Falcon's Heart by Denise Lynn

Author:Denise Lynn
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Medieval
Publisher: 0
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Twelve

Marianne jerked awake at the sound of Bryce's curses. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and found him standing in a puddle of water staring up at the ceiling.

"What is wrong?"

"It rained last night."

She sat up, dragging the covers along with her. "I hate to say anything, but is that not where you came through the roof?"

He turned to her with a look that said he did not require the reminder. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from saying anything else, or worse… laughing.

Bryce pointed at an overflowing basket near the door. "The old woman brought you some clothing and food."

Marianne bounded from the bed and eagerly dragged the basket over to the bench.

"I wouldn't be too excited. It is doubtful there will be anything of quality."

Puzzled, she looked at him. "I have no idea where you gained your mistaken perception, but I have not had a new bliaut or gown in almost a year and those were remade ones Gareth bought at a faire."

"I am simply saying that the fabrics might be woven a little less fine."

"Oh, aye. It is commonplace for me to run about the fields and the cliffs in silk and samite." At his reddening face, she relented. "Since I have never been to court, I do not own such finery. Anything in this basket will be a gift I treasure." She waved him out of the cottage. "Go find a thatcher to fix your roof."

"I apologize. I am not at my best this morning."

Marianne batted her eyelashes at him. "I did not notice. Go."

When he finally left, she dug through the basket and came up with a pair of men's braies, which would be a welcome addition beneath a gown. Especially if she was going to be on the back of a horse for the next few days.

There were three bliauts and two undergowns to choose from. Marianne took the worst of the lot. It made no sense to her to ruin good clothing. Not when the people here at Ashforde obviously had so little.

Between her own hose and boots, the braies, dyed bliaut and patched gown would suffice. Once she'd fixed her hair, washed up and dressed, Marianne sat down at the small table.

Her nose told her that she'd find food beneath the cloth-covered dishes. Her stomach growled its agreement.

The first dish contained a meat pie. She sniffed… sage, thyme and dark wine… then smiled in anticipation. Someone at Ashforde knew how to cook. The next, a bowl, held cheese and bread. Not just any bread, but a round loaf of dark, fresh, warm bread.

She whipped the cover off the next dish to find pear tarts baked to perfection and drizzled with a spiced honey sauce. Again, she put her nose to work. Cinnamon, nutmeg perhaps, but definitely cloves. There was also a pitcher of cider and one of water.

If she were the polite, patient sort of guest, she would wait until Bryce was finished and could join her.

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