Part 35 (1/2)
”Och, but it should be,” she scolded, and leaned forward. ”You trust me. I know: it should should be.” be.”
Senna almost groaned in misery.
The Irishwoman lifted the ladle from a vessel on the table and poured a portion of meaty stew over the day-old bread that served as a trencher, while peering at Senna. ”We will talk? I would like to get to know you.”
”Indeed.” She smiled weakly, and ate with a rapidly diminis.h.i.+ng appet.i.te while Mugain fluttered at her side, each minute ticking by like an hour in the company of the suspiciously friendly Irish b.u.t.terfly.
Half an hour later La.s.sar, the king's wife, approached the table. A wave of relief washed through Senna, and she almost tipped the bench getting to her feet. La.s.sar extended a hand and touched Senna's gently in greeting.
”A room has been prepared for you,” the king's wife said softly. ”And a bath.”
A bath.
”A warm bath?” she asked without thinking. Warm water. Soap.
La.s.sar exchanged an amused glance with Mugain and nodded. ”'Tis quite warm.”
Senna bowed her head. ”I am most indebted, my lady. When Finian returns...?”
La.s.sar smiled faintly. ”He knows where his room is.”
”His room?”
”Where Lord Finian stays when he's to visit. He said to put you both there.”
Her cheeks flamed. ”I see.”
La.s.sar smiled gently. ”'Tis said you sprouted Lord Finian a pair of wings. For that, we are all indebted.”
Senna's mouth was locked shut. This was awful and yet...what did she expect? And what did it matter in any event, her reputation? She had no life anymore. No home, no business, no lands, no coin, no relations.h.i.+ps. She had nothing but Finian, who seemed to have everything, and need her not at all.
She studied the floor, knowing she was red-cheeked with embarra.s.sment. But deeper than that was a chilling sort of disquiet. She was, at this moment, beholden.
A decade of her life spent ensuring she would never be indebted, never be needful, and here she was, full of nothing but need.
Food, shelter, safeguarding. Finian.
She brought nothing, could offer nothing, had nothing. Certainly nothing, Certainly nothing, she thought with a tired glance around the hall, she thought with a tired glance around the hall, nothing Finian could not already find, in great, willing abundance. nothing Finian could not already find, in great, willing abundance.
She was precisely what she'd spent her life endeavoring not to be: unwanted and beholden.
”Come,” Mugain was saying and, gesturing for Senna to follow, began walking away.
”My thanks,” Senna murmured to La.s.sar, touching her hand before following behind.
As they crossed the hall, she took malicious inventory of each seductive sway in Mugain's hips and sinking notice of the appreciative masculine glances that followed her across the room.
”Finian's room is in the tower,” Mugain announced over her shoulder as they crossed the bailey to a doorway set within the battlement walls.
”Is it?” she snapped.
'Twas quite an extravagance to have a room set aside in a castle that must be bursting to the seams with householders, retainers, and servants, never knowing when that guest might visit again. But Finian could melt the heart of an icicle, and it was clear he held an especial place in the king's heart.
They climbed the curving, narrow staircase and entered a small room set in a turret of the battlement walls. It was a medium-sized room with closely-woven wicker walls, warmed by a fire in a brazier. A narrow wardrobe sat against a wall, and on its shelves was a richly dyed tumble of linen, dark red. Block gilt embroidery decorated one visible hem, a rich extravagance. A pair of polished leather boots stood at attention beside the shelves, leather laces running up the sides, awaiting their owner.
But most wonderful, the room boasted a low-slung bed piled high with coverlets and pillows, a soft haven of scented distraction. And a bath, just as La.s.sar had promised. A steaming, scented tub of water that almost brought tears to Senna's eyes.
”I will help you, Mistress de Valery.”
She spun around. ”No! I mean, nay, my thanks. I find myself weary,” she stammered. Good heaven, the last thing she needed was Mugain watching her undress.
”You would like to rest,” Mugain agreed amiably, with a glint in her eye.
”Aye. That's it. Rest.”
”I will go, then. I will be busy.” She winked conspiratorially.
Senna smiled in confusion. ”With some secret, it looks like.”
”A secret. A present.”
”A gift? For whom?”
”For Finian O'Melaghlin.”
Her smile faded. ”I am sure he will like it.”
”Och, he always does like my presents.”
Senna stilled. ”Really.” Her lips froze in a glacial smile. Mugain dripped with hot honey as she returned it.
”Indeed, Mistress de Valery.”
”Senna,” she corrected vaguely.
”Lord Finian is fond of presents, Senna. I tell you this because once he and I were close, but are no longer.”
”Indeed.” She sniffed. ”You tell me because you were close, or because you are no longer?”
”Both.” The raven-haired vixen leaned closer. Her smile bespoke friends.h.i.+p, but her eyes held an unfriendly s.h.i.+ne.
”I thank you, I think.”
”Och”-Mugain leaned back with a flutter of her hand-”no need to thank. Finian will tell you all that he likes and dislikes.” Her gaze grew closer. ”You look so much like Bella.”
”Bella?”