“Never.” The very idea appalling.
“Good. Level headed and patient as the day is long, that’s what I’ve always said about you, Perri. Although funnily, the pretty Lordling has a different story, telling me some nonsense about you being terse and bossy.”
“We just rub each other the wrong way, that’s all.” Perhaps she could use that as an excuse to avoid this duty.
“Even better, then I know you won’t fall for his silver tongue and winsome ways. He’s yours for the day. Off you go then, the man must be both starving and in pain.” When Mary gave you orders you obeyed.
Stomping over to Lord De’Luca’s bedside, Perri ran experienced assessing eyes over his form. His colour was good. A makeshift blindfold wrapped around his eyes, indicating he was still sensitive to light. But other than that… and the audible sound of his stomach rumbling, the man looked very good… she meant healthy.
“Healer harridan?”
“How did you know it was me?” Perri settled the tray on a nearby table, taking a seat beside it.
“Your perfume.”
Gulp, that was a little disconcerting.
“Please tell me you bring food. And water, my throat is rather parched.”
“Yes.” She went to hand over the goblet, and was struck by the logistics. Given how low Brandth was reclining he wouldn’t be able to lever himself up and hold the goblet at the same time. Suppressing a sigh, she leant forward, sliding her hand around the back of his head, wilfully ignoring how thick and glossy his hair felt as her fingers sank into it. Lifting his head she brought the goblet to his lips, allowing him to drink his fill.
“Thank you.”
His gratitude sounded genuine as she lowered him back down and took her seat once more. Perhaps their encounter yesterday could be marked down to the pain he had been enduring and they could begin afresh today. Then naturally he had to go ruin it.
“I doubt there’s a man alive who doesn’t like to start the day with his cheek pressed up against a soft bosom.”
“You… You.” The man was a pig.
“Now my morning would be perfection itself if there was food in the offing. I always say… mmpfhing.”
Perri took great enjoyment in watching Brandth hurriedly chew the large spoonful of porridge she’d unexpectedly thrust into this mouth.
“I say, that stuff is stone col… mphf.”
Hah, she’d found the solution to keep Brandth from chattering on. Ready with the next large spoonful the moment he opened his mouth again.
“Mppfinging!”
It was a surprisingly blissful three minutes spent in the man’s company… until the bowl was empty. Crud. Watching as he swallowed the last mouthful. Hah, but she had one more trick up her sleeve. He’d heard the scraping of the spoon, he knew the meal was over. No doubt he intended to batter her ears with all sorts of complaints worded so they made him sound like a gilt tongued poet, rather than the entitled spoilt Lordling he was.
The moment he took a deep breath and opened his mouth once more Perri swooped forward, pressing the elixir against his lips, grabbing his nostrils, pinching perhaps a little harder than was necessary, pouring the entire contents of the vial down in one go.
There was gagging, spluttering, muttered curse words and more gagging. Oh, he did carry on. Perhaps she could fetch another bowl of porridge… oh, no, she had a better idea.
“Mpfingingfikking!”
Hah, Lord De’Luca made quite the amusing sight with her apple thrust into his mouth.
Chapter Ten
“And here is our combat training arena.” The air in this large space smelled of sawdust and dirt. Alia leading the way over to some tiered wooden seats, so she and Talac could watch the last few minutes of Master Sword Peggy run through some cool down exercises with their under sevens group. It was reassuring to note not a single head had turned in their direction as they entered. Though Alia could sense the curiosity racing through the nine children as they raised and lowered their wooden blades in perfect unison, breathing deeply, diligently following Peggy’s instructions.
This tour was into its fifth hour and her companion showed no signs of being weary, or losing interest in anything Lair related. He asked copious questions, not just of Alia, but of everyone they met at the blacksmiths, tannery, stables, bathhouses, distillery, butchers, weapons locker, kitchens and along the walls, as they walked the battlement perimeter.
Surprisingly, Talac didn’t ask anything of a personal nature. All his queries were focused on how things had been built, what tasks people performed and whether they enjoyed living at the Lair. Perhaps more shocking was how her people reacted to Talac. The man exerted no charm, but there was something about him that her people instantly respected and responded to.
He’d readily tried his hand at pumping the forge, mixing dyes at the tannery and even kneading dough at the bakery. Displaying talent at the range with both a crossbow and throwing lance, hitting the target bullseye every time.
