Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

buttoning the placket to her chin, and recognizing it was made from fine broadcloth as she did so. It fit well, too, curving down to cover her loins, while a corresponding length of material fell at the back to cloak her buttocks. Morgan ran her hands along the edges of the sleeves, creasing them.
    “So, where did ye learn it?” he asked.
    She glanced over at him. The water’s warmth had brought an opaque mist to the air hovering directly above it, and she saw his head like a disembodied piece of him. Then she saw an arm, the other, then both as he washed himself.
    “ I may have taught myself, and I may not have,” she answered the ghost-like figure she was watching.
    “ How are you with a bow?”
    The kilt he’d given her was of the finest, tightest weave she’d ever felt, and Morgan ran it through her hands to feel it. It was made of such thinly spun, wool strands, she could twist the width in her hands and it was thinner than her braid. “Why?” she asked.
    “ I like to know my own people. You’ve a talent. I want to know the extent of it. It may be of use to me in the future.”
    It was a good thing she couldn’t see where he’d gone to as he said that. Such arrogance! she thought, then recalled. He was a FitzHugh. Their arrogance was legendary: the world existed to be trod upon and taken. She swallowed the quick retort. Until she got her dirks back, or any weapon for that matter, she was curbing her tongue. She didn’t like his use of brute force.
    “I’ ve no talent with a bow,” she replied.
    “Pity,” was h is answer.
    Morgan put on the belt he’d included. Although it was too dark to tell for certain, she could feel that it was worked from expensive leather from the thickness of it. She ran her fingers along the length, touching on the whipcord stitching. It had no weak spots, unlike her own worn, rawhide-braided one. She clasped it about her waist, shaking her head as it fell to her hips. That was probably a good thing. A waist like hers didn’t belong to any boy.
    “ How about a hand-ax?” he asked.
    “Rare ly held one,” she answered.
    “That’s not surprising. Weapons only recently being made legal, and that due to our new king. Where did you get your dirks?”
    “I had them made, and then paid for them with barter I earned ,” she answered.
    “ Earned from stealin’ from the dead?”
    “I earned it with my skill. Not stealing. ”
    “ You did na’ take them from the dead?”
    “ What dead Scot would have a weapon? Dinna’ you just tell me they’ve but recently become legal for us?”
    “There’s just so much of your tongue that I’ll take, lad. Answer me square. That battlefield was probably littered with Scots’ weapons, legal or na’. Why else would you be leading a group of lads through it like you were?”
    Morgan sucked in on the surprise. He was brighter than she’d suspected. Much brighter. She lifted the calf-high socks he was giving her and slid them on, sitting when she was done to pull on the boots he’d brought for her. To her surprise, they were nearly a perfect fit. She’d never had that happen before. Boots she could afford were usually full of holes from wear, and out of shape, and always too tight. His other squire must have been a large lad. She looked down at her feet, spread her toes wide, and somehow managed to keep the joy from showing. “You see that much, did you?” she asked, finally.
    “ My head was hit. My eyes worked fine.”
    “Then, you would have noted that I stole nothing. I don’t steal from anyone, living or dead.”
    That stopped his questioning for a bit, and she listened for any response. All she heard was the liquid gurgle of the water from the burn he stood in.
    “I suppose that could be true ,” he said.
    Morgan stiffened and had to bite her tongue. She was taking as much abuse as a KilCreggar was supposed to take without retaliation. The fact it was a FitzHugh parceling it out made it harder to swallow and set aside.