Llyrica’s ear as he rose to escort the boy. “Well done,” he whispered, helping her to her feet. He disappeared with Elfric behind the wall of men still congregating around the scene of the accident.
“Return to your hiding place.” Slayde took a step toward Llyrica. “Dare not interfere again.” Crisp, aromatic, the scent on his breath was a curious enticement at odds with the intimidation she felt at his hard, imposing closeness.
“I deem it not interference to comfort a child. Anyone with a heart would do so. His own mother would do so.”
Black eyes flashed on Slayde’s emotionless face. “His mother is dead. And he is well past the age of babying and must see the world as a man. Go back behind the loom. You need rest, I would say, if you are to begin work on redipping tunicas.” He gave her a bored look. “Besides, I have no desire for further debate.” Treating her much the same as he had Elfric, Slayde nudged her toward the loom with a pat on her backside. “Off with you, now.” Laughter rippled through the gathering.
She did not react well to condescension, turned on her heel to confront him. “Interference or not, I would do it again ... coddle him and let the poor boy cry in my arms. I would warrant you have gone without tenderness and hence grew that stone heart for which you are named.”
“You know nothing of it.” He looked at the men standing around, then increased his height by several inches. “In fact, I imagine if you were to raise a boy, he would be worthless to the world, as he would be wholly tied to his dependence on you and your mothering.”
With a stuttered gasp, Llyrica clutched at her heart from the blow his words. A small consolation, his tight mouth seemed to twitch in discomfort at her reaction. “So I would mother him.” Tears burned at the thought of her wayward brother. “But he would know he was loved, though he might be worthless to the world. You, on the other hand, may be of use to the world. But do you know if you are loved?” She turned and ran to the loom, hiding behind it on a bed of wool.
Patronizing laughter chased her departure, but she barely heard it nor Slayde’s announcement that the stronger ale be brought forth so that the hard drinking could begin. Broder filled her thoughts, her memories of him, her present worry, and now the fresh doubt that said she loved him too much for his own good.
She wondered how it would all turn out, this business with Haesten. Her father … and Broder’s, too.
Chapter IV
I place my heart into your keep, then take yours as my own.
And you may have my love so deep, since yours is all I have known.
The breeze that blew through the dark, quiet hall felt cool across her face and toes. But it did not cut through the heat as it should have. Perhaps the wool beneath her was to blame, since she was but covered in peach linen. She remembered Byrnstan bidding her a God’s good night behind the loom, his assurance that the last drunken man had long stumbled from the hall. He had reported that Slayde, Elfric and he were off to bed in the loft above. Soon after, she had stripped off her cemes and cyrtel to sleep unfettered as she was wont to do, in the safe place between wall and loom.
She awakened to this heat that pressed upon her, and though she discovered it was not unwelcome and proved strangely familiar, she could not fathom its source.
Until it nuzzled her shoulder and murmured unintelligibly.
Slayde, more nude than she, since she was covered in fabric and he was not, lay stretched out beside her on the wool. One hard muscled arm rested across her ribcage. One leg, adept at treading water, draped across her thigh then hooked a foot around her ankle. The remains of his body weighted nearly atop her, and his head, with hair spilled over one of her breasts, nestled in the hollow below her collarbone. His unmistakable manpart, more firmly fleshed at rest than Xanthus’ had been at effort, pressed
“Return to your hiding place.” Slayde took a step toward Llyrica. “Dare not interfere again.” Crisp, aromatic, the scent on his breath was a curious enticement at odds with the intimidation she felt at his hard, imposing closeness.
“I deem it not interference to comfort a child. Anyone with a heart would do so. His own mother would do so.”
Black eyes flashed on Slayde’s emotionless face. “His mother is dead. And he is well past the age of babying and must see the world as a man. Go back behind the loom. You need rest, I would say, if you are to begin work on redipping tunicas.” He gave her a bored look. “Besides, I have no desire for further debate.” Treating her much the same as he had Elfric, Slayde nudged her toward the loom with a pat on her backside. “Off with you, now.” Laughter rippled through the gathering.
She did not react well to condescension, turned on her heel to confront him. “Interference or not, I would do it again ... coddle him and let the poor boy cry in my arms. I would warrant you have gone without tenderness and hence grew that stone heart for which you are named.”
“You know nothing of it.” He looked at the men standing around, then increased his height by several inches. “In fact, I imagine if you were to raise a boy, he would be worthless to the world, as he would be wholly tied to his dependence on you and your mothering.”
With a stuttered gasp, Llyrica clutched at her heart from the blow his words. A small consolation, his tight mouth seemed to twitch in discomfort at her reaction. “So I would mother him.” Tears burned at the thought of her wayward brother. “But he would know he was loved, though he might be worthless to the world. You, on the other hand, may be of use to the world. But do you know if you are loved?” She turned and ran to the loom, hiding behind it on a bed of wool.
Patronizing laughter chased her departure, but she barely heard it nor Slayde’s announcement that the stronger ale be brought forth so that the hard drinking could begin. Broder filled her thoughts, her memories of him, her present worry, and now the fresh doubt that said she loved him too much for his own good.
She wondered how it would all turn out, this business with Haesten. Her father … and Broder’s, too.
Chapter IV
I place my heart into your keep, then take yours as my own.
And you may have my love so deep, since yours is all I have known.
The breeze that blew through the dark, quiet hall felt cool across her face and toes. But it did not cut through the heat as it should have. Perhaps the wool beneath her was to blame, since she was but covered in peach linen. She remembered Byrnstan bidding her a God’s good night behind the loom, his assurance that the last drunken man had long stumbled from the hall. He had reported that Slayde, Elfric and he were off to bed in the loft above. Soon after, she had stripped off her cemes and cyrtel to sleep unfettered as she was wont to do, in the safe place between wall and loom.
She awakened to this heat that pressed upon her, and though she discovered it was not unwelcome and proved strangely familiar, she could not fathom its source.
Until it nuzzled her shoulder and murmured unintelligibly.
Slayde, more nude than she, since she was covered in fabric and he was not, lay stretched out beside her on the wool. One hard muscled arm rested across her ribcage. One leg, adept at treading water, draped across her thigh then hooked a foot around her ankle. The remains of his body weighted nearly atop her, and his head, with hair spilled over one of her breasts, nestled in the hollow below her collarbone. His unmistakable manpart, more firmly fleshed at rest than Xanthus’ had been at effort, pressed
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