above.
Cate moved to his side, resting her head on his chest. She entwined her fingers with his as they both sought to catch their breath. A small laugh escaped her. Her palm flew to her mouth and she covered it. Turning toward Owen, she muttered in his ear, “Let’s do that again.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cate’s eyes fluttered, adjusting to morning’s light. She stretched, pointing her toes and reaching out to her sides, testing the soreness of her muscles. She promptly smacked her elbow on the wooden frame of the pallet in the bedchamber. Surprised by the unexpected change in scenery, it took her a moment to recollect where she was and what transpired the night before. Cate tugged down the blanket. In her night robe no less. Interesting. She hadn’t had that much wine. Rising, she paused a moment to work out the knot in her side. Her wound ached terribly, and she prayed the stitching hadn’t been pulled loose. Explaining the reason would be most unbearable.
A clean kirtle and shift sat neatly folded on the stand next to the wash basin, along with a pair of worn soft soled shoes. Cate splashed her face with the water then wiped clean with the accompanying rag. The billowy shift she had worn to bed was replaced with the fresh one, followed by the light blue kirtle. She assumed it had belonged to Alice’s daughter as well. Cate was taller, and certainly larger of breast, but with a bit of adjustment to the lacing, she could breath comfortably. The fitted sleeves of the shift itched terribly, and Cate fiddled with the flowing skirt of the kirtle. It caught between her legs at the most inopportune moments, like every time she took a step. She missed her hose and brigandine. She had grown accustomed to the allowance of movement wearing the armor. It would need mending, and Cate vowed she would find someone to fix it that afternoon.
The long house was empty when she exited the bedchamber. A fire crackled in the pit, the smoke trailing up to the ceiling and through the escape hole in the roof. Blackened soot lined the wooden beams in the daylight, and Cate could only imagine the last time the house had received a thorough cleaning. She would have to see to that, as well. There was so much to be done.
Cate cracked open the front door to peek her head out, surveying her surroundings. Voices from the side of the house lingered on a light breeze, and the livestock in the back squeaked and squawked in the endless search for food. Hungry herself, she stepped through the door.
Rounding the corner of the house, Cate came upon Owen and Wallace standing near the large oak, disagreeing over the deer carcass strung from a thick branch. They stood with backs turned, unaware of her presence. Leaning against the daub plastered wall, she was content to listen.
Owen stated they should start with the hind flank and cut down to the neck, but Wallace insisted on butchering the thick slabs first as they needed to hang longer. The two must have been in a stalemate. Neither made an effort to even begin the sectioning of the meat. Instead, the two men faced the carcass with hands clasped behind their backs… staring.
Cate approached behind them, curious as to what could leave such strong-willed men speechless. Walking up between the two, she peered between their shoulders. She brushed her fingers along the exposed portion of Owen’s palm, and he clasped it for a brief moment, acknowledging her presence.
In the distance, trudging along a muddy path through the field was Alice, a chicken under one arm and tugging along a roped squealing pig with the other. Cate gawked at the site as well, her mouth agape, before chuckling. Placing one hand on each of the men’s arms, she said, “Well, it isn’t going to carve itself, is it, gentlemen?”
Cate hurried to help Alice with the fretting pig. The rope around its middle was slipping free with each roll the creature managed. Diving to the grass, Cate caught its hind legs just before it bolted
Cate moved to his side, resting her head on his chest. She entwined her fingers with his as they both sought to catch their breath. A small laugh escaped her. Her palm flew to her mouth and she covered it. Turning toward Owen, she muttered in his ear, “Let’s do that again.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cate’s eyes fluttered, adjusting to morning’s light. She stretched, pointing her toes and reaching out to her sides, testing the soreness of her muscles. She promptly smacked her elbow on the wooden frame of the pallet in the bedchamber. Surprised by the unexpected change in scenery, it took her a moment to recollect where she was and what transpired the night before. Cate tugged down the blanket. In her night robe no less. Interesting. She hadn’t had that much wine. Rising, she paused a moment to work out the knot in her side. Her wound ached terribly, and she prayed the stitching hadn’t been pulled loose. Explaining the reason would be most unbearable.
A clean kirtle and shift sat neatly folded on the stand next to the wash basin, along with a pair of worn soft soled shoes. Cate splashed her face with the water then wiped clean with the accompanying rag. The billowy shift she had worn to bed was replaced with the fresh one, followed by the light blue kirtle. She assumed it had belonged to Alice’s daughter as well. Cate was taller, and certainly larger of breast, but with a bit of adjustment to the lacing, she could breath comfortably. The fitted sleeves of the shift itched terribly, and Cate fiddled with the flowing skirt of the kirtle. It caught between her legs at the most inopportune moments, like every time she took a step. She missed her hose and brigandine. She had grown accustomed to the allowance of movement wearing the armor. It would need mending, and Cate vowed she would find someone to fix it that afternoon.
The long house was empty when she exited the bedchamber. A fire crackled in the pit, the smoke trailing up to the ceiling and through the escape hole in the roof. Blackened soot lined the wooden beams in the daylight, and Cate could only imagine the last time the house had received a thorough cleaning. She would have to see to that, as well. There was so much to be done.
Cate cracked open the front door to peek her head out, surveying her surroundings. Voices from the side of the house lingered on a light breeze, and the livestock in the back squeaked and squawked in the endless search for food. Hungry herself, she stepped through the door.
Rounding the corner of the house, Cate came upon Owen and Wallace standing near the large oak, disagreeing over the deer carcass strung from a thick branch. They stood with backs turned, unaware of her presence. Leaning against the daub plastered wall, she was content to listen.
Owen stated they should start with the hind flank and cut down to the neck, but Wallace insisted on butchering the thick slabs first as they needed to hang longer. The two must have been in a stalemate. Neither made an effort to even begin the sectioning of the meat. Instead, the two men faced the carcass with hands clasped behind their backs… staring.
Cate approached behind them, curious as to what could leave such strong-willed men speechless. Walking up between the two, she peered between their shoulders. She brushed her fingers along the exposed portion of Owen’s palm, and he clasped it for a brief moment, acknowledging her presence.
In the distance, trudging along a muddy path through the field was Alice, a chicken under one arm and tugging along a roped squealing pig with the other. Cate gawked at the site as well, her mouth agape, before chuckling. Placing one hand on each of the men’s arms, she said, “Well, it isn’t going to carve itself, is it, gentlemen?”
Cate hurried to help Alice with the fretting pig. The rope around its middle was slipping free with each roll the creature managed. Diving to the grass, Cate caught its hind legs just before it bolted
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