and lute playing are the best of all of us. And I can construct a wedding canopy.”
Over and over, Tyra tried to interject her objections into their discussion. Finally she took on her best military stance, legs widespread, hands on hips, and shouted,
“Silence!”
When the kitchen became so quiet they could hear the crackle of the fire and the steady sniffle of one of the maids cowering in the corner, she spoke, calmly but with a firmness that would not be denied. “There will be no wedding betwixt me and the healer … or any other man. But this I promise you. If our father lives, I will find a way for me to go my own way, and for each of you to wed. Do you accept my word?”
Each of them nodded in turn. Soon, everyone was off and about her business, and Tyra walked toward the bedchamber to complete her toilette.
It was final, then. She would never wed. Everyone understood that now. Although she’d never been quite so adamant with her sisters before, it was something she’d known for a long time.
Why then did the prospect suddenly make her feel so sad?
His cold heart began to melt …
Adam was resting on the linen-covered straw mattress of an alcove bed in the small guest bedchamberhe’d been assigned when he sensed someone tiptoeing into his room, uninvited and unannounced.
He’d lain down on the bed after returning from a bath in the sweat house, never intending to sleep before the evening meal. But the mattress was so comfortable and he must have been more tired than he’d realized, for he’d soon dozed off.
His eyes opened to mere slits, then shot wide open. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed to the rush-covered floor. For the love of the Lord! He should have pretended to be still sleeping. How was he going to handle this latest disaster?
Standing before him was Alrek, his skin pink-scrubbed and his pale hair washed and clubbed back at the nape with a leather thong. Worn but clean garments covered his skinny form.
Standing behind him was a boy of about eight. He kept peeking around Alrek’s arms, gazing at Adam as if he were some fascinating creature. God knows what Alrek had been saying about him. Calling him the Miracle maker, he would wager.
A toddler of no more than two was clinging to Alrek’s neck, her chubby legs wrapped around his hips. Her blond hair had been clumsily braided and secured into a crown atop her head. She was adorable.
Another girl stood at Alrek’s other side.
“I wanted you to meet me fam’ly,” Alrek explained quickly, sensing Adam’s rising vexation. The boy was pestsome beyond belief.
“This is me brother, Tunni.” Alrek indicated with a jerk of his head the youthling standing shyly behind him. “He’s eight … the man of the fam’ly when I’m off a-Viking.”
Oh, bloody hell!
“And this heavy bundle is Besji.” He shifted his hold on the toddler’s bottom cradled in the crook of his right arm. She must indeed be heavy for the boy to carry about.
He should probably offer to help.
But he wouldn’t.
“Besji is two. Thank the Lord she can hold her piss these days till she gets to the garderobe. What a job it was fer me and Tunni to be changing her linens every five minutes, or so it seemed. Babes do piss a lot, you know.”
Yea, I know. I took care of Adela at that young age.
Which brought him to the absolute worst part of this whole scenario: the little girl, about four years old, who held tightly on to Alrek’s other hand.
“And this is Kristin.”
Her blond hair hung loose to the shoulders of her garment … an ankle-length shift covered with an open-sided, full-length apron. The thumb of her free hand was planted firmly in her rosebud mouth.
Adela,
he thought, and could have wept at the bittersweet resemblance.
“Why are you here?” he snapped.
Alrek flinched, but, stubborn snot that he was, he raised his chin and said, “We’re jest here to welcome you to Stoneheim. We’re jest bein’ friendly like.”
That is
Over and over, Tyra tried to interject her objections into their discussion. Finally she took on her best military stance, legs widespread, hands on hips, and shouted,
“Silence!”
When the kitchen became so quiet they could hear the crackle of the fire and the steady sniffle of one of the maids cowering in the corner, she spoke, calmly but with a firmness that would not be denied. “There will be no wedding betwixt me and the healer … or any other man. But this I promise you. If our father lives, I will find a way for me to go my own way, and for each of you to wed. Do you accept my word?”
Each of them nodded in turn. Soon, everyone was off and about her business, and Tyra walked toward the bedchamber to complete her toilette.
It was final, then. She would never wed. Everyone understood that now. Although she’d never been quite so adamant with her sisters before, it was something she’d known for a long time.
Why then did the prospect suddenly make her feel so sad?
His cold heart began to melt …
Adam was resting on the linen-covered straw mattress of an alcove bed in the small guest bedchamberhe’d been assigned when he sensed someone tiptoeing into his room, uninvited and unannounced.
He’d lain down on the bed after returning from a bath in the sweat house, never intending to sleep before the evening meal. But the mattress was so comfortable and he must have been more tired than he’d realized, for he’d soon dozed off.
His eyes opened to mere slits, then shot wide open. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed to the rush-covered floor. For the love of the Lord! He should have pretended to be still sleeping. How was he going to handle this latest disaster?
Standing before him was Alrek, his skin pink-scrubbed and his pale hair washed and clubbed back at the nape with a leather thong. Worn but clean garments covered his skinny form.
Standing behind him was a boy of about eight. He kept peeking around Alrek’s arms, gazing at Adam as if he were some fascinating creature. God knows what Alrek had been saying about him. Calling him the Miracle maker, he would wager.
A toddler of no more than two was clinging to Alrek’s neck, her chubby legs wrapped around his hips. Her blond hair had been clumsily braided and secured into a crown atop her head. She was adorable.
Another girl stood at Alrek’s other side.
“I wanted you to meet me fam’ly,” Alrek explained quickly, sensing Adam’s rising vexation. The boy was pestsome beyond belief.
“This is me brother, Tunni.” Alrek indicated with a jerk of his head the youthling standing shyly behind him. “He’s eight … the man of the fam’ly when I’m off a-Viking.”
Oh, bloody hell!
“And this heavy bundle is Besji.” He shifted his hold on the toddler’s bottom cradled in the crook of his right arm. She must indeed be heavy for the boy to carry about.
He should probably offer to help.
But he wouldn’t.
“Besji is two. Thank the Lord she can hold her piss these days till she gets to the garderobe. What a job it was fer me and Tunni to be changing her linens every five minutes, or so it seemed. Babes do piss a lot, you know.”
Yea, I know. I took care of Adela at that young age.
Which brought him to the absolute worst part of this whole scenario: the little girl, about four years old, who held tightly on to Alrek’s other hand.
“And this is Kristin.”
Her blond hair hung loose to the shoulders of her garment … an ankle-length shift covered with an open-sided, full-length apron. The thumb of her free hand was planted firmly in her rosebud mouth.
Adela,
he thought, and could have wept at the bittersweet resemblance.
“Why are you here?” he snapped.
Alrek flinched, but, stubborn snot that he was, he raised his chin and said, “We’re jest here to welcome you to Stoneheim. We’re jest bein’ friendly like.”
That is
Similar Books
