Medieval 01 - Untamed Read Online Free PDF Page B

your lord’s bath?” Simon asked.
    The squire nodded quickly.
    â€œThen see to your lord’s supper. A mug of ale, perhaps. Several, actually. Cold meat. Cheese. Has the kitchen managed a decent pudding yet?”
    â€œI don’t know, sir.”
    â€œFind out.”
    â€œAnd while you’re about it,” Dominic cut in, “find where my betrothed is hiding!”
    The boy left the room with unseemly speed, forgetting to pull the drapery into place behind him.
    â€œHe has fought Turks with less fear,” Simon said as he straightened the drapery so that it cut off all drafts from the doorway. “You frighten the child.”
    The sound Dominic made was more growl than answer.
    â€œIs your peregrine ill?” Simon asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWere the mews badly kept?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œShould I find a handmaiden to attend your bath?”
    â€œGod’s blood, no!” Dominic said. “I need no whey-faced wenches sniveling over my scars.”
    When Simon spoke again, his voice was as flinty as his older brother’s.
    â€œThen perhaps you would like some practice with sword and shield?” Simon suggested softly. “I will be delighted to do the honors.”
    Dominic spun toward his brother and gave him a measuring glance.
    For a few taut moments, Simon thought he would get the fight he had suggested.
    Abruptly Dominic let out an explosive breath.
    â€œYou sound irritated, Simon.”
    â€œJust following your lead.”
    â€œUm. I see.” Beneath Dominic’s beard, the corner of his mouth kicked up slightly. “Will you attend my bath, brother? I trust no one else at my back in this keep.”
    â€œI was going to suggest that very thing. I like it not that your betrothed evades you and your host is ‘too ill’ to greet you in a proper manner.”
    â€œAye,” Dominic said grimly. Dominic unfastened the big Norse pin holding his cape in place and tossed the fur-trimmed cloth over the trestle table standing near the door.
    The cape settled over the small chest Simon had brought into the room and set the candle flames to shivering in their holders. Also on the table was a pot of soft soap.
    Simon lifted the lid and sniffed.
    â€œSpice. And a bit of rose, I believe.” He looked at Dominic, blandly, trying not to show his amusement.
    â€œGod save me,” Dominic said without heat. “I’ll smell like a sultan’s harem.”
    Simon’s black eyes danced. He snickered behind his blond beard, but was careful not to laugh out loud.
    With quick motions, Dominic laid aside the rest of his clothes, completing the burial of the small chest. In the wavering light, the long scar that cut diagonally across his muscular arm and torso had the nacreous shine of a pearl.
    Dominic stepped into the bath and sat, threatening to send water overflowing out onto the floor. He made a sound of pleasure as the hot water lapped to his chin, easing the ache that came from his old injury when he was particularly tired.
    â€œSoap?” Simon asked blandly.
    Dominic held out his hand. A glob of soap plopped onto his palm. A fragrance that was almost familiar drifted up to his nostrils. Frowning, trying to remember where he had smelled that scent before, Dominic began working the soap into his hair and beard.
    â€œNow,” he said through the lather, “explain this nonsense about the lord of Blackthorne Keep being cursed.”
    â€œHis wife was a witch.”
    â€œThe same could be said of many wives.”
    Simon laughed curtly. “Aye, but Lady Anna was Glendruid.”
    Dominic’s hands paused in their scrubbing of beard and hair. “Glendruid…Have I heard that name?”
    â€œThey’re a Celtic clan,” Simon explained. “A kind of matriarchy, from what I can discover.”
    â€œHell’s teeth, what foolishness,” Dominic muttered.
    With that, he lowered himself completely