Part 2 (1/2)
And afraid of him.
”Perhaps my manners are unpolished, so I will beg your pardon for any slight.”
”They're polished diamond-bright,” he corrected. ”And stab at a man.”
She smiled a little. ”Some men, I imagine, are used to softer females. I thought Cordelia would suit your needs.”
”She's biddable enough, and pretty enough, which is why you have the dragon guarding her.”
Her smile warmed fractionally. ”Of course.”
”I wonder why I prefer you to either of them.”
”I couldn't say.” She moved down the row, and when he started to move with her, he gasped. She cursed. ”Stubborn.” She rose, reached down, and to his surprise, wrapped her arms around him. ”Hold on to me. I'll help you inside.”
He simply buried his face in her hair. ”Your scent,” he told her. ”It haunts me.”
”Stop it.”
”I can't get your face out of my head, even when I sleep.”
Her stomach fluttered, alarming her. ”Sir, I will not be trifled with.”
”I'm too d.a.m.n weak to trifle with you.” Hating the unsteadiness, he leaned heavily against her. ”But you're beautiful, and I'm not dead.”
When he caught his breath, he eased away. ”I should be. I've had time to think that through.” He stared hard into her eyes. ”I've seen enough battle to know when a wound is mortal. Mine was. How did I cheat death, Deirdre? Are you a witch?”
”Some would say.” Because his color concerned her, she unbent enough to put an arm around his waist. ”You need to sit before you fall. Come back inside.”
”Not to bed. I'll go mad.” She'd tended enough of the sick and injured to know the truth of that.
”To a chair. We'll have tea.”
”G.o.d spare me. Brandy?”
She supposed he was ent.i.tled. She led him through a doorway, down a dim corridor away from the kitchen. She skirted the main hallway and moved down yet another corridor. The room where she took him was small, chilly, and lined floor to ceiling with books.
She eased him into a chair in front of the cold fireplace, then went over to open the shutters and let in the light.
”The days are still long,” she said conversationally as she walked to the fireplace. This one was framed in smooth green marble. ”Planting needs to be finished while the sun can warm the seeds.”
She crouched in front of the fire, set the logs to light. ”Is there gra.s.s in your world? Fields of it?”
”Yes.”
She closed her eyes a moment. ”And trees that go green in spring?”
He felt a wrench in his gut. For home-and for her. ”Yes.”
”It must be like a miracle.” Then she stood, and her voice was brisk again. ”I must wash, and see to your brandy. You'll be warm by the fire.
I won't be long.”
”My lady, have you never seen a field of gra.s.s?”
”In books. In dreams.” She opened her mouth again, nearly asked him to tell her what it smelled like. But she wasn't sure she could bear to know.
”I won't keep you waiting long, my lord.”
She was true to her word. In ten minutes she was back, her hair loose again over the shoulders of a dark green dress. She carried the brandy herself.
”Our wine cellars were well stocked once. My grandfather, I'm told, was shrewd in that area. And in this one,” she added, gesturing toward the books. ”He enjoyed a gla.s.s of good wine and a good book.”
”And your ”The books often, the wine rarely.”
When she glanced toward the door, he saw her smile, fully, warmly, for the first time. He could only stare at her as his throat went dry and his heart shuddered. ”Thank you, Magda. I would have come for it.”
”You've enough to do, my lady, without carting trays.” The woman seemed ancient to Kylar. Her face as withered as a winter apple, her body bowed as if she carried bricks on her back. But she set the tea tray on the sideboard and curtseyed with some grace. ”Should I pour for you, my lady?”
”I'll see to it. How are your hands?”
”They don't trouble me overmuch.”
Deirdre took them in her own. They were knotted and swollen at the joints. ”You're using the ointment I gave you?”
”Yes, my lady, twice daily. It helps considerable.”
Keeping her eyes on Magda's, Deirdre rubbed her thumbs rhythmically over the gnarled knuckles. ”I have a tea that will help. I'll show you how to make it, and you'll drink a cup three times a day.”
”Thank you, my lady.” Magda curtseyed again before she left the room.
Kylar saw Deirdre rub her own hands as if to ease a pain before she reached for the teapot. ”I'll answer your questions, Prince Kylar, and hope that you'll answer some of mine in turn.” She brought him a small tray of cheese and biscuits, then settled into a chair with her tea.
”How do you survive?”
To the point, she thought. ”We have the garden. Some chickens and goats for eggs and milk, and meat when meat is needed. There's the forest for fuel and, if we're lucky, for game. The young are trained in necessary skills. We live simply,” she said, sipping her tea. ”And well enough.”
”Why do you stay?”
”Because this is my home. You risked your life in battle to protect yours.”
”How do you know I didn't risk it to take what belonged to someone else?”
She watched him over the rim of her cup. Yes, he was handsome. His looks were only more striking now that he'd regained some of his strength. One of the servants had shaved him, and without the stubble of beard he looked younger. But little less dangerous. ”Did you?”
”You know I didn't.” His gaze narrowed on her face. ”You know. How is that, Deirdre of the Ice?” He reached out, clamped a hand on her arm.