by Jean Johnson
Ducking into the bathroom, she washed her hands, flapped them to air-dry, and returned to eat. The medieval society had taught her how to eat gracefully with her fingers, thankfully. The lack of silverware was merely an annoyance, not an actual problem.
It had also taught her to be adventurous and open to new experiences, when it came to her taste buds. The herbs and spices used were partially familiar, partially unfamiliar, giving the otherwise plain meal an exotic edge. The meat tasted like duck, which she’d had once for Christmas, years ago when her parents had still been alive, and had been flavored with savory, sweet basil, and something peppery that wasn’t quite pepper. And while she wasn’t normally very fond of beer or ale, the stout Saber had brought up from the kitchens of this place did have a nutty flavor to it that was kind of appealing when she sipped it.
The hot foods had cooled, but were still flavorful. She couldn’t finish it all, though, and had to replace the cover. Her stomach was too small these days to handle such a sudden wealth of calories. Wisely, Kelly didn’t eat as much as she wanted to; that way, she didn’t make herself sick. The leftovers would still be under the bowl Saber had picked out for a lid whenever she grew hungry again, though she would have to ask him about refrigeration and preservation spells.
When she used the refreshing room again, wanting to wash her hands, Kelly first cautiously checked every corner and nook. Only then did she relax enough to wash up, rub her teeth with a bit of thoroughly rinsed cloth, since she lacked a toothbrush, and retire for the night. Not even a tiny bed mite disturbed her, as she stretched out on the somewhat lumpy, feather-stuffed mattress.
She couldn’t sleep, even with one of the globes glowing at half-strength. Of course, she’d had half a night’s sleep before the fire, and half an afternoon’s sleep after her arrival, though not quite enough to make up for her over-exhausted, underfed, now-sated state. It was the thought of more creepy-crawlies coming back that kept the redhead awake. And awake. And still awake.
Giving up an hour or two later—this universe not only lacked technology, but also clocks—Kelly got up, found the age-hardened bar of soap in the bathroom, and a rag that looked like it might have once been a scrap of non-terry toweling cloth. There was even a bucket and a stiff, hair-bristled scrubbing brush tucked under the basin sink. Soaping up the water, she used another rag to tie her hair out of the way under the makeshift kerchief and started scrubbing the half-bath attached to “her” room.
A good, thorough cleaning would scrub away the memories of being attacked by something that slurped garter snakes like spaghetti, as well as make her less hesitant to touch anything around her. That was the Doyle way, anyway—to confront the bad things, memories included, and get past them any way one could. Not to mention her nature was a lot more fastidious than her surroundings. She wasn’t afraid of dirt. She just didn’t like it.
So she scrubbed away the bad memories, exchanging them for a thoroughly clean bathroom, hoping to tire herself out so she could sleep without thinking about black things with too many legs, grumpy spell-casting men, nooses, muggers, hate-mail notes, or ceilings collapsing on her in flames.
FIVE
She wasn’t in the bed, when Saber brought up her breakfast on another platter. The room was brightly lit by the globes scattered around the chamber, even though the morning light was already gleaming through the windows to the east, and the bedding was shoved back on one side, proof she had risen at some point after he had left her. Guessing she was in the refreshing room, the mage-smith set the second tray next to the first, then lifted the original tray to remove it. And then set it back down again for a quick peek under the makeshift lid, because it felt almost as heavy as the tray he had just brought up.
His suspicions were confirmed. She had barely eaten half of last night’s dinner. Irritated that the fool woman wasn’t taking care of herself right, half starving herself to death for the gods alone knew what idiotic reason, Saber stalked over to the bathroom, hesitated, then rapped lightly on the door. No answer. In fact, it swung open slightly the moment he thumped on it.
Pushing it open cautiously, he stuck his head inside. Empty. Clean, and startlingly so, by the standards of the rest of the abandoned palace rooms…but empty. If she wasn’t in the bedchamber, and she wasn’t in the refreshing chamber, and yet last night she hadn’t moved until he’d given her leave to move—something had happened to her.
Or she had disobeyed his order to stay up here and had decided to go and explore. The aggravating, petite woman did have that willful virago streak in her that matched the tint of her hair. It seemed that, in her universe, the temperament of their redheads was more or less the same as it was for the ones who lived here in Katan.
Turning to head back out the door and track her down, Saber spotted her. She had been hidden by the near side of the bed, lying on the floor, which was partly scrubbed clean of its accumulated years of grime. Innocently curled up on her side next to a bucket of dirty water, a scrubbing brush, and a half-dried rag, was the woman who just might be the Prophesied downfall of his people. Looking like a cross between an orphaned waif and a limp, strawberry-blond, striped rag.
Saber leaned back through the doorway behind him, reexamining the refreshing room. Clean and grime-free, from floor to ceiling. The age-worn, velvet curtains and linen drying cloths looked like they had been soaked, washed, and hung back up to dry. Neither a cobweb nor a speck of dust occupied the refreshing room, even up by the ceiling. Water splashed serenely from its fall into a clean-scoured draining basin, missing only its stopper-cork; otherwise it was virtually pristine, as if it had been attacked by a troupe of maidservants being paid by the dirt-speck. Even the windowpanes had been scrubbed until the glass gleamed in the morning light.
Walls, door, necessity seat, even the ceiling—all of it had been cleaned. Considering the level of grime he recalled from earlier, that would have taken more than a little effort to get rid of nonmagically. This cleaning spree would have taken a lot of nonmagical effort, in fact. On half a meal’s worth of food, in an underfed, almost skin-and-bones body.
Angry—righteously angry though he didn’t stop to think why—Saber stomped over to the soundly sleeping woman. Scowling, he squatted to shake her hard, to blast her with his opinion of her idiocy the moment she was awake. Two things stopped him.
For one, Saber could now see the bruises she had complained about, visible as dark stains on her freckled skin through the various holes in her clothing. He could even see shadows of them underneath the thin, light, worn material of her odd garments. Dark bruises that clearly lay under the aging fabric. Many of which he had probably put there, or at least worsened while constraining her in their fight earlier, and in carrying her about like a sack of refuse thrown carelessly hard over his shoulder last night.
The other thing that stopped him was how she slept so peacefully, so exhaustedly in the gleam of daylight reflected off of the patch of scrubbed hardwood floor around her, limply comfortable in spite of the hardness of her makeshift bed. Or at least oblivious to any discomfort in her exhaustion. And it was exhaustion, confirmed by the shadows visible under her peacefully closed eyes.
Gently, taking care to not wake her, Saber picked up Kelly of Doyle and lifted her onto the bed. He did his best to not look at the curving underside of her breast, indecently revealed where the singed spot in her tunic-shirt rode up a little too high on her deeply sleeping body. Pulling the covers over her, he prodded his memory to try to remember if there were any women’s clothing anywhere in the castle.
Perhaps in one of the solars? Or maybe in a bedchamber we haven’t examined beyond whatever was necessary for monster-cleansing… Leaving the woman to sleep, he made sure both trays of food were covered, double-knocked all the globes off to conserve their magic, and went in search of something much less distracting for her to wear than garments that looked like they would continue tearing if he so much as looked at them wrong.
If he remembered right, if no
thing else, there should be a sewing chamber in the north wing that should still have cloth leftover from their last shipment from the mainland. Saber’s cloth-sewing spells were about as mediocre as those of the rest of his brothers, save for Evanor, but it shouldn’t be too hard to whip up a simple dress. If he couldn’t find anything already made…and if he could find enough intact, sturdy fabric for her to wear.
He just hoped he could find something already made.
What in Jinga’s Name are you doing, woman?”
The abrupt shout made her jump, splashing the water she had been using to rinse the scrubbing brush. Heart racing, Kelly watched Saber throw down a bundle of cloth, his face smudged with grime along one cheek. He stalked toward her, and she scrambled to her feet, yanking her pajama top down just to be safe. His unreasoning anger made her nervous, because she had no idea what he was mad about this time around. Kelly backed up a step as he approached, then stood her ground, tugging on her pajama top again. “I’m scrubbing the floor! What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re wearing yourself to the bone, dammit!”
His concern, delivered in a half-roar, made her blink. He cared about her? The big lug is concerned about me? she thought, surprised. He grabbed her arm, making her wince from the bruises that had already blossomed there. Which made him flinch, then he swept her off of her feet, scooping her swiftly into his arms.
She bit her lower lip as he stomped across the floor, away from the bucket and puddle of soapy, dirty water on the floor. But not from his grip. This time, his muscular arms cradled her remarkably gently. Rather, her teeth sank into her bottom lip to keep from smiling. Why, the big, blond lug is actually concerned about me!
It was kind of cute, in an annoyingly macho, overly demanding sort of way.
He set her on the chair at the desk the two trays were on and yanked off both tray covers. She had already explored the food and eaten some of the leftovers from the night before. And some of the eggs, potatoes, and onions that someone had fried together for breakfast, plus more of the nut-brown bread, this time slathered with butter. A mug had been filled with fresh-squeezed juice of some sweet-tart, non-orange kind, and she had managed to drink about half of it an hour ago, when she had woken up in the bed. That was when Kelly had realized new food had been brought and she had somehow been tucked back into the bed. She couldn’t remember anyone putting either the new food or herself into place.
The only explanation was that Saber had done it for her.
Saber clanged the silver lids on the desktop across from the tray. At least she had eaten some of the damned food since it had been brought up, but some wasn’t nearly enough, in his opinion. “Eat!”
She blinked and looked up at him with those blue green eyes. “I already ate. About an hour ago.”
“Eat the rest of it!” he elaborated, jabbing a dusty finger at the breakfast plate.
“I’m still full!”
“You haven’t eaten enough to be full!” her host snapped at her.
“Compared to what little I have been eating, I am full! I don’t want to overstuff myself and throw up,” she added, looking up at him again. “You don’t force someone who’s been starving for a year to eat a fourteen-course meal the first day there’s enough to eat.”
“Then you’re an idiot for starving yourself!”
That was it! Kelly jumped to her feet and lifted her chin belligerently, glaring up at him as she gave him back what she had just received. A full-throated roar.
“I didn’t have any choice, you big, overgrown ignoramus! Between those prejudiced asinines ruining my local customer trade, and having to pay off the mortgage on my house and shop, just so I could have a house and shop, I was lucky to be able to afford any food at all! And half of that I had to grow myself in my tiny little backyard!”
Her pint-sized, completely fearless version of his own roar made him blink. He recovered after a moment, though, and jabbed his finger at the chair. “Sit! Eat anyway!”
“I’m still in the middle of cleaning the floor!” she snapped back, planting her hands on her hips and tossing her shoulder-length hair.
The action, Saber realized, threatened to raise that one hole high enough to make all the other holes and tears positively decent by comparison…though it looked like she had wrapped cloth around her flesh underneath for a pass at decency. Saber dug his hands into his hair, then swept one out at the room with his demand. “Why in Jinga’s Name were you even cleaning, last night?!”
“Because I couldn’t get to sleep!” she shot back, folding her arms over her breasts.
Tired of running around without a bra, she had bound her full curves with a strip of cloth torn off one of the ratty, aging towel-cloths hanging in the half-bath, but that hole still made her uncomfortable. The moment she found needle and thread, and some cloth that wasn’t more moth-eaten than her singed pajamas, she’d make herself something less embarrassing to wear. Even if it had to be out of the velvet curtains hanging in this room, which were in desperate need of washing.
“I couldn’t sleep with that bathroom a mess, because I kept thinking of all those cobwebs, and those mekha-something-or-others crawling around,” she added defensively. “So I cleaned out the bathroom, floor to ceiling, then had to clean the floor again from all the drips, and the next thing I knew, I was out into the bedroom, scrubbing the rest of the floor. So I just kept going!”
“You’re too damned skinny to be working so hard! Sit down and eat something before you fall dead at my feet!”
“Oh, trust me—my last intention is to fall at your feet!” she shot back, but dropped onto the cushion-seated chair anyway, unfolding her arms. At least this second time a fork had been added to the tray, so she didn’t have to use her fingers. He stood at her side, arms folded across his light blue-clad chest, watching every bite she took with those gray eyes of his. “Do you mind not looming over me like that?”
“Obviously you cannot take care of yourself. I will stand here until you finish every last crumb of this food.”
“Have fun,” she retorted flippantly. Five minutes later, when she was full once more, she stood up to leave the desk-table and return to scrubbing the floor. His hand came down on her shoulder, pushing her back down onto the chair. Kelly rolled her eyes. “Do you mind?”
“Every crumb,” Saber warned her in a growl.
“I’m full again!” she protested, glaring up at him. “I was full to begin with! I’m not doing this because I’m anorexic, I’m doing this because I haven’t had a full meal in months!”
He resettled his arms across his chest, flexing his array of muscles in silent male warning.
“I can’t sit here all day! I won’t sit here all day,” she added firmly, getting up again. He unfolded his arm to push her back down. She pinched him on the arm as she landed on the embroidered cushion once more. “Stop that! I don’t need my bottom bruised, too.”
When she thrust back to her feet the moment his hand was removed, Saber glared at her. “Sit down, woman!”
“I don’t feel like sitting!” She tossed her shoulder-length hair, planting her hands on her hips once more.
Glaring in aggravation, he picked her up by the ribs and carried her over to the bed.
“Hey!” She thumped him on the shoulders with the edge of her fist, a physical demand to be let down.
“If you will not sit on the chair, then you will lie in bed!” He put her on the bed. She bounced away and rolled to the far side. “Be still!”
Feet slapping on the clean side of the floor, she glared at him from across the bed. “Stop telling me what to do! And stop yelling at me!”
“Either you get in that bed, or I’ll spell you there!”
Aquamarine eyes narrowed to glittering slits, as her pale, freckled cheeks turned pink with rage. She stomped up onto the mattress to tower over him, taking advantage of the only extra height she could find. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Do not try my
patience again, woman!” he asserted, starting in a growl and ending in a roar. “Lie down in that bed!”
“You know, this room was built to be proof against most sounds between it and the donjon hall below,” a third voice interjected dryly, making both of them whirl toward the doorway to the stairs. The blond haired, brown-eyed brother leaning in the doorway studied the pair of them. “But I could hear you all the way down in the scullery. Not even my lungs are usually employed that loud.”
“He’s being impossible!”
“That’s because she won’t eat!”
Their audience winced and wiggled a finger in his ear. “Okay. Since the two of you are only making volume headway, I’ll play mediator.” Brown eyes glanced toward gray. “All right, Saber, what is the problem—softly, if you please?”
“Look at her, Evanor!” Saber demanded, jabbing a finger in her direction. Which she batted away, giving him a dirty look. “She’s all skin and bones and eats less than a bee, but works eight times as hard as one! She’s been trying to clean this place on less than a third of a meal!”
A golden brow lifted, as the man eyed the partially cleaned room around them. The cobwebs had been batted down, the floor mostly scrubbed, and the dust whacked at least somewhat from the curtains.
“It’s indeed a tough job for someone without magic to speed and aid them, but not that overly laborious. And women are often not as fragile as you profess this one to be. Many are often expected to clean and keep house without a speck of magic…though I’ll admit ours is one of the worst-kept ones around, despite the efforts I’ve made in the more used rooms. Now,” he added, giving his brother a “shut up” look before switching his gaze to the other person in the room, “tell me, lady—well, first, what is your name?”
