Knight In My Bed Read Online Free PDF Page A

him.
    "You've naught to fear," Isolde reassured Bodo before she lifted her hand to rap upon the door. Never would she admit her own nerves were strung as taut as her little dog's appeared to be, nor that her so calm-sounding voice was meant to lend comfort to herself as well.
    But unlike Bodo, Devorgilla and her enchanted glen were not the cause of her agitation.
    Nay, the cause of her tension lay naked and bound in Dunmuir's dungeon.
    Or, and a much more disturbing image, perchance even now, sitting in a washtub, having the grime scrubbed from his flesh in preparation for being hauled above-stairs to her chamber and the service she hoped to induce him to perform there.
    The very thought sent a flood of heat spilling through her, and made her heart spurt into a faster beat.
    Straightening her back against the madness she'd taken upon herself, she raised her hand to knock, but the door swung open before she could.
    The cailleach's tricolored cat, Mab, slipped through the opening, rubbing herself against Isolde's legs before sauntering off into the shadows without so much as a sideways glance at Bodo, who snarled his displeasure at the feline's familiarity toward his mistress.
    "Welcome, lassie, have yourself in," the crone greeted her, a wealth of wisdom and compassion in her cloudy eyes.
    Isolde swept past her into the low-ceilinged interior, Bodo hard on her heels. The cottage's tidy homey ness quickly unravelled what tenuous hold she'd kept on her nerves.
    "You must give me more of the potion." The words came out in a rush and the desperation in her voice only unsettled her more. "I would know what you think of him. Is he the me? Pray tell me he is not."
    Rather than answer her, the cailleach carefully closed the door and turned around with excruciating slowness.
    A deliberate slowness Isolde suspected had naught to do with the natural limitations of the diminutive Devorgilla's age-bent bones.
    "I must know. He --" she began, but the crone silenced her with one sage look.
    “So many wants, my child," Devorgilla said, her voice annoyingly calm. "And such irritation thrumming through you. By the grace of the Mother, I vow I can hear the racing of you heart."
    "You do not understand ..." Isolde let her objection trail off when the cailleach lifted one straggly brow.
    Ignoring Isolde's agitation, Devorgilla turned her attention to a dark-haired lad of about nine years who sat on a bench against the far wall, stuffing moss and ferns into a worn bed pallet. "Lugh, fetch a cup of heather ale for the lady Isolde, and a fresh bone for her dog. Then be gone with you for a while. The lady and I have matters to discuss not fit for your young ears."
    The lad set aside his work and stood, a red stain coloring his cheeks. He gave Isolde a shy glance and a nod, then pushed aside a hanging partition of woven straw not far from where he'd been sitting, and disappeared into the darkness beyond.
    Isolde listened to him moving about in the small larder that opened off the cottage's main room, and tried to ignore the hunger-stirring aroma of smoked ham and dried beef wafting out from behind the straw mat.
    She had more serious issues to deal with than the rumblings of her empty stomach.
    The partition moved again, and Lugh returned with a filled-to-the-brim cup of heather-scented ale for Isolde, and a good-sized bone for Bodo. His mistress momentarily forgotten, the little dog dashed forward and snatched the bone from the lad's fingers.
    A stew bone with a nice portion of meat still clinging to it. Isolde's mouth watered at the sight, and she swallowed back the near overpowering urge to ask the crone's great-great-grandson to fetch her a spot of victuals as well.
    As if reading Isolde's mind, Devorgilla laid a gnarled hand on Isolde's arm. "Would you like a bowl of rabbit stew?" Her hazy-eyed gaze went to the bubbling cauldron suspended over the central hearth fire. "I've some fresh bread almost finished," she added, glancing toward the circular