and the soft thud confirmed it. Just that quick, he was gone.
Trulie sagged forward, bowing her head into her hands. Why did alone suddenly seem…lonely? A cold wet nose snuffled against her. Karma grumbled a low, soothing whine and bumped his silky head up beneath her arm.
“I love you too, Karma.” Trulie buried her face in his wooly ruff and rubbed his velvety ears. A metallic clatter and the rasping whisper of a moving door straightened her in the chair. “Who’s there?”
“It’s only me, gal.” A trilling
prrrpp
announced that Kismet accompanied Granny. Soft footsteps echoed across the room, then the gentle weight of Granny’s hand rested on Trulie’s shoulder. “Gray said you weren’t well.” Granny slid a finger under her chin. “What’s ailin’ you, gal?”
“Other than my eyes, I’m fine.”
Who am I kidding? I’m confused as hell.
Trulie patted the table until she found her cup. A rough tongue rasped across the back of her hand, then water splashed across her fingers. “Kismet. That’s my water.”
A lapping sound echoed from the depths of the cup, then the rough tongue swiped her hand again. Trulie sagged back in the chair. “You’re welcome.”
Granny squeezed her shoulders. “Come on. Get up.”
“Where are we going now?” She really would have preferred staying put until her sight returned.
“Coira’s waiting for you in your room. She’ll get you fed and settled in.” Granny gave her shoulders another impatient shake. “Come on, now. Time’s a wastin’.”
“Who is Coira?” Without her sight, she felt like she needed a scorecard to keep up with all the players in this twisted game of thirteenth-century Name That Scot. Trulie held out her hands and slowly rose from the chair before Granny could shake her again. Patience was not one of Granny’s virtues.
Granny steered her clear of the chair, then tucked her hand in the crook of her arm. “She’s our maidservant. I’ve spoken to her. She’ll help you get acclimated.”
“So, she knows about us?” Trulie lifted her face as a waft of cool air brushed past her and the door groaned shut behind them.
“She knows enough.” Granny patted Trulie’s hand and turned her down the hallway.
Chapter 8
“Dinna fret now, Mistress Trulie. Coira will have ye all unpacked and settled in yer rooms in no time a’ tall.” The bright-pink aura jabbering away in third person buzzed about the room in such a frenzy it made Trulie’s head spin. Coira must have been a hummingbird in a past life.
“Thanks, Coira.” Trulie moved carefully through the unknown space with both hands extended. Karma’s firm weight against the side of her leg helped keep her on course. “And it’s just Trulie. Remember?”
“Ah now, mistress. Ye’ll have Steward and Cook a whalen’ me arse with a long green switch if I dinna show ye proper respect.” The fuchsia cloud ping-ponged back to Trulie and took hold of both her hands. “Here now. Allow me t’lead ye to the settee. Ye must sit and enjoy Cook’s fine biscuits and mead whilst I undo yer strange wee bag.”
Trulie eased down, expecting another hard bench, but was pleasantly surprised with the softness of a plush cushion. She ran her fingertips over the seat. A knobby weave. Smooth silkiness interlaced with rough knotted threads. The cushions reminded her of Granny’s needlepoint and tapestry pillows.
“Hold out yer hands, m’lady, and I’ll hand ye the cup.” Coira’s cotton-candy-pink aura hovered patiently in front of Trulie.
“I’ll make you a deal.” Trulie held up both hands. “When it’s just you and me in the room, call me Trulie. Okay?” Having a personal servant didn’t feel quite right, but Trulie gladly welcomed a friend and confidante to help her adapt to this strange new world.
“Make…a…deal.” Coira repeated the phrase as though not entirely sure of its meaning. “Is this the same sort of thing as an agreement…or perhaps a pact?”
“Yes.”
Trulie sagged forward, bowing her head into her hands. Why did alone suddenly seem…lonely? A cold wet nose snuffled against her. Karma grumbled a low, soothing whine and bumped his silky head up beneath her arm.
“I love you too, Karma.” Trulie buried her face in his wooly ruff and rubbed his velvety ears. A metallic clatter and the rasping whisper of a moving door straightened her in the chair. “Who’s there?”
“It’s only me, gal.” A trilling
prrrpp
announced that Kismet accompanied Granny. Soft footsteps echoed across the room, then the gentle weight of Granny’s hand rested on Trulie’s shoulder. “Gray said you weren’t well.” Granny slid a finger under her chin. “What’s ailin’ you, gal?”
“Other than my eyes, I’m fine.”
Who am I kidding? I’m confused as hell.
Trulie patted the table until she found her cup. A rough tongue rasped across the back of her hand, then water splashed across her fingers. “Kismet. That’s my water.”
A lapping sound echoed from the depths of the cup, then the rough tongue swiped her hand again. Trulie sagged back in the chair. “You’re welcome.”
Granny squeezed her shoulders. “Come on. Get up.”
“Where are we going now?” She really would have preferred staying put until her sight returned.
“Coira’s waiting for you in your room. She’ll get you fed and settled in.” Granny gave her shoulders another impatient shake. “Come on, now. Time’s a wastin’.”
“Who is Coira?” Without her sight, she felt like she needed a scorecard to keep up with all the players in this twisted game of thirteenth-century Name That Scot. Trulie held out her hands and slowly rose from the chair before Granny could shake her again. Patience was not one of Granny’s virtues.
Granny steered her clear of the chair, then tucked her hand in the crook of her arm. “She’s our maidservant. I’ve spoken to her. She’ll help you get acclimated.”
“So, she knows about us?” Trulie lifted her face as a waft of cool air brushed past her and the door groaned shut behind them.
“She knows enough.” Granny patted Trulie’s hand and turned her down the hallway.
Chapter 8
“Dinna fret now, Mistress Trulie. Coira will have ye all unpacked and settled in yer rooms in no time a’ tall.” The bright-pink aura jabbering away in third person buzzed about the room in such a frenzy it made Trulie’s head spin. Coira must have been a hummingbird in a past life.
“Thanks, Coira.” Trulie moved carefully through the unknown space with both hands extended. Karma’s firm weight against the side of her leg helped keep her on course. “And it’s just Trulie. Remember?”
“Ah now, mistress. Ye’ll have Steward and Cook a whalen’ me arse with a long green switch if I dinna show ye proper respect.” The fuchsia cloud ping-ponged back to Trulie and took hold of both her hands. “Here now. Allow me t’lead ye to the settee. Ye must sit and enjoy Cook’s fine biscuits and mead whilst I undo yer strange wee bag.”
Trulie eased down, expecting another hard bench, but was pleasantly surprised with the softness of a plush cushion. She ran her fingertips over the seat. A knobby weave. Smooth silkiness interlaced with rough knotted threads. The cushions reminded her of Granny’s needlepoint and tapestry pillows.
“Hold out yer hands, m’lady, and I’ll hand ye the cup.” Coira’s cotton-candy-pink aura hovered patiently in front of Trulie.
“I’ll make you a deal.” Trulie held up both hands. “When it’s just you and me in the room, call me Trulie. Okay?” Having a personal servant didn’t feel quite right, but Trulie gladly welcomed a friend and confidante to help her adapt to this strange new world.
“Make…a…deal.” Coira repeated the phrase as though not entirely sure of its meaning. “Is this the same sort of thing as an agreement…or perhaps a pact?”
“Yes.”
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