Authors: Teresa Medeiros
“What in the hell is all this caterwauling?”
Conn’s furious voice startled her. She jumped to her feet, dropping the brush into the bucket with a splash that wet them both.
“I thought someone had skinned a cat and left it to die in the corridor,” he bellowed, ignoring her arched eyebrow and twitching lips. “Can’t a man get a decent night’s rest in his own chambers?”
Gelina stood with her back straight for a long moment before remembering the obligatory curtsy due the king. “I beg your pardon, sire. I assumed you were below, enjoying the merriment.”
“As you can see, I’m not. I’ve been trying to sleep for hours. Just when I begin to drift off, I awake to the nightmarish sound of your”—he paused suggestively, searching for the right word—“singing.”
He turned on his heel and strode back to his chamber. “Come with me,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Gelina looked behind her. “Who? Me?”
He did not dignify that with an answer, and she followed him into his chamber with trepidation.
“Close the door,” he commanded. Seeing her hesitate, he added softly, “Please.”
She shut the door slowly, mistrusting his gentle plea more than his bullying commands. He pulled his tunic over his head and she took a step backward, replacing her hand on the door handle. He ignored the wide eyes fixed on the crisp mat of dark hair that covered his chest.
“Rub my shoulders, please,” he said, as he straddled the couch.
“Yes, sire.” She let go of the door and curtsied again.
“And would you quit bobbing up and down? I find it very distracting.”
She approached the couch with all of the enthusiasm she might show in approaching a lizard. She settled herself behind him, jumping when he turned his face to her.
“You aren’t armed, are you?”
Her lips twitched. “No, sire.”
His gaze remained on her face with a warmth that sent a flush shooting upward to the roots of her hair. “But you’re always armed, aren’t you?”
“I don’t understand.”
“That is fortunate. You would be even more dangerous if you did,” he said, presenting his back to her.
“My hands may be rough,” she said. Her palms curled around his warm shoulders.
Conn shifted his weight to hide the shudder that traveled the length of his body and grunted an answer that was no answer. Her hands kneaded his broad shoulders and moved downward, her gentle fingers finding the knotted muscles of his back with uncanny accuracy. He stifled a groan of delicate agony as her fingertips probed his tingling skin into slumped submission.
Gelina swallowed a yawn, the long hours since Cook had shaken her out of bed a blur in her mind. Her touch against Conn’s skin grew soft, her own muscles betraying her exhaustion. The teasing caress of her fingernails brought gooseflesh to Conn’s arms. Her hands stopped their motion, and he twisted around, a burning question etched on his tense features.
Her eyes were closed; her dark lashes lay against her pale cheeks; her small breasts rose and fell evenly. Conn smiled at the sleeping nymph sprawled on his couch and let her hands fall gently to her lap. He reached out a hand to fondle a stray curl, then jerked it back as Nimbus’s words flicked across his conscience like a whip. His smile faded.
He ached to take her soft face between his hands and kiss away the faint circles beneath her eyes. The fire that had been ignited in the cavern smote his soul, rendering him weak limbed and fearful of where his hands might touch should he reach out to her. It had been sheer torment not to touch her in the past weeks. And now she lay before him like a trusting child, stirring in her sleep with a moan that drove into his heart like a sword.
With a decision that wrenched his heart, he planted a soft kiss on her brow before shaking her awake with the cold, impersonal hands of a stranger.
Gelina’s hands flew as she sliced the steaming loaf of bread. One hunk flew from her fingers and landed on the floor. Without glancing around, she scooped it up and replaced it on the plate.
“Gelina!”
Cook’s voice grated against her nerves. She tossed the soiled bread into a nearby bin. The plump blonde filling the earthenware plates across from her giggled.
“Hold your tongue, Audren. I’ve seen you do the same thing a hundred times.” Gelina flashed a smile at the good-natured serving girl.
“But I never get caught. Ye’ve got to wait till she’s not looking,” Audren whispered with a wink. To prove her point, she tossed a slice of the bread into her mouth without missing a stroke of her knife before carrying her platter into the great hall.
The door was open to the darkness outside, and a chill fall breeze licked at the heat from the twin cooking hearths at each end of the kitchen. Pausing in her task, Gelina drew in a deep breath. As the cool, sweet air chased the dull smoke from her lungs, she wondered what it would be like to be pounding along the moors on Silent Thunder tonight.
Cook cut short her reverie. “Hasten, girl. Hungry guts make for quarrelsome tempers.”
Motivated by her second scolding, Gelina hefted a tray laden with a stew of onions, lentils, and saffron. Audren came sailing through the door, nearly knocking her down.
“Curses, Audren. Trample me, why don’t you?” Gelina snatched the bowl of pepper from the girl’s tray.
“So sorry. There’s such a crowd out there. I’ve never seen so many handsome faces attached to pinching hands.” She bit her lip, knowing that the king’s hand went to his sword if a man so much as looked at Gelina askance. She spoke quickly to cover the awkward silence. “The Dark Rose has returned.”
Gelina squinted. “The what?”
Audren took the tray from her and set it on the table after a quick peep to see if Cook was watching. She led Gelina to the door and pointed to the table on the dais.
“Sheela—the Dark Rose. They called her that before her husband was killed.” She giggled. “I’ve heard some say that she is rare but easily plucked.”
Gelina stood frozen, fighting the urge to double over. An invisible fist planted itself in her gut. Golden balls bounced at the end of dark curls as languid eyes laughed up at Conn. A calculated blankness fell like a curtain over Gelina’s features.
“Audren, you must help me.” She pulled the girl away from the door and back to the table. “Trade tables with me tonight. I’ll serve the common tables. You serve the king’s table.”
She did not know she was gripping the girl’s wrist until Audren pulled away, rubbing her injured limb. Her eyes shied away from Gelina’s. “I cannot trade with ye. Not even for tonight.”
“Why not?”
“ ‘Tis the king’s command that ye serve his table. Ye must know that.” She began to pile plates on a platter, grateful that the task removed her from Gelina’s stricken gaze.
“Curse the king,” Gelina muttered, turning back to the door.
She watched the dais, biting her lower lip. Sheela wore a long velvet smock of royal blue gathered in deep folds at the waist. On her hands she wore gloves of a lighter blue. The gold of her bracelets flashed with each fluttering gesture.
Gelina stared down at the black linen of her own dress, one hand reaching up to the black kerchief that covered her hair. The dress was marked with awkward stitches from too many repairs done late at night in the faint light of a beeswax candle. The hand that smoothed the fabric was callused and workworn.
With a subtle straightening of her spine, Gelina returned to the tray and lifted it to her shoulder. Audren stared after her as she exited the double doors with head held high.
She weaved among the tables. The dais loomed before her, each soldier a giant to her gaze as the steps unfolded beneath her tattered sandals. Nimbus was squeezed between two large soldiers. His joke faded to silence as he watched her approach. He shot a glance at Conn. The king was nodding to Sheela, but his eyes followed Gelina as she lowered her burden to the table.
Nimbus climbed out of his chair and took a golden plate from her hand, ignoring Conn’s frown. She smiled wanly at him. When only two plates remained, she gestured toward his seat, which he took reluctantly, a scowl on his face.
With steady hands Gelina lowered a plate in front of Sheela, saving the last plate for Conn. The men around the table were subdued. Not one of them could touch their food until the king received his plate. Gelina turned back to the platter. Sheela’s voice rang out.
“I do believe ‘tis the little foundling! I hardly recognized her in that dowdy black. Suits her, does it not? You should have made her a serving wench long ago, Conn.” She laughed, looking to Conn for approval.
Conn sat back in his chair and crossed his long legs. A look that could have been guilt flickered across his countenance. Gelina stopped in her tracks. Nimbus’s lips moved in silent prayer as he recognized the look that brewed like storm clouds in her eyes. Goll MacMorna shook his head in disgust and shot her a sympathetic look. She scooped up the last plate.
“Wench, fetch the bowl of pepper. Make it quick. My food is chilling even as you dawdle,” Sheela said.
A soldier at the foot of the table cleared his throat, bowing his head in embarrassment. Gelina returned once again to the platter and gathered the bowl of pepper with a flourish. Silence fell over the table as she traveled its length.
“I do believe I shall need another plate. After you tuck in my napkin, return to the kitchen and fetch one. My food has grown cold while you poked around the table like a snail.” Sheela pouted prettily. “Perhaps a good flogging would speed up your tasks.”
Conn pounded on the table with his fist. “Hold your tongue, Sheela. She is my slave, not yours.”
Gelina slowed her steps as she approached Sheela’s chair. An uneven smile spread across her face. “Milady would like another plate?”
“Now,” the woman demanded, trying to pacify Conn with a familiar hand on his thigh.
“I would be delighted to oblige.” Without another word, Gelina dumped the steaming contents of Conn’s plate on Sheela’s head.
Stunned silence fell over the hall, broken only by Sheela’s muffled cries of outrage as gravy dripped from her sodden curls into the velvet of her smock. Goll MacMorna choked on his ale, sending a golden spray across the table. The soldier next to him thumped him on the back, unable to hold back his hearty brays of laughter. The uproar grew as the hall’s attention was captured by the spectacle on the dais.
“And as for you . . .” The din faded as quickly as it had begun as Gelina turned to Conn, whipping off the dull kerchief to reveal shining auburn curls. “Enjoy your dinner, sire. May you choke on it!”
A path cleared before her as she stormed out of the hall, skirts gathered in her hands. Conn leapt out of his chair and followed. The crowd parted farther to avoid his clenched fists and thunderous brow. Nimbus tried to leave the dais, only to find his arm caught in Sean’s vise-like grip. Sean’s face held a grim warning as Nimbus tried to twist away. He quit struggling and slumped in his chair.
Gelina burst out the main door, her long legs carrying her across the courtyard. Hearing her name bellowed behind her did not halt her determined stride.
She spoke without slowing or bothering to glance back. “I don’t care, Conn. Beat me. Flog me. Isn’t that what one does to willful slaves? Do what you like but I quit.”
Conn caught her elbow as she entered the stables, jerking her around to face him. “You cannot quit. You’re a slave, you stubborn woman.”
She blinked sweetly at him. “Oh, you noticed I was a woman. I thought a term like that was reserved for that gravy-covered slattern who graces your table.”
Conn’s lips twitched suspiciously. He grasped her shoulders and pushed her against the wall.
His voice was deceptively gentle. “Gelina, my sweet cat. I do believe you’re jealous.”
His thumb tenderly stroked the inner flesh of her arm. The tiny hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end as something more powerful than fear flooded her veins. She recoiled from his touch, only to find herself pinned, his hands no longer gentle.
She tossed her head with a nasty laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, Conn. Just because you used me once doesn’t mean I own you. ‘Tis king’s privilege to use a woman once and go on his way, is it not?”
Corm lowered his face until it was a scant inch from hers, his voice a brutal whisper. “What do you want, Gelina? Would you prefer I used you every night? It can be arranged.”
Breathing became a task as she retorted, “You’ve already got one whore. Why should you need another?”
She fought the urge to slide down the wall in relief as he loosed her. He turned away. His shoulders shook as he laughed out loud.
“Sometimes I think you were sent by the gods themselves to drive me to the very gates of insanity.” He turned back to her, his eyes glittering in the rushlight. “I suppose you did give the good widow the comeuppance she deserved.”
She shrugged, unsure of what her reply should be. He laughed heartily, and Gelina’s face folded in an impish grin. Going to the center stall, he threw open the door. Silent Thunder nickered softly, recognizing his master’s scent. Entering the stall with whispered words, Conn rubbed his silky mane.