Sword Of Truth 05 - Soul Of The Fire by Goodkind Terry

Author:Goodkind, Terry
Language: eng
Format: epub

CHAPTER 37

WHEN DALTON CAMPBELL REACHED to dip his pen, he saw the legs of a woman walking through the doorway into his office. By the thick ankles he knew before his gaze lifted that it was Hildemara Chanboor. If there was a woman with less appealing legs, he had yet to meet her.

He set down the pen and rose with a smile. “Lady Chanboor, please, come in.”

In the outer office, the morning sunlight revealed Rowley on duty, standing ready to summon the messengers should Dalton have call for them. He didn't at the moment, but with Hildemara Chanboor paying a visit, that eventuality seemed more likely.

As she closed the door, Dalton went around his desk and 413

pulled out a comfortable chair in invitation. She wore a wool dress the color of straw. The color of the dress conveyed a sickly pallor to her flesh. The hem came to midcalf on her puffy, straight, pillar-like legs.

Hildemara glanced briefly at the chair, but remained standing.

“So good to see you, Lady Chanboor.”

She put on a smile. “Oh, Dalton, must you always be so proper? We've known each other long enough for you to call me Hildemara.” He opened his mouth to thank her, but she added, “When we're alone.”

“Of course, Hildemara.”

Hildemara Chanboor never made visits to inquire after anything so mundane as matters of work. She only arrived like a chill wind before a storm. Dalton decided it best to let the foul weather build on its own, without his help, like some wizard summoning it forth. He also thought it better to keep the meeting on a more formal level, despite her indulgence with her name.

Her brow bunched, as if her attention were distracted. She reached out to fuss with a possibly loose thread on his shoulder. Sunlight streaming in the windows sparkled off the jewels on her fingers, and the bloodred ruby necklace hanging across the expanse of exposed skin on her upper chest. The dress wasn't nearly as low-cut as those worn lately at feasts, yet he still found its cut less than refined.

With a woman's tidy touch, Hildemara picked and then smoothed. Dalton glanced, but didn't see anything. Seeming to have satisfied herself, her hand gently pressed out the fabric of his light coat against his shoulder.

“My, my, Dalton, but don't you have fine shoulders. So muscular and firm.” She looked into his eyes. “Your wife is a lucky woman to have a man so well endowed.”

“Thank you, Hildemara.” His caution prevented him saying another word.

Her hand moved to his cheek, her bejeweled fingers gliding over the side of his face.

“Yes, she is a very lucky woman.”

“And your husband is a lucky man.”

Chortling, she withdrew her hand. “Yes, he is often lucky. But, as is said, what is commonly thought luck is often merely the result of incessant practice.”

“Wise words, Hildemara.”

The cynical laugh evaporated and she soon returned the hand to his collar, ordering it, as if it needed ordering. Her hand wandered to the side of his neck, a finger licking the rim of his ear.

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