The Wisewoman (Waterspell 3) by Lightfoot Deborah J

Author:Lightfoot, Deborah J. [Lightfoot, Deborah J.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Seven Rivers Publishing
Published: 2013-01-01T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

The town was asleep when Carin and Verek slipped down the back stairs of the Harbor Hill Inn and made their way in darkness to the stables. A guard was on duty there, but he did not seem the least surprised when Verek muttered something about going for a midnight ride. Obligingly the man brought out Verek’s saddlehorse, and then he looked the other way, as if he had learned to be discreet about lovers and their moonlit excursions down to the shore.

Verek had a bow and a quiver slung over his shoulder. Both were Carin’s. Only she would be shooting tonight, and she was content for Theil to carry her weapons until she called for them.

He’d set her on the horse in front of him, and his arms were around her. Neither of them spoke as he guided the animal down the long curve of the spit, heading out to the harbor mouth and the knot of strangleweed that closed it. The weed sparked, making the dark water ahead of them appear to have more stars in it than did the sky above.

Carin found the scene disorienting. She had to close her eyes and feel the horse move under her to know which direction was up.

The gown she wore was crepe-thin, and she had nothing on under it. A cool breeze off the water raised gooseflesh on her arms, but she welcomed the sensation. It countered the heat that was building deep inside her.

Not yet, she thought. Not yet. Summon no fire with Theil so near.

He was so close she could smell him—him, and nothing else. But he wasn’t himself tonight. At home in Ruain he smelled musky, like calendula oil and the other pungent herbs he used for making medicines. After many days and nights on the road, the musky scent had yielded to the odors of sweat, leather, horse, and wood smoke. Now, even those were gone. Now he smelled like rose water and sweet tobacco mixed with syrupy, flowery scents.

“Like a brothel,” he’d said.

Carin had never been in one. But of course Lord Verek could have visited such an establishment. His wife had died years ago, and he’d taken no vows of celibacy.

Maybe he used to spend the night at a sporting house on his way to the east coast of his province, Carin thought, remembering Verek saying that he would occasionally ride to Ruain’s seacoast to eat crab legs.

“It’s quite far,” he’d said. “But the roads are good and the people are hospitable.”

They’re more than hospitable, I’ll bet, in a cathouse.

The thought of Theil knowing what a brothel smelled like didn’t bother Carin—not much, anyway—but she was getting tired of smelling it on him.

“You really stink, you know,” she said without opening her eyes. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“I’m sorry, fìleen,” he muttered. He kissed her on the neck. “Clear the weed so it will not throttle me, and I’ll swim in the sea until I lose my stench.”

“Are we nearly there?” she asked.

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