barks of the cook, and the sound of the piper practicing. The air was redolent with roasting meat and baking cake. It would be a fine celebration.
But Lyssa felt strangely tense. One by one she'd tossed through her tunics and surcoats and a casket of jewels, and could not decide what she wanted to put on. With a sigh, she sank to a stool, yanking ribbons from her hair in frustration. "'Twill not matter. Why do I care?" She scowled at Alice. "And do not say what a fool I am. E'ry woman in the village is like as not tossing through her things as I am, hoping to catch his eye."
Alice chuckled, and took up a brush, made with boar bristles. Gently, she took the ribbons from Lyssa's hair and worked free the small braids Lyssa had woven in this morning. "'Tis only fitting for women to hope for the eye of a man so gentle and strong, is it not? Brutal we all know, and stupid, and ugly—but rare do they come as Lord Thomas, fair and good and wise all at once."
"It matters not what he is," Lyssa said quietly. "My king will name my husband."
"Aye—but there'd be no harm in taking pleasure in his company, now would there?"
"Pleasure?" Lyssa returned sharply. "If you speak of bedding him, I have no interest in such things."
Alice laughed. "Not that, child. Only the simple pleasure of laughing and being admired. 'Tis not so huge a thing, but a woman likes flattery and the twinkle in an eye." She swayed to look into Lyssa's face. "I saw the pair of you when he returned from the hunt—'twas good to hear you laugh aloud, milady. Laughter keeps a heart light and young."
"I had not thought of it that way." She closed her eyes as Alice began to brush her hair, firmly. A glorious sensation, the bristles on her scalp, the ease it gave her tight neck and shoulders. "He is a lively companion. There is much laughter in the hall when he appears. Was it ever thus with him?"
"Nay, he was a brooder as a youth." Her voice lilted with that strange accent. "Too proud, too sensitive, too full of himself. Here, the sun is warm. The land is kind, and it made his heart kinder and wiser."
Lyssa could see him that way, a sullen boy, too tall and gangly and awkward, those bright blue eyes flashing anger instead of laughter. It made her smile to think of it.
Alice finished her brushing. "Will ye listen to me, milady, and let me dress you proper for the feast?"
"Since I have not been able to choose," Lyssa said with a wave at the tangle of cloth, jewels, belts, and slippers on her bed, "I would welcome your help."
Alice clapped her on the shoulder vigorously. "All right, then." She plucked a simple green linen tunic from the pile and tossed it over her shoulder, then fished out a gossamer surcoat, made of the finest white silk in a weave so loose that the garment was near transparent. Around the edges, Lyssa had woven gold-and-green silk threads. "These," Alice said definitely, turning. "Then we'll choose the rest."
Lyssa stood and waited for Alice to help her remove the gown she was wearing. "Ah, my lady, you've a fine form. Not so skinny as you look in your gowns."
With a rueful smile, Lyssa touched her far-too-generous hips. "Twas an aspect my husband found displeasing." She shrugged,
She shoved at him suddenly—and he let her go, a knowing in his eyes. Swallowing, she regained her dignity, and brushed at her skirts, and said, "My deepest gratitude for your hunting skills, sir."
His eyes dancing, he bowed low. "A grand feast we'll have on the morrow."
"That we will—and I have me much work to do to prepare." She turned, clapping her hands to call for a girl to take Lord Thomas to the bathhouse.
The stag, rubbed thickly with salt and garlic, was set to roasting in a pit over a low fire. Tall Mary's father had gone to town and brought back with him musicians, and raisins and white sugar for cake. From her chamber, Lyssa heard the faint barks of the cook, and the sound of the piper practicing. The air was redolent with roasting meat and baking cake. It would be a fine celebration.
But Lyssa felt strangely tense. One by one she'd tossed through her tunics and surcoats and a casket of jewels, and could not decide what she wanted to put on. With a sigh, she sank to a stool, yanking ribbons from her hair in frustration. "'Twill not matter. Why do I care?" She scowled at Alice. "And do not say what a fool I am. E'ry woman in the village is like as not tossing through her things as I am, hoping to catch his eye."
Alice chuckled, and took up a brush, made with boar bristles. Gently, she took the ribbons from Lyssa's hair and worked free the small braids Lyssa had woven in this morning. "'Tis only fitting for women to hope for the eye of a man so gentle and strong, is it not? Brutal we all know, and stupid, and ugly—but rare do they come as Lord Thomas, fair and good and wise all at once."
"It matters not what he is," Lyssa said quietly. "My king will name my husband."
"Aye—but there'd be no harm in taking pleasure in his company, now would there?"
"Pleasure?" Lyssa returned sharply. "If you speak of bedding him, I have no interest in such things."
Alice laughed. "Not that, child. Only the simple pleasure of laughing and being admired. 'Tis not so huge a thing, but a woman likes flattery and the twinkle in an eye." She swayed to look into Lyssa's face. "I saw the pair of you when he returned from the hunt—'twas good to hear you laugh aloud, milady. Laughter keeps a heart light and young."
"I had not thought of it that way." She closed her eyes as Alice began to brush her hair, firmly. A glorious sensation, the bristles on her scalp, the ease it gave her tight neck and shoulders. "He is a lively companion. There is much laughter in the hall when he appears. Was it ever thus with him?"
"Nay, he was a brooder as a youth." Her voice lilted with that strange accent. "Too proud, too sensitive, too full of himself. Here, the sun is warm. The land is kind, and it made his heart kinder and wiser."
Lyssa could see him that way, a sullen boy, too tall and gangly and awkward, those bright blue eyes flashing anger instead of laughter. It made her smile to think of it.
Alice finished her brushing. "Will ye listen to me, milady, and let me dress you proper for the feast?"
"Since I have not been able to choose," Lyssa said with a wave at the tangle of cloth, jewels, belts, and slippers on her bed, "I would welcome your help."
Alice clapped her on the shoulder vigorously. "All right, then." She plucked a simple green linen tunic from the pile and tossed it over her shoulder, then fished out a gossamer surcoat, made of the finest white silk in a weave so loose that the garment was near transparent. Around the edges, Lyssa had woven gold-and-green silk threads. "These," Alice said definitely, turning. "Then we'll choose the rest."
Lyssa stood and waited for Alice to help her remove the gown she was wearing. "Ah, my lady, you've a fine form. Not so skinny as you look in your gowns."
With a rueful smile, Lyssa touched her far-too-generous hips. "Twas an aspect my husband found displeasing." She shrugged,
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