Lindsay Townsend Read Online Free PDF Page B

of alleys. She
pointed blindly right, cursing herself for her blunder in reminding Stephen of
his dead wife and causing him grief, then realized too late that she had told
him wrong. This way they were heading for the Vintry ,
the district of the wine merchants, a place of busy wharfs, warehouses and wine
stalls, the place where her father did his business.
    The thought of her father seeing her, spotting and ignoring
her, as he always did whenever their paths crossed these days, made her
shudder.
    “Hey there. I would not have you faint again, or your
kin will think me a ravisher.”
    Stephen sounded truly concerned and she was ashamed
afresh.
    “Shall we set down a moment, take a little wine?” he
went on. “This is the Vintry , I think, so we should be well served.” His full lips
twitched, in returning good humour. “I can even ask a good-wife to stay by you
as a companion, so your betrothed does not object.”
    “I know very well where we are and I have no
betrothed. I am a widow,” she responded tartly, seizing the chance to say it.
Before he could say more she decided she would prove she was no fainting
creature, lest he consider her soft. She seized the strut of an overhanging
jetty with both arms, lifted herself away from him, swung and dropped neatly
onto a house-step.
    “Do you like wine?” she asked, as if what she had just
done was the most natural thing in the world. Pride compelled her to add, “I
know where to find the best in London, especially the spiced sort.”
    Silently he dismounted and strode alongside her where,
with her standing on the step, their heads were exactly level. He looked kind
again, and amused, and overall very much as if he longed to tweak her hair in
its gold crespine .
    His lips hovered so close to hers that she could smell
his breath and see the tiny folds and creases of his mouth. Would he kiss her
again? Should she kiss him?
    He smiled instead, and offered her his arm. “Well
enough, Mistress Isabella, so lead on,” he said.
    ****
    Isabella was an intriguing widow, Stephen decided, as
they strolled beside the riverbank between the wharfs, passing a small skin of piment wine back and forth as they walked and talked. She was an enticing mixture of
bold and shy—blushing easily but “escaping” from his horse. She had a rich and
varied knowledge of wine. The one she had suggested he buy, flavoured with
cloves, ginger, honey and other spices, was very good. She had offered to pay
for it, too, but he had refused at once.
    “This is my suggestion, mistress, and I am glad to
pay,” he told her and the smiling wine merchant, and he had not troubled to
haggle, so content he had been with how the day was going.
    “What is this called again?” he asked now, shaking the
skin.
    “Hippocras. Do you like it?”
    “Very much.” He passed her the skin for the pleasure
of watching her take a sip and of seeing her long white throat as she tipped
back her head and swallowed. She had removed her gloves and he enjoyed seeing
her slim, nimble fingers at work. She had the knack, too, which he had never
mastered, of drinking from a wine-skin with delicacy, without spilling a drop.
    “Are you a vintner's child?” he asked, picking up a
stick and throwing it along the river-side path for his dog. His docile gray horse shook its mane but remained content to be
simply led.
    “Once, yes,” she replied, a curious answer which she
clearly knew was odd because she at once began asking him about the court, who
so-and-so was like and what Queen Philippa looked like.
    He answered readily—no need to do other—and told her a
little of his own work, pleased when she asked him questions concerning his
craft. The creaking treadmill cranes of wine wharf was behind them by this time
and they were closing on a group of women washing clothes by the water's edge
when she stopped suddenly and turned about.
    “We should go back. My family will be anxious.”
    “Of course.” He offered his arm, which