The Tempest Read Online Free PDF Page B

raise her voice to him again, and he was prepared this time to make her shrink in fear when she refused.
    But he was quite surprised when she turned and walked away, coming back a few moments later with a mug.
    “Here is broth. It will restore your energy.”
    He balked at the offering. “Broth? I asked for food, woman. Have you no ability to understand?”
    She shook her head. “I am sorry, but it would not be wise for you to ingest solid food right away. You have been ill, and your stomach may not hold its contents.”
    He wanted to fight with her. He was tempted to reach out and knock the cup from her hands, to see it spilled and broken on the floor. But he was too weary now to act on his angry impulse…and too in need of sustenance to refuse what she offered him. He attempted to take if from her, but his hands shook quite badly. Starving for nourishment, he allowed her to bring the cup to his lips as he drank the warm and salty liquid. For a few moments he allowed her to be near as she fed him. But when the cup was empty, he pushed her hand away.
    “Go. Leave me be.”
    Obediently she bowed her head. But as she turned away from him, he caught a sharp little gleam in her eye. It was that look of haughtiness…that same one she’d worn just a few moments ago when she’d applied the ice to his foot. She was a troublesome wench, and if it wasn’t for his being so weary, he would have berated her properly.
    But that would have to do for another time. A time when he wasn’t falling under the power of sleep, which he soon succumbed to in full.
     
    * * * * *
     
    liquiany days he remained, for the most part, in a state of exhaustion. It seemed to be something he could not help…as if some spell was cast over him to make him always weak and weary. At first, he wondered if the woman…or perhaps her father…were participants of black magic. He’d heard stories that peasants were often found to be doing such works of the devil. Maybe they were slowly poisoning him, weakening him day by day.
    But as time went by, he saw no signs of witchcraft. One or both of them was always in the room, seeing to the smallest of his needs. He could not imagine them having time to practice dark arts, not when they were always so occupied.
    All of his life he’d had servants around him, but he’d never been so dependent on people as he was forced to be with this woman and her father. He could not get up from the bed on his own, and having to rely on two peasants, even for the smallest of things, was the epitome of degradation.
    Their devotion did little to ease his darkness of mind and spirit, even though they saw to even the smallest detail of his needs. They kept the room neat as a pin, always sweeping and cleaning to ease the smells of sickness. They changed the horrible bedding every few days. It was a straw mattress he lay on, and not the soft feathers he was used to. Who knew what manner of vermin he might be lying with if it weren’t for the fact that they kept the bedding fresh.
    But it was all of little consolation.
    Being so cooped up, so idle, was not something he was accustomed to, and he could not help taking it out on those that tended to him. They had taken this chore upon themselves when they’d found him, and it was his opinion that they should accept his dark moods whether they wanted to or not.
    If only the woman could have gotten such a notion into her head.
    For the most part she was a quiet creature…always diligent in what she was doing. But now and again he caught those searing glances of hers. They were always slight, as if she were trying to disguise them. But he managed to see them most times…and they were a strange contrast to her usual manner, which was most often calm and kind, no matter how he treated her.
    He watched her now, coming into the room. It was evening, and he fully expected to be brought his usual meal of soup. He was tired of liquid meals, and watching her come forward with a bowl in her