King Dom Comes (8 page)

Shannon
turned to look at the ever-present Dom, now barefoot and bare-chested, and
still wearing snug breeches that hugged his muscular thighs. She swallowed
dryly, trying not to stare at his sculpted torso. "You again? Don't you
have a ship to raid? I thought you would be leaving once we landed."

"What
gave you that impression? I intend to accompany you to your destination."

"I
doubt that my husband-to-be will appreciate a non-appointed escort, especially
a peasant pirate. Thank you, but you must be on your way."

"Your
husband-to-be is a wise man and benevolent ruler. He will appreciate my
attentiveness. It was I who helped to keep your stomach intact this past week,
is that not correct? You have still lost weight," he observed, holding her
chin firmly in his hand. "I will make certain you are given food as you
refresh yourself."

Shannon
pulled her chin from his grip. "Yes, you helped me greatly and ceased not
to remind me of that fact on a daily basis. I am also very capable of ordering
food for myself, should I be hungry. As for the disposition of my future
husband, I know him not. But I did know, and honor, his father, which is why I
will not bring shame to his memory by shaming his son. I am also protecting you
by behaving appropriately in the eyes of the people."

"Protecting
me? How might you accomplish that task?" Dom looked down upon her with
amusement.

"While
you call the new king wise and benevolent, I have heard him to be vicious,
heartless and cruel. Should he truly be that way, then he might have you killed
for your over-concern of my plight. I will not have your blood upon my
hands."

"Are
you saying you are concerned for my life?" Dom's eyes crinkled.

"It
matters not," Shannon's voice was firm as she stared unblinking into his
dirt-smudged face, which was darkened further by a rough new beard. "You
shall not be coming. While I appreciate your assistance whilst on the ship, it
is time for us to part ways. I beg your pardon, but I need to remove the stench
of fish from my flesh."

"Hurry.
We are to leave in two hours."

Shannon
turned on her heel and headed towards the inn, her heart pounding in her chest.
She could feel his eyes on her back. Eyes that seemed to swallow her whole
every time she looked into them. Eyes that had power and strength hiding behind
the dark orbs framed in thick, black lashes, and set evenly over a strong,
masculine nose. She shook off the gaze from her back and heaved her shoulder
against the heavy wooden door of the inn.

"Mistress
McCleary? I am Marta." The young woman made a quick curtsy before her.
"I was instructed by His Majesty to assist you in dressing."

"I
can dress myself, thank you."

The
woman looked uncomfortable. "Mistress, I cannot disobey. If I
do—"

"Did
he threaten you?" Shannon's eyes narrowed.

"Threaten?
He ordered. We obey."

"I
do not obey any man blindly. When I meet this king, he will hear of my
displeasure."

"You
have not met His Grace? How can that be?" The woman looked confused.

"Mine
is an arranged marriage, Marta. I will not see him until I arrive at his
home."

"But…"
Shannon did not see Dom peeking into the common room and shaking his head, but
Marta did. "Yes, Mistress McCleary. Please, allow me to assist you."

Shannon
took a moment to study the nervous woman. "Very well. I would like some
cold ale, if you please. I would also like some hot water brought up so that I
might bathe."

"Bathe?"
The woman looked horrified.

"Yes,
bathe. With hot water and soap. Naked."

Marta
shook her head violently. "The priests say that bathing opens the doorway
for evil spirits to enter into the soul. For water to touch your flesh mean
sickness and death. No, Mistress. I cannot allow one such as you to be in
danger."

Shannon
rolled her eyes. "Ridiculous. Did not the king tell you to assist
me?"

"Yes,
my lady."

"Then
do as you are told. Assist me."

Shannon
paused on her way up the stairs to tell Marta to include soap and herbs with
the heated water. She frowned upon seeing Dom speaking with the woman. He had
his hands on her shoulders, his eyes locked with hers. He broke his gaze to
look up at the stairs. Embarrassed to have been caught staring, Shannon made
haste to her room.

He
disturbed her. His constant presence left her feeling uncomfortable, like an
itch that she was unable to scratch. He carried within him a degree of
self-confidence, or perhaps arrogance, which clearly intimidated the
weaker-willed. Who was this odd man, and why would he not leave her presence?

Shannon
felt her nerves rattle as she thought of how he had barged uninvited into her
life. She had made it clear to him that her fidelity was for her future husband,
and that his pursuit of her company was uninvited and disrespectful. Her
struggle, however, was that she wanted him to be with her! He was articulate,
handsome, attentive, strong and mysterious. What innocent young woman would not
be attracted to a man with those traits?

Marta
pointed to the center of the room, ordering the servants to place the wooden
tub down and fill it with the buckets of near boiling water. She threw handfuls
of dried lavender, myrrh and rose petals into the steaming liquid, and then
looked in dismay at Shannon.

"You
may help me undress and clean my gown as I soak the salt and sea from my
body," Shannon said, turning her back to the woman to untie her laces.
Marta gasped in another fit of horror when Shannon's gown fell away, leaving
her standing in a short smock and men's undergarments.

"Mistress!
This is obscene! The king will forbid such clothing. I know he will! He will
whip you for wearing such improper items."

"No
man will tell me what I may wear under my kirtle, Marta. Nor will I permit him
to beat me for it. Why do you fear this king so much? Are the rumors about his
cruelty true? What does he do to those who disobey?"

"There
are many rumors. Some say His Grace bites the heads off bats to send the
message of his fearlessness to the world. Others say he is a sorcerer, and that
he uses charm and wit to force his enemies to walk off the sides of cliffs to
drown in the sea. He is not a man to be reckoned with, Mistress. Those who have
challenged him have died. Or worse."

"I
am not afraid of him. He will learn that I am not a woman to be reckoned with,
either. He has met his match if he thinks he can lock me in a cage like a pet
monkey and order me to do tricks. My dress, Marta. Please have it
cleaned," Shannon said, stripping herself of her undergarments and
standing proudly before the shocked eyes of the maid.

"You
have no pelt," Marta whispered.

Shannon
looked down. "Nay, I do not."

"You
do not tweeze? Many ladies perform that act."

"No,
not my brow either. Is this unusual?"

"Yes,
Mistress. Have you bled? Mayhap you cannot bear children."

"Should
I choose to have children, I will be able to bear them. Help me into the tub,
if you please."

"Perhaps
it is bathing that has stripped the hair from your body, or some sickness that
has overcome you."

"I
doubt that, Marta. Please, bring me something to eat and some ale, and clean my
dress. I wish to be alone."

Shannon
rolled her eyes as soon as the maid departed, and then began to scrub her wet
hair with castile soap and wintergreen. It was bad enough to have to repeat her
requests multiple times, but to have a maid stare at her body and comment about
her lack of body hair was inappropriate and humiliating. She clenched her teeth
as she thought of Marta's bold assumptions. After being brought to the abbey,
she had never taken ill, except when over-indulging in sweets. The only blood
injury upon her flesh that she had ever suffered, in fact, was that delivered
by the birch as she trained. There was no explanation for this 'oddity'.

Shannon
closed her eyes and waited patiently for food to be brought to her. The scented
bath water was pleasant and warm, but rapidly lost heat through the thick wood.
Shannon inhaled deeply and lifted her hands above the water. She began to
'wish'.

She
did not know how else to describe the conjuring. King Malkai used to tease her
and call her gift 'wishcraft', for it required nothing more than an immense
desire to have something. The Sisterhood had been diligently working with her
gifts since the day she arrived, trying to teach her to control her temper and
her earthly desires. They taught her right from wrong, and the means to
determine each, and her childish 'desires' were quickly squelched by the
strictly enforced instructions. Forced to live her daily life without the use
of her gifts, Shannon would sneak in opportunities to practice whenever
possible, where there were no eyes to witness her rebellion. She discovered
that, as she grew older, her need to conjure grew as well. It was like
breathing, a necessary part of her survival, and she felt empty when not
summoning her power.

Her
gifts were limited and allowed her to call upon the earthly elements in small
intervals—transfer liquid items from one place to another, spin the wind
and rain in small doses, and alter the temperature of liquids; a skill much
appreciated when in need of a hot bath or a cold ale. She could also remove
pain with a simple touch. Her keening, however, was immensely powerful, but
also selective—for nature knew the right recourse for those who committed
evil. For those who threatened or caused her harm, the glass shattering screams
could take their lives. For others, the piercing noise only produced pounding
headaches.

There
were things she could not do. She could not bring death or destruction to the
undeserving, or restore life to the lost; she could not produce something out
of nothing; and she could not make anyone think or feel what she desired them
to. She smiled to herself, thinking how grand it would be to be able to
persuade people in that way.

Steam
rose from the tub when Marta returned with her hands laden with trays and a
pitcher of ale tucked under her arm. "Mistress! The water is too hot for
you! You will scald your flesh."

"The
water is warmer than the air, Marta, and that is why you see the steam,"
Shannon quickly explained, shifting her pink body. "Ale, please. I am
thirsty."

Marta
nervously handed her a stein and filled it with the lukewarm brew. "This
ale is from the king's reserve. He ordered you to have it."

Shannon
sipped and wrinkled her nose. What was wrong with this girl? She had
specifically asked for the ale to be cooled, and had been ignored in this
request as well. "You speak as though he is here spouting orders,"
Shannon said, trying not to allow Marta's unwavering stare to bother her.

"But,
he is, Mistress."

Shannon
sat up, alarmed. "He is here? Where is he?"

"He
is everywhere. He can whisper his words in the wind. Can't you hear him?"

"Marta,
are you ill? Your eyes just glazed over. Marta?"

"I
must go. He calls."

Shannon
sat with her mouth hanging open as the maid quickly left. What form of magic
did this king call upon? Her bath water quickly chilled as she lost
concentration. What if his gifts were stronger than hers? Would he overpower
her and prove the rumors of his cruel and heartless nature as true? The image
of the dark-eyed man who haunted her dreams flickered across her mind's eye.
Was that her future husband, or a daemon sent to harass her?

Focus!
Shannon berated herself. Do not give into fear! She quickly exited the tub and
dried herself with the soft strips of linen on the dressing table. Her eyes
fell to the package on the mattress and she untied the bundle to reveal a
traveling gown of hunter's green, elaborately embroidered with gold thread.
Soft, deer hide boots, leather riding gloves, and delicate undergarments were
included. Shannon frowned, lifting a pair of silk braies into the air. Had his
father advised him of her rebellious acts?

She
crumpled the garment in her hands and stared at the door. Marta was adamant
that the king would disapprove of her wearing such items, and had claimed that
he would beat her if she pursued the wearing of such apparel. Was this gift
meant to be considerate, or mockery? Something was definitely amiss.

Her
worries increased as she dressed. The gown fit her figure perfectly, and
required no lacing or ties. The bosom, although snug, lifted the swells of her
breasts comfortably above the neckline. Material draped from under her chest,
and opened to a wide skirt of modest length, only falling several inches onto
the ground. The sleeves were wide and airy with
immaculately
draped petals, lined with brocade and artfully split to reveal a fitted inner
sleeve that descended to a graceful point.
Finger-loops, woven into the edge of the sleeve, covered the backs of her hands
while keeping the material in place.

Shannon
could not help but admire the craftsmanship and design, for it permitted full
freedom of her legs and arms in the event that she wished to ride. What brought
her the greatest delight was that no hat was provided! Shannon found herself
appreciating the thoughtfulness of the garments, for they were not only
practical, but challenged the fashions favored in the royal courts. Was her
secret benefactor one who rebelled against the feudal system and the division
of classes? Or was this a plot to caused discord between her and her king?