Linda Skye Read Online Free PDF Page B

what her mother and father were doing. Had mother used herbs from her garden to make the pottage? Surely, the news of their good fortune must have already reached their ears—perhaps they were celebrating with some village ale?
    A slight smile tugged at Giselle’s lips as she swept up the last remaining bits of ash and straightened. She swiped at her brow with the back of her wrist and imagined them sitting at the old wooden table in their cruck house, the light from their smoky fire pit casting orange shadows on everything in its reach. It was a warm, happy thought—and one that suddenly seemed distant when she remembered where she was.
    She bent forward again quickly, remembering that the lord could return at any moment. With a few confident strokes against a spark rock, the fire caught and greedily consumed the kindling. Giselle carefully nursed the fledgling flame until it was a roaring blaze. Then she stood, dusting her hands off on the front of her woollen tunic.
    Now to warm the bed…
    Giselle looked from the bed to the fireplace and back again. How was she to warm the bed? Her eyes searched the chamber for any ideas on how to accomplish her last task of the evening. She eyed the large basin of warmed water. Placing it on top of the mattress would warm up one spot, but she risked spilling it. A soggy bedspread was definitely not an option. She looked to the fire. She could put some burning wood into the pail and put that on the bed, but the ash might spread and it would be horrible to clean up afterward. Giselle shook her head. There was only one option.
    Determined, she grabbed the ends of the thick bedspread with both hands and pulled, trying to gather all of the voluminous material in her arms. With the expensive quilt piled high in her arms, she cautiously made her way to the hearth.
    It was at that moment that the young lord decided to retire to his bedchambers.
    “What are you doing?” Eustache asked, bewildered at the sight of his maid about to throw his bed sheets into the fire.
    “Mon seigneur!” Giselle exclaimed, turning and nearly dropping the heavy fabric, “Pardon me. I was just warming your bed.”
    When Eustache just stared at her blankly, Giselle began to shift from foot to foot nervously. Had she pressed her advantage too far?
    “It won’t be a minute, mon seigneur ,” she assured him.
    Eustache strode over and abruptly took the large bundle from her arms. Ignoring her squeak of protest, he took the sheets back to the bed and threw them down haphazardly.
    “I think you have misunderstood,” Eustache said, his voice gruff. “Warming my bed does not involve heating the sheets by fire.”
    He looked over his shoulder at Giselle, who frowned, her brows puckering adorably.
    “You still do not understand?” he asked, clearly disgruntled.
    “Mon seigneur,” Giselle mumbled, hastily dropping into a curtsey, “please pardon me if I have offended you. I did not—”
    Eustache coughed into his fist, stopping her apology mid-sentence.
    “I am not offended,” he corrected her. He paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It is a simple misunderstanding. I do not wish for you to warm my bed with coals or fire.” He stopped again to clear his throat. “I wish for you to warm my bed with…” He paused awkwardly and then said, “Your body.”
    “My body?” Giselle asked, tilting her head to one side.
    Realisation suddenly struck her, and a rosy blush blossomed on her cheeks.
    “I see,” she murmured.
    All of a sudden, she was keenly aware of the scant distance between them and of his burning gaze on her body. His fingers were tightly clenched, and his spine was straight. He seemed taller and more intimidating than ever, his taciturn expression hard as stone. But when he frowned, his brows furrowing ever so slightly, Giselle caught a glimpse of something else.
    It was just a slight twitch in his lips, a muscle clenching at his jaw—but she still saw it. As she studied his demeanour more