The Reckoning - 3 by Sharon Kay Penman Page B

do not want a maiden," he said, politely masking his skepticism, for he equated whorehouse virgins with unicorns and like mythical beasts. "I am not seeking a child. I
want a whore who does not look like one, a lass who knows how to coax a man along, to keep him from spilling his seed too soon."
She hastily lowered her lashes so her surprise would not show. She prided herself upon her ability to size up a man's needs, and for this inglese, she would have picked Anna, who boasted she could set a bed afire without need of flint and tinder. Rapidly reassessing, she said thoughtfully, "I do have just such a one. She was christened Lucia, but we call her Serafina, so sweet is her voice, so angelic her smile."
"A seraph?" Bran echoed, amused. Even allowing for the inevitable exaggeration in any sales pitch, Serafina still sounded promising. And when the girl herself appeared, slim and graceful and very young, he nodded approvingly.
"Yes, she will do. But she's not for me. I'll take Anna, the wanton who was sitting on my lap. Serafina is for my squire." And reaching for the girl's hand, he led her across the room to Hugh.
"Your birthday gift, lad," he said, and could not help laughing at the astonished look on the boy's face. Serafina was not as diffident as the bawd claimed; linking her arm in Hugh's, she sought to steer him toward the stairs.
But he resisted, grabbing Bran's sleeve and pulling him into the stairwell with them.
"What is it, Hugh? Is she not to your liking?"
"No, she . . . she is very pretty. But my lord, the monks at Evesham Abbey taught us that whoring is a mortal sin!" Hugh had not meant to blurt it out like that. He bit his lip in dismay, for he did not think he could bear to be laughed at, not by Bran. But Bran did not laugh.
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"Well, it is hard to dispute that, Hugh. The Church does indeed hold fornication to be a sin. But to be honest, lad, few men could endure an entire summer of drought; we all need a little rain in our lives. For what it is worth, I think there are very few sins that God could not forgive. Now I would suggest you follow Serafina above-stairs; you'd not want her to lose face before the others, would you? After that follow your conscience." Bran turned to go, then swung back, his grin at last breaking free. "But whatever you decide to do, lad, I hope you'll brag about it afterward to Noel!"
THE chamber was so cramped that the bed seemed to reach from wall to wall.
There was one shuttered window, a trestle table, a washing laver, a chamber pot, and a wick lamp, sputtering in a bowl of pungent fish oil. But the bed linen looked reasonably clean and there was a large flagon of wine cooling in the laver. Serafina sat down upon the bed, kicked off her shoes. She knew some of the other women wasted no time, began by bluntly instructing their customers to wash their privy members, but she preferred to ease into it, to pretend she was being seduced, not sold; she was fourteen and still in need of illusions. She smiled, asked Hugh to help her with the laces of her gown, before remembering that he didn't speak Tuscan. He had not yet moved from the door, looked as if he might bolt at any moment. She was perplexed by his behavior, and hobbled by their lack of language. She had been proud that she'd been chosen for this young inglese with the bright flaxen hair, but it no longer seemed such an honor. What was he waiting for? Most men pounced upon her ere she could even get her clothes off. She'd never bedded an inglese before; were they all so shy? She sighed, lay back on the bed in a seductive pose, and looked at him expectantly.
Hugh was discovering that Serafina's silence spoke louder than any voice of conscience. His brain and body no longer worked in harmony, were suddenly at war. His head was filled with thoughts of sin, but Barnabas was throbbing with urgent need, caring naught for hellfire or the monks of Evesham. Jesu, she was so pretty, with dark eyes like Juliana and a mouth that needed no