Love at First Sight (20 page)

“To think I considered submitting myself to the curling tongs, knowing your fondness for curly-haired men. ’Twill not happen now, ungrateful wench.”

He yanked the door open and sallied forth, slamming it behind him.

Golde stared after him. She would never have believed he could be so handsome. Dressed in silver-shot, gray finery, he approached the blinding beauty of a god.

’Twas some time before his absurd imitation of femininity struck her. Grabbing her ribs, she gasped between bursts of merriment. A pox on the odious fool.

T
HE SWEET SCENT
of honey roused Golde from sleep to consciousness. It smelled delicious. Doubtless, Hesper had delivered warm bread to go with it. ’Twas a morning routine that had evolved during her recovery these two weeks past.

Rolling to her side, Golde tried to open her eyes, expecting to find a tray of food at the bedside. Instead, her eyelashes felt glued together.

She frowned and ran her fingertips over her lashes. Her fingers came away gooey.

Had she caught some dread disease? Her heart flopped sickly in her chest. Prying at her lids, she rose to sit.

Hair clung to her arms and breasts in clumps. She swiped at it, only to have it stick to her hands. What the devil?

Abruptly she stilled.

’Twas no devil, but three evil sprites. They’d poured honey over her head!

Plague take the brats! Her vision blurry, she scrambled from the bed to light a candle against the early morning shadows. Then she marched to locate her clothing in the wardrobe. It, too, was drenched with honey. Her hands shook with rage as she struggled to don the sticky apparel.

Yestermorn she’d awakened to hopping toads beneath the sheets. At the time, she’d thought it best to ignore the childish prank. Her anger might only encourage the little beasts. But this—she yanked at the tunic where it was stuck to her chainse—this was more than she would tolerate.

Just wait until Gavarnie returned from the king’s reception. She’d roast his ears with the foul deeds his children had committed during his absence.

The hems of her chainse and tunic wrapped about her calves, she spied her boots to one side of the wardrobe. Were they full of honey as well?

She dropped them a scant moment after picking them up. ’Twas not honey they held, but worse; cow dung, judging from the odor.

The little monsters had breathed their last, she swore. She would not await Gavarnie’s return on the morrow. Nay, she would kill his children today.

“Mistress Golde?” Hesper’s call interrupted her thoughts.

Tromping from the wardrobe, she found the serving maid at the bedside, a breakfast tray in her hands.

“My, but ye are up and about . . .” Hesper’s words trailed away and her brows rose.

“Where are they?” Golde demanded.

Hesper blinked. “Who?”

“The children!”

“Yer clothes . . . and yer hair,” Hesper gasped. “They poured honey on me while I slept, and my shoes are filled with dung.”

Rather than frown with disgust, the older woman smiled benevolently. “Ah. The little dearlings.”

Golde stared. “Little dearlings! You are more daft than their father. He will doubtless congratulate them for their ingenuity.”

Hesper’s features softened, as did her tone. “Can ye not see? The children are jealous of the attention his lordship pays ye.”

“Jealous!” Golde crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the serving maid. Then she frowned. “Jealous?” Truth tell, Gavarnie had made her feel like a Celtic princess with the attention he’d lavished on her these weeks past. Fashioning a sling-type chair, he’d placed it before the window, that she might enjoy the sunset. On eves when he could escape the lords and ladies who now camped about Skyenvic, he would join her there. The tales he’d spun of Hindward the Horrible, a knight who e’re did everything backward, were worthy of any bard.

Later, once she’d healed enough to move about, he’d carried her downstairs, that she might enjoy the banqueting festivities. Despite the crush of important guests who dined at his table, he’d always made space for her, seating her directly on his right.

Indeed, his manner toward her was so courtly that Lady Gundrada had waspishly inquired if there were a match in the making. ’Twas then that Golde had felt an undercurrent pass between Gavarnie and the woman. Clearly the two shared some secret—likely an illicit liaison.

Golde swallowed the anger that rose like bile in her breast. She would think no more on Lady Gundrada. Instead, she concentrated on the matter of Gavarnie’s children.

Gavarnie had forbidden them to come near her. “I will not have them disturbing you until you are well,” he’d said.

Golde lowered her gaze to study the floor. Aye. The children were jealous, and who could blame them? ’Twas easy to imagine her disgust had her father entertained another woman during her youth. Indeed, she might not be overpleased were such to occur now.

She winced. How could she have been so dullwitted? Not once had she given Gavarnie’s children a second thought. ’Twould now be doubly difficult to reestablish herself as their nursemaid. They probably hated her.

She clenched her teeth and raised her head. Dolt. What was she thinking? Since when had it mattered what others felt toward her, especially children? Selfish little miscreants. Did they think they owned their father?

The sound of pounding feet on the stairs suddenly invaded the room. What now?

The footsteps raced past the closed bedchamber door in the direction of the boys’ room. Then a door slammed, and all grew silent.

Golde’s lip curled. “I believe the little dearlings have returned to roost. If you would, Hesper, have a bath prepared for me, and remove this bed linen. I shall return shortly.”

An anxious look settled over the woman’s features. “Why not let Sir Nigel handle the matter? Give yer temper a spell to cool.”

Golde pulled a sour face and made for the door. Give her temper a spell to cool, indeed. She intended to blow fire at the little demons, and watch them cook.

Marching down the corridor, she threw open the boys’ door. Three pairs of rounded eyes riveted on her where she halted.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Know you what evil befalls children who dare to test my temper? I skin them alive and boil their bones for pottage.”

Alory shrieked and dove for the opposite side of the bed, Nicolette fast on his heels. Only Ronces remained where he stood, the stubborn little mule.

Golde raised her hands and crooked her fingers into talons, determined to frighten him. “You will be first, boy,” she crowed.

Ronces started, as if he might flee, but he checked himself. Then his jaws worked.

Without warning, he launched himself at her. “Go ahead, crone. Kill me!”

“Nay!” Alory and Nicolette screamed in unison.

Golde fought to contain the boy’s thrashing fists. That he would dare to attack her. Grabbing his wrists, she wrestled him to the floor. He would learn here and now . . .

The children are jealous of the attention his lordship pays ye
. Hesper’s words whispered in her head, giving her pause.

Nay. It should not matter what the children felt toward her. But it did. Just like it had mattered, more than anyone could imagine, when she’d been an ugly, lonely little girl.

“Cease, foolish child. I did but jest. Your father would have my hide if I did aught to harm you.”

A tear slid down Ronces’ temple where he lay on his back beneath her. “Papa will thank you for killing me. I deserve to die.”

His breath caught on a sob, and Golde winced.
Please, God, not another crying spell.
“Silly boy. Of what do you speak? Your father loves you.”

Ronces closed his eyes. “Papa will hate me when he returns.”

“He shot one of the swineherd’s pwize pigs,” Nicolette intoned, peeping over the edge of the mattress.

“He didn’t mean to,” Alory added, his head popping up beside Nicolette’s.

Golde returned her attention to Ronces, whose eyes were squeezed shut. Releasing his wrists, she smoothed a tear from his temple. “Accidents cannot be helped. You are yet young and cannot expect your aim to be accurate at all times.”

His dark eyes, so like Gavarnie’s, opened to focus on her. They reflected no hatred or anger, only misery. “I am forbidden to use a bow unless Papa is with me.”

“Wonces is not all to blame. Me and Alowy dared him to shoot—the awwow, not the pig.”

Golde drew a deep breath. Realizing she yet pinned Ronces, she quickly moved to sit beside him. Though the boy should be taken to task for disobeying his father— indeed, she should be punishing Ronces for the tricks he’d played on her—she could not do it.

“I once stole a spell from my great-grandmother against her wishes,” she said instead. “Well do I know how you feel.”

Ronces rose to sit, hugging his knees. “Did you shoot a prize pig, too?”

Golde sighed bitterly. “Nay. I only killed an innocent toad, but it haunts me to this day.”

Tears again pooled in Ronces eyes. “Did the toad die quickly?”

Golde nodded, unable to speak.

“Would that the pig were dead,” he mumbled, resting his forehead on his knees. “It yet squeals.”

“Could you make it bettew?” Nicolette pleaded from where she’d crawled atop the bed. “You awe a witch, aftew all.”

“The pig still lives?”

Ronces swiped at his eyes and gave her a hopeful look. “’Tis a sow.”

“Where is it shot?”

“In its hindquarter.”

Golde shook her head. “I don’t know. Sows are foul-tempered at best. An arrow in their hind will make them no sweeter.”

“Oh, pwease, mistwess,” Nicolette begged.

“Couldn’t you just try?” Alory asked.

Golde eyed the three expectant faces. Only a fool would tend a wounded sow. Yet . . .

“Faith,” she grumbled as she rose. “Never have I met children whom trouble seems to stalk with such tenacity. If I am gored by tusks, I will make the three of you wait on me hand and foot.”

Ronces scrambled to his feet and hugged her waist, only to pull back. Wiping his hands on the front of his tunic, he gave her a sheepish look. “I am sorry for the honey.”

“We all awe sowwy.” Nicolette grabbed Golde’s hand and pulled her into the corridor.

“I cannot go like this.” Golde halted. “I don’t even have on shoes.”

Alory studied the floor and shuffled his feet, while Nicolette fair glowed with innocence. “You look vewy pwetty for a witch. And you do not need shoes. They will only get diwty in the stye.”

Golde raised a brow. “I cannot imagine how much filthier they could get, considering they are filled with dung.”

The girl winced, then glared at the boys. “I tole you we shouldn’t do that.”

“We will clean them for you,” Alory offered.

“But we must huwwy now.” Nicolette fair danced with urgency. “The pig is huwting. She might awweady be dead.”

Golde glanced heavenward and sighed. “Very well. First we must collect my salves from my chest.”

After rooting through her stores and gathering what she needed, Golde followed the children through the empty great hall and into the bailey. Sir Nigel was nowhere in evidence, praise the saints.

As they approached the pig stye, a rotund man stomped from around the back of a pen, shooing at several servants who idled at the railing.

Upon spying the children, he shook a fist at them. “Take yerselves off, lest I give ye the beatin’ ye deserves.”

Golde strode forward, the children close behind her, carrying her jars and flagons. “I have come to see if I can be of help.”

“Wot!” The man backed away at her approach, his face red. “Can’t let no witch-woman in me pens. Look at ye, drippin’ all manner of goo. Yer person might poison the whole stye.”

“Foowish man,” Nicolette chided, coming to stand beside Golde. “Witches awe not . . .” She paused, her small brow furrowed with concentration.

Abruptly her features cleared. “Witches awe naught but the ’maginings of simpletons.”

Golde pursed her lips. Clearly, the child was reciting something she’d heard.

The man crossed himself, and spit in his palm. “Arn’t nothin’ to be done fer the sow.”

Golde crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do you not slaughter her now so she won’t suffer?”

The man snarled. “If she weren’t about to litter, I would. As ’tis, I’ll be waitin’ ’til she dies to slit her belly. Mayhap I can save some of the piglets. His lordship will charge me, ye knows. Not only for the sow, but fer what dies of the litter.”

“Then step aside,” she affected a sweet tone, “and let me see what can be done.”

Ronces strode forward and cleared his throat. “I will take responsibility for my actions, as well as Mistress Golde’s.”

“Me, too.” Alory moved to stand beside his brother.

Warmth curled around Golde’s heart like a furry kitten’s tail. That Ronces and Alory would pledge themselves on her behalf. And Nicolette. From whom had she heard the saying about witches?

The swineherd trundled forward. “We shall see what Sir Nigel has to say about this.”

“A moment,” Golde commanded, separating herself from the children.