Emerald Silk by Janet Lane

Author:Janet Lane
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder mystery, historical romance, gypsies, multicultural romance, hundred years war, romantic adventure, medieval romance, knights and castles, romance 1400s
Publisher: Janet Lane

Chapter Twelve

Sharai exited the great hall into the stifling midday heat and crossed the cobblestones to the empty kitchen. This time, it was deserted. The rotating spits stood empty; the overhead utensil hooks were filled with implements, and the enormous wooden tables cleaned of their flour and pans. The smell of bread lingered, bringing thoughts of childhood and her mother, and the safe feeling she enjoyed when in the circle of her arms. From the plaited rush mats on the floor the smell of bacon grease rose, partially masked by sprinklings of lavender and mint. From a cage on a corner table several chickens clucked softly, oblivious of their fate.

Butterfly wings fluttered in her stomach. She had never before been inspired to make this love potion, and she wanted it to be perfect. She opened a small package and retrieved the frog bones she had painstakingly collected from the weeds. The ants had picked the bones spotlessly clean. Sliding a wooden mortar closer, she withdrew the pestle and deposited the bones. Grasping the top of the pestle, she broke the bones then ground in a circular motion, gently at first. Covering the top of the mortar with her left hand, she kept the bone fragments from flying out of the bowl as she worked.

She hummed a summer dancing melody and contemplated the new awareness of her body. She recalled her extraordinary experience by the stream with Tabor. ’Twas quite the greedy thing, this lust. It made her abandon all caution, forget all but desire.

Sweet wonder, Tabor had awakened her in ways she had never imagined.

He’d had his way with her. Or, had he? He waived his pleasure for hers. What did that mean? She could never endure the embarrassment of asking such questions of the pleasure dancers, so she still knew little of such things. By the saints, she missed her mother, who always had the right answers, and Etti was forever lost to her now because of Count Aydin. If a woman was pleasured but not the man, did it still make the woman a whore? Of course, the title itself meant nothing to her. She, who had been sold as a slave and raised in the Gypsy tents at regional fairs had been called much worse than that. She’d learned to ignore the condemnations; besides, each fair lasted but weeks and she could always move on.

But would she now? She no longer had a tribe, and she yearned for a home. These weeks with Tabor had reminded her how desperately she wished to settle, to belong. Create her own family.

Tabor was not meant to be hers. The pain of that thought rendered her weak, but she could not ignore it. She knew she must leave, but before she did she would know his love. At least she could then hold those memories of him, long after he had wed Emilyne and fulfilled his obligations.

She touched her fingers to her lips, blowing a kiss of wishes into the mortar, and in that moment she wanted nothing more in the world than to be in his arms.

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