LordoftheKeep Read Online Free PDF Page B

He
reached out and lifted her chin, ignoring the child. With great solicitude, he
inspected the bruise on her temple, then wordlessly removed his hand and turned
away.
    Like a frightened rabbit in a burrow, Emma snuggled into the
blankets, her breath short until the door closed behind him. ‘Twas her injury,
she told herself, that made her blood pound in her head, increasing the pain
and leaving her confused. She slipped the loose shift down and fed her hungry
babe.
    She didn’t know how to proceed. Should she arise? Should she
search about for her clothing? Was she to eat at the long linen-draped table
she saw on the far side of the bedchamber? With great indecision, Emma remained
buried in the huge bed, her nose the only thing visible above the covers, a
sated Angelique tucked tightly at her side.
    A stout serving woman with red cheeks and frizzled gray
locks appeared at the door laden with a tray. She plunked it on the long,
draped table with a grunt of relief and beamed at them.
    “My name be Meara, Mistress. May I help ye rise?”
    “Aye.” Emma shoved back the coverlet, her hand lingering on
the linen sheet that separated her from the woolen blankets and soft furs. She
savored the fine weave, smooth and lustrous. “Thank you,” Emma said to Meara
when the woman helped her to the oaken chair in which Lord Gilles had sat.
Perched atop it was a carved hawk in flight, a snake clutched in its talons. It
loomed over her shoulder as if to make sure she did not steal from the tray.
    “Ye’ll be cold.” Meara rummaged in a nearby iron-strapped
coffer and then wrapped Emma’s shoulders in a spare blanket. Emma pressed her
nose into the cloth for it held the scent of man, the scent of leather and
weapons laid up after being well-oiled. She knew the scent from her father. For
a moment, she missed her cheerful father as if his death had been but yesterday
and not five long years before. His death had meant the difference between
living in a stone house with a fire and plenty of food and living in Simon’s
hovel with only scraps for the table.
    Meara whipped off the napkin that covered the dishes,
releasing the scents of rich gravy and freshly baked bread.
    “Is all of this for us?” Emma gaped at the tray. The food
arrayed before her represented enough food to feed a family of four. The
delicious aroma made her head swim. Intangible memories of another time brought
tears to her eyes.
    “Aye. ‘Is lordship ordered it so. ‘Tis just for ye—and the
babe. Have ye need of anything else, Mistress? ‘Is lordship said yer to have
whatever ye need.” Meara stood before Emma awaiting her wishes just as if Emma
were a fine lady.
    “I-I can think of nothing. We are most grateful to you for
your service.”
    Meara nodded, patted Angelique’s head, and silently left the
room. Emma turned back to the feast before her. The trencher, a slab of day-old
bread, held a rich meat dish thick with onions and gravy. Its aroma tantalized
and set her mouth watering as she tore off tiny slivers of the trencher, sopped
them well in gravy, and fed them to Angelique. She would soon need to wean
Angelique. A hungry mother did not produce much of a milk supply for a
developing child. On the other hand, she also knew a child weaned too soon had
less chance of living past three summers.
    Emma forced herself to eat slowly and savor the fare. A
polished pewter salver held fruit. When she tentatively tasted of the dish, she
realized it was pears poached in a delicate wine and honey syrup. Ambrosia,
fit for the gods , she thought.
    Warm goat’s milk, also sweetened with honey, completed the
repast. Emma held the cup to her daughter’s lips and stroked her warm, silky
tresses, urging her to try the new drink. Her own mother had much loved a cup
of honey-sweetened milk.
    When their bellies were full, Emma resisted the urge to lick
the pewter plate clean. She set it aside with great care, then hefted Angelique
to her shoulder and paced before the