Teresa Medeiros - [FairyTale 01] by Charming the Prince

Author:Charming the Prince
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

As Willow struggled down the castle drawbridge the next morning, frigid gusts of wind whipped the folds of her cloak around her ankles. The day had dawned cold and bright, but the dazzling sunlight promised little more than the memory of warmth. As she passed beneath the arch of the gatehouse, she drew up her hood and averted her face from the curious stares of the guards. ’Twould never do for the lady of the castle to be caught running such a shocking errand.

Turning toward the village, she shifted the woven basket on her arm from one side to the other. The laden hamper might slow her steps, but she hadn’t wanted to march empty-handed into a stranger’s camp. Especially not when she was the one who had come to do the begging. She’d packed the basket with several of the gifts the generous castle-dwellers had bestowed upon her—jars of honey, slabs of salted meat, scented wax tapers that would surely seem the height of luxury to anyone accustomed to the overripe stench of tallow.

She wandered through the maze of narrow dirt streets, realizing too late that she hadn’t the faintest idea where she was going. When a pack of exuberant boys sprinted past, nearly knocking the basket from her arm, she seized the smallest lad by the arm.

Ignoring his frantic squirming, she leaned down and whispered something in his ear. He flushed and pointed toward a row of identical wattle-and-daub huts crowned by hay-thatched roofs before scampering off to join his friends.

Willow was trying to decide which one to approach first when the door to the end cottage flew open and a man came spilling into the street. His face was flushed and the drawstrings of his hose untied. Willow shrank into the shadows, feeling a wicked thrill to learn that someone could be indulging in such debauchery while most of the castle residents were still in the chapel dutifully reciting their morning prayers.

The man reeled in a drunken circle. “Lord, woman, you’ve got me so addled, I don’t know whether I’m comin’ or goin’.”

“You’re no better at one than the other,” came a woman’s tart voice from inside the cottage. “So you might as well be going.”

The door slammed in his face.

“Saucy bitch,” he muttered. The poor confused fellow spent several interminable moments fumbling with his dangling drawstrings before finally lurching down the street, still cursing beneath his breath.

Willow waited until he had disappeared around a corner before creeping toward the door. In response to her timid knock, the woman within shouted, “Unless you’d care to buy a dose of pox with your shilling, you’ll give me a moment to wash up.”

“Well,” Willow murmured, thankful there was no one around to witness her blush. “I do believe I’m at the right cottage.”

She had time to shift the basket between her aching arms three times before the door finally creaked open. A tall, rawboned woman appeared in the doorway. Willow’s courage wilted beneath her suspicious gaze. At an utter loss for words, she held out the kerchief-draped basket.

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