Page 55 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
Heath looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I…”
Canting her head, she managed to look directly at him, “What about you?Did you brew it yourself from fillet of a fenny snake…in the cauldron boil and bake, perhaps?”
With twitching lips, he parroted, “Nay, My Lady. Rest assuredthere was no eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat or tongueof dogin that salve.”
He can quote Macbeth and the Divine Comedy…he is superbly well read. What else is he good in?
His jesting had turned the air soft and malleable, and while she still wished for Heath to sit, he did not. “If you don’t want to tell me where the salve came from, I won’t force you to.”
He seemed to struggle before the lines of his shoulder slackened. “It was mine. I’ve had it for years but had no reason to use it. Lord Masseur made sure that I was equipped for any incidents.”
“He was a very…peculiar Lord,” Penelope mused.
“He was,” Heath’s voice had taken a tone of nostalgia. “He taught me many things and so did his men.”
“Like what?” Penelope asked before she could question herself.
“I was taught…” Heath began uneasily but followed through. “Skills that would not normally be taught to a footman, like deep diving and skinning game without hitting the underlying flesh. I know how to seal a stab wound shut and sew up a laceration with dry pine needles and wild flax.”
Her eyes were wide, “Beg your pardon? Dry pine needles and flax? Were you in a war? I can only think those skills are for soldiers.”
Shrugging, Heath said, “Lord Masseur did serve in a war and made sure that we were trained likewise. When it came to survival, he made sure we could endure anything that was thrown at us, be it fire, a gunshot or poisoning. However, when it came to his personal effects, I was not allowed to touch a thing. No one was allowed in his private rooms, and it was only three of us in his house. I did not touch his clothes or handle his food or see his inner rooms. I did see his gun cupboard, drive his carriage and care for his horses but when it came to being personal, he was…just well, peculiar.”
“You say that with a certain fondness,” Penelope mentioned. “It sounds like me when I remember my mother.”
Heath lips curved at the side, “He did make a mark on me, but he was not of the paternal sort, more like the odd uncle that lives in the attic with critters as his friends and a trained falcon to carry messages to his enemies.”
Slapping a hand over her mouth, Penelope tried to swallow her laughter but could not. She added another hand over her mouth, but the giggles grew harder and her shoulders were shaking. Heath’s dark eyebrow lifted, and he reached over to pluck her hands away.
Suddenly, the mirth stopped—but not cold as with shock but rather warm with delight. His callused touch, rough with years of hard work were the exact opposite of her hands that were a soft as silk She liked the difference. They were strong. He had to be to have been to lift and carry her that dark half-mile back to the stable. Grasping his hands, she lifted herself up with him as the fulcrum. He did not even seem to notice the pull.
“Let’s go see Bessie,” Penelope said happily. “She must be…antsy.”
The stables were loud with Bessie whinnying and stomping up a storm even before she had entered the room. Duke looked over the partition to eye the mare with pompous aloofness. From the corner of her eye, she saw Heath glare at his horse and to her amazement, Duke seemed to flinch. She reached to quiet Bessie by running her hand over her nose and sides, making shushing sounds and comforting her.
“I’m here, Elizabeth,” Penelope soothed the anxious animal.
“Elizabeth?”
“When I first got her as a foal, her coat was bright red,” Penelope clarified embarrassedly. “I cheekily named her after our beloved Queen, but since then I know what reverence is, and it’s been Bessie ever since.”
Bessie slowly calmed down and her whinnies were soft. Penelope was nudged out of the way by Duke’s nose, and she gasped as the stallion rubbed against Bessie. The mare danced out of his way, tossed her head and looked decidedly affronted. Penelope dissolved into laughter. She then turned to Heath whose hands were clasped behind him but was clearly amused.
“What does my brother want with this hunt of his?”
Surprised at the sudden change of topic, Heath replied dryly. “A few of his peers are coming in the next week to lighten the forest of its devastating amount of pheasant, woodcocks and roebucks. Apparently, they are on the verge of forming a coup-de-grace and will overthrow our home if they are not cut down, skinned, and roasted.”
“You sir,” Penelope smiled, “are delightfully droll.”
“One of my best attributes,” Heath said while bowing his head. He reached out for Duke and scratched his jaw. “Thank you.”
Drifting closer to him, Penelope dared to nudge him with her shoulder and his left eye slanted to her. She smiled wider, “May I ask you a question?”
“That went well. You may ask me another.”
She frowned, temporarily confused then realized what he meant. Asking him if she could ask him a question was a question itself. “How old are you?”
“Would you care to guess?” Heath asked with a curl of his lips.
