them…
There was only so much he could, or more to the point, would , do to keep Seren safe.
Seren lay on her side on the large gilded bed as she stared out the open window to the perfectly blue sky. If she were at home now, she would be working on material for a gown for the earl’s daughter’s wedding. No doubt poor Wendlyn was cursing her for the extra work. Without Seren there to weave, the other hapless apprentices would have to work even harder.
She felt terrible about that. She’d told them all that she would return quickly from the guildhall.
If only she’d known then what was to befall her…
Closing her eyes, she conjured an image of her loom that sat across from the shop’s windows. She loved to glance up from her work and watch the children who sometimes played out in the street. She could also catch glimpses of ladies and their maids who drifted into various shops as they looked for items.
The earl’s daughter had been particularly lovely as she visited Master Rufus and told him of the pale yellow samite she wanted for her wedding.
Seren smiled to herself as she imagined theday when the lady would marry her lord. How lovely the woman would be in the shimmering cloth…
She felt something fall across her arm.
Opening her eyes, she saw her scarlet cloth, but no sign of anyone else.
She sat up with a gasp as she examined it. Aye, it was her cloth without a doubt. She knew every stitch, every fiber.
“Lord Kerrigan?”
There was no answer.
“Please, my lord, if you are here, show yourself to me.”
“Why?” the word whispered in the air around her like a dream.
“I should like to thank you for this, face to face.”
She heard him make a rude noise. “Keep your thanks, woman. It’s as worthless as your cloth.”
And then she sensed that she was alone in her room. Stung by his words, she looked down at her cloth. It was worthless indeed. But even so, Kerrigan must have gone to some effort to retrieve it. Indeed, to return to Camelot while Morgen was angry at him could even be construed as foolhardy.
Yet he’d done it for no other reason than to ease her mind. Mayhap, dare she think it, to make her happy. She knew firsthand that such an act wasn’t normal for a man like Kerrigan.
You should thank him again for it .
But he didn’t want thanks with words. It wasn’t his way.
Suddenly, she was struck with an idea. She finally knew what she could do with this cloth.
Kerrigan frowned as a small strip of a plastic thermometer appeared on his forehead. “What the…?”
It immediately flew across the room into Blaise’s outstretched hand. The mandrake ran his fingers over it so that he could read it, then he arched both brows in surprise. “It’s forty-five degrees, which…well, for humans is fatal, but for you, my lord, is quite normal. Damn. I could have sworn you had a fever.”
Kerrigan leaned back in the chair where he sat and growled low in his throat. “What madness has possession of you now?”
“The same madness that possessed you to venture to Camelot a short time ago to make an insignificant peasant happy.”
Kerrigan looked away. “Who says I did so to make her happy? What I did, I did for myself so that I wouldn’t have to listen to her whine and pout over paltry fabric.”
Doubt shone from the mandrake’s face. “Since when does that bother you? I thought you lived to make others miserable.”
He did normally. But for some reason, he wasn’t feeling like his usual churlish self. “Is there a point to this conversation other than you are suddenly possessed with a desire to be disemboweled?”
Blaise held his hands up in surrender. “I only thought my king would like to know that you have made the woman extremely happy.”
He scoffed at that. “She is simpleminded. It takes naught to thrill such people.”
“Personally, I find her quite intelligent.”
“Because you, too, are simpleminded.”
Blaise took the insult in stride as he flashed
There was only so much he could, or more to the point, would , do to keep Seren safe.
Seren lay on her side on the large gilded bed as she stared out the open window to the perfectly blue sky. If she were at home now, she would be working on material for a gown for the earl’s daughter’s wedding. No doubt poor Wendlyn was cursing her for the extra work. Without Seren there to weave, the other hapless apprentices would have to work even harder.
She felt terrible about that. She’d told them all that she would return quickly from the guildhall.
If only she’d known then what was to befall her…
Closing her eyes, she conjured an image of her loom that sat across from the shop’s windows. She loved to glance up from her work and watch the children who sometimes played out in the street. She could also catch glimpses of ladies and their maids who drifted into various shops as they looked for items.
The earl’s daughter had been particularly lovely as she visited Master Rufus and told him of the pale yellow samite she wanted for her wedding.
Seren smiled to herself as she imagined theday when the lady would marry her lord. How lovely the woman would be in the shimmering cloth…
She felt something fall across her arm.
Opening her eyes, she saw her scarlet cloth, but no sign of anyone else.
She sat up with a gasp as she examined it. Aye, it was her cloth without a doubt. She knew every stitch, every fiber.
“Lord Kerrigan?”
There was no answer.
“Please, my lord, if you are here, show yourself to me.”
“Why?” the word whispered in the air around her like a dream.
“I should like to thank you for this, face to face.”
She heard him make a rude noise. “Keep your thanks, woman. It’s as worthless as your cloth.”
And then she sensed that she was alone in her room. Stung by his words, she looked down at her cloth. It was worthless indeed. But even so, Kerrigan must have gone to some effort to retrieve it. Indeed, to return to Camelot while Morgen was angry at him could even be construed as foolhardy.
Yet he’d done it for no other reason than to ease her mind. Mayhap, dare she think it, to make her happy. She knew firsthand that such an act wasn’t normal for a man like Kerrigan.
You should thank him again for it .
But he didn’t want thanks with words. It wasn’t his way.
Suddenly, she was struck with an idea. She finally knew what she could do with this cloth.
Kerrigan frowned as a small strip of a plastic thermometer appeared on his forehead. “What the…?”
It immediately flew across the room into Blaise’s outstretched hand. The mandrake ran his fingers over it so that he could read it, then he arched both brows in surprise. “It’s forty-five degrees, which…well, for humans is fatal, but for you, my lord, is quite normal. Damn. I could have sworn you had a fever.”
Kerrigan leaned back in the chair where he sat and growled low in his throat. “What madness has possession of you now?”
“The same madness that possessed you to venture to Camelot a short time ago to make an insignificant peasant happy.”
Kerrigan looked away. “Who says I did so to make her happy? What I did, I did for myself so that I wouldn’t have to listen to her whine and pout over paltry fabric.”
Doubt shone from the mandrake’s face. “Since when does that bother you? I thought you lived to make others miserable.”
He did normally. But for some reason, he wasn’t feeling like his usual churlish self. “Is there a point to this conversation other than you are suddenly possessed with a desire to be disemboweled?”
Blaise held his hands up in surrender. “I only thought my king would like to know that you have made the woman extremely happy.”
He scoffed at that. “She is simpleminded. It takes naught to thrill such people.”
“Personally, I find her quite intelligent.”
“Because you, too, are simpleminded.”
Blaise took the insult in stride as he flashed
Similar Books
