Page 85 of My Hero
Damn her!
Elspeth was snickering behind her hand. Her shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. If she hadn’t been drunk, Cynthia would have kicked the impertinent maid all the way to the door. As it was, she settled for calling her names.
“Why, you cursed old bag of bones,” she said, her speech slurred by the ale. “What’s so funny about…about thrashing like a beheaded chicken and—”
Elspeth cackled, beside herself. “Oh, my lady, stop! Stop!”
Cynthia crossed her arms over her chest and waited for Elspeth’s laughter to cease.
“My lady,” Elspeth finally managed to gasp out. “Is that all? Is that what’s troubling you?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
Elspeth stood over her and held out a hand. “Give me your gown, my lady. We’ve got some talking to do, and you might as well have a good bath while the water’s warm.”
Elspeth did have some talking to do. She told Cynthia things that made her eyes widen and her ears burn. She spoke of men and nature and the way of the world, things she said Cynthia’s mother had apparently neglected to tell her. She spoke until the water grew tepid. But Cynthia listened to every word, too chagrined to argue. And by the time Elspeth was done with her sermon, hope had taken root in Cynthia’s heart.
“But with John…” she began as Elspeth finished toweling her off.
“John was an old fool,” Elspeth said bluntly. “It wasn’t his fault. But he likely knew nothing about pleasuring a woman. A young man, though, like Lord Philip? There’s a fine one to ruffle your skirts.”
Cynthia giggled. Ruffle her skirts. Garth certainly did that. Joy blossomed suddenly inside her. Garth obviously knew how to pleasure her. So there was nothing wrong after all.
She thanked Elspeth with a squeeze that made the maid squeal in protest, then allowed herself to be tucked into bed. When Elspeth leaned over to kiss her forehead and inquired in a whisper, “Do you love him then, my lady? Do you love Philip?” she pretended she was asleep.
As soon as she heard the door bump shut, Cynthia opened her eyes. She was too relieved and too excited to sleep. She must tell Garth. She must heal the senseless rift between them. And she must do it now, before he suffered through one more night of disillusionment. She’d slip on her silkiest gown, steal through the hall, and go to him in his quarters. She’d repair everything.
The scent of ale roused Garth from sleep—that and the harsh whisper slicing through the night.
“Garth!”
He threw back and coverlet and reached for the sword that wasn’t, and never had been, under his pillow.
“It’s me!” Cynthia whispered loudly, sending another puff of ale-laced breath wafting in his direction.
“Cynthia?” he whispered back, his heart pounding. What was she doing in his room?
“It’s all right,” she breathed. “Everything is all right.”
“What?” His head spun. If he was going to make any sense of this, he’d have to get up and light a candle. “Wait.”
He groped his way to the hearth and stirred the banked coals, all the while wondering if he was completely mad to let Cynthia remain in his chamber. For the love of God, the Abbot himself lodged in the castle this eve.
He lit the blackened wick of a candle on a glowing log, and it sputtered to life. Then he turned to face her.
Aye, he decided, he was completely mad.
Her hair cascaded wild and loose and damp about her. One shoulder of her sleek, flimsy gown hung askew, low enough to reveal the cleft of her arm and part of her breast. Her feet were bare, and her toes clutched playfully at the rushes. She was obviously besotted. She swayed unsteadily, her eyelids lowering lasciviously as she stared at him. He nearly groaned when she winked and gave him an intoxicatingly sultry smile.
He fumbled the candle into the holder at the foot of his bed.
“You’re drunk.” At least that explained her imprudent presence here. But his cursed body didn’t know the difference. Blood surged to his loins as if he might indeed bed the reeling woman before him. “Go back to your chamber.”
“Nay,” she said, rushing forward.
He held his breath.
“Nay,” she insisted. “You don’t understand. It’s all right now.” She pressed her palms flat upon his chest and gazed up into his eyes. She smelled clean, wonderful. “It’s perfect.”
