“Admirable.”
“Not really.” She neither wanted nor needed this man’s approval or admiration. “Everyone here at the Lair contributes. Stable hands. Hunters. Bakers. Tanners. Blacksmiths. Gardeners. It’s my privilege to contribute in any small way that might help others.”
“Just so. Though there must be a way to make the medicine taste less vile?”
“We do so… for children.”
Brandth chuckled, a warm masculine sound that echoed around the large infirmary chamber. “That’s put me in my place.” Surprisingly he appeared amused to be the butt of her put down. Nor did it seem to discourage him. “What about your spare time? How do you fill it?”
“I practice my stitches for sewing wounds. I seek out and gather plants that make up our elixirs and medicines. And I teach several classes for those interested in learning more about healing.”
“None of that sounds particularly… restful.”
“Perhaps not to you, but I like to keep busy, feel useful.”
“I find you rather unique and intriguing Healer Perri.”
“I can’t think why. I’m only one of a number of healers who work here, there is neither anything unique or intriguing about me.”
“And yet, you may count me amongst your devotees now. Of which, no doubt given your lyrical voice and soft hands… when you aren’t forcing medicine down a man’s throat… I believe there must be a legion.”
Perri made a scoffing sound. No doubt he thought she should be flattered by his words, his attention. But that’s all they were, worthless words.
“I would know what you look like.”
“Excuse me?” He had all Perri’s attention suddenly.
“Between my aching head and this blindfold, I’m forced to surmise that the packaging that matches that voice is grace and beauty personified. No doubt many a suitor had written poetry to honour your sweet lips and bewitching eyes.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong, Lord De’Luca. I am… plain beyond measure.” Gods, why was she still sitting here participating in this ridiculous conversation about her looks. The only poems Perri ever featured in anymore were those created by the children, who made her the star of their rhyming tales. The Monster of Gloomenthrall. It didn’t have quite the same respectful ring to it that Alia’s Beast title heralded.
“I shall be the judge of that… hmmmm, I’m beginning to feel surprisingly sleepy… you put something in my tea, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Just a small sleeping aid.”
“Bossy. A harridan. And now, sneaky… intriguing.”
Between one breath and the next the man was asleep. Perri could have dropped to her knees and sent up a prayer of gratitude right then and there. Absently reaching up to double check that the scarf covering her face was tucked tightly into the high neck of her grey dress.
She’d gotten over how she looked many years ago… yet the idea of Brandth’s reaction when he eventually would set eyes upon her made Perri feel a little ill. She was used to small children and newcomers to the Lair initially recoiling at the sight of her. She had learnt to deal with that. Be especially careful and gentle with them until they got to know her. And understood that whilst she might look like a monster, she was not one. Their reaction to her scars only… natural. But why then did the idea of Brandth flinching at the sight of her cause Perri’s stomach to curdle?
Ridiculous. His opinion of her looks should not matter. No doubt if he ever caught sight of her, he’d gasp in shock before beating a hasty retreat, not wanting Perri to taint his pretty perfect world.
Hah, her in Lord Brandth De’Luca’s world, what a preposterous concept. He was a titled Lord. Heir to a Barony. Wealthy, garrulous, elegant and so very handsome. She was a healer. Her clothes plain and practical. Kind, but reserved in manner, and so very scarred.
Still, as she moved around the chamber performing her duties, Perri couldn’t shake the strangest idle curiosity that took hold of her. Thanks to helping care for Brandth upon his arrival, cutting away his trousers, and other muddy clothes, she knew every scar, every freckle that decorated his body. He had no need of padding in the shoulders of his tunic. Nor did he hide a girdle beneath the waistband of his trousers. Physically, the man had no secrets from her, except one… the colour of his eyes.
It was beyond silly to wonder if they were blue, or dark. Mentally she berated herself for dwelling on the subject. Besides, it wouldn’t matter how beautiful they no doubt were, the only thing that would be of concern would be the look in Brandth’s eyes when he finally caught sight of her… horror.
Chapter Seven
Collapsing down on to the priest’s dais, Alia gulped down a goblet of mead, she was so very thirsty, not to mention hot and sweaty. Despite her two hours out on the dance floor her toes still tapped to the beat of the lively music, watching as dancers continued to twirl by in large numbers.
It felt like she’d danced with everyone here. Passed from person to person. Losing her crown of flowers early in the proceedings. Only to have another crown wedged down upon her head moments later. Phew, reaching up she straightened it. Much better, now she could see out her right eye. Absently Alia rested a cool hand against her flushed cheek. The afternoon summer sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon but the air, given all the recent rain, was nothing but steamy. Thankfully the vast puff willow trees crowding up against the stream provided plentiful shade.
Damn, staring into her cup, all the mead was gone and she was still thirsty. She’d barely finished that thought when a large figure stalked out of the crowd, settling himself down beside her upon the dais.
“Here.”
