Page 12 of Beguiled
The king’s weapons master had given us each knives to wear in secret compartments in the soles of our boots. Unfortunately, someone had stolen my boots early in our journey, and I’d had to make do with an old pair I’d purchased after offering myself as a laborer for hire.
Now that both Gregor and I had lost our concealed knives, we’d have a harder time liberating ourselves from our chains. Perhaps we would have to persuade one of the guards to aid us.
The scraping of the door overhead was followed by a slant of light that illuminated the cavern, revealing Gregor chained to the wall opposite me. His scarred face contained bruises like mine, but otherwise he appeared unharmed.
As the ladder descended, I realized that even if we happened to obtain a utensil that might unlock our manacles, we still would need the help of one of the guards to break free of the dungeon. And yet how could we convince any of them when we had nothing to exchange?
Dainty boots stepped onto the first rung and then the second. The veiled woman was coming back. Though her hose and breeches were mostly shielded by the long tunic she wore, I could still see too much of her shapely legs. As she climbed down and hopped to the ground, I tore my attention from her legs to the baskets looped over each arm. The waft of fish soup sent my stomach into a rolling growl.
She lifted her torch higher in my direction. “I see you’re finally awake.”
“Just in time.”
“Just in time for more doctoring?” Her tone contained a hint of teasing that seemed to lighten her eyes.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for—more needles digging through my flesh.”
She laughed, and the sound was soft and lilting behind her veil. I wished suddenly that I could see the way her lips curved up when she smiled. As though sensing my scrutiny, she dropped her gaze to one of her baskets.
Was it possible I could convince this woman to aid our escape? I sat up straighter, the prospect giving me renewed energy. Already she’d shown her willingness to help us. And she’d just laughed at my weak attempt at jesting. Could I make this woman like me enough in one week that she’d free us?
With her blemishes, perhaps she’d never had much flattery from men. And perhaps she’d relish having someone pay her attention. Such a strategy was worth a try, wasn’t it?
As she hooked the torch into the wall, I observed her more carefully. Her dark hair hung in a single thick braid down her back. The curve of a delicate ear showed above the veil as did the arch of a high cheekbone. Her long lashes and narrow brows served to highlight her stunning green eyes.
At one time, she’d likely been an exceptionally beautiful woman, which made her blemishes all the more tragic. No nobleman would ever be able to marry a woman with deformities, regardless of how much he might care for her. He would put himself and his family in danger of becoming an outcast with her.
As she placed the baskets on the floor, my mind spun with the various methods I could employ for winning her affection. A part of my conscience warned against using her this way. But another part whispered that a little wooing would be harmless if doing so could preserve Gregor’s and my lives.
“My lady.” I tried to make my tone serious. “I am truly grateful for your doctoring.”
She knelt beside me and gently peeled back the cloak.
“Without your tender ministrations, my wounds would be festering by now.”
She bent closer and examined one of the cuts on my arm.
Think.I’d interacted with many maidens over the past few years as I’d come of age. Wealthy noblemen and foreign kings alike had flaunted their daughters before my brothers and me at court. I’d never been without attention from one comely woman or another. What had I done then to gain their favor?
For a long moment, I scoured the far corners of my brain but could come up with nothing. In all truth, I’d never had to do anything, because the young ladies had been the ones to throw themselves at me.
I glanced sideways at the veiled woman. How could I charm her when I had no idea how to do so? What would Vilmar do if he were in my place? Or Kresten? My youngest brother had been the most winsome amongst the ladies.
I pictured Kresten winking and teasing, tossing back his handsome head and laughing. He’d always been smooth-tongued, saying just the right words to melt a woman’s heart. I’d scoffed at his use of such tactics, but what I wouldn’t give to have his ability at this moment.
“And how are the wounds feeling?” She bent to examine another of the areas she’d stitched.
What could I say that would sound witty and impressive? The cogs within my mind whirred, but again, I was speechless.
She sat back, her brows furrowing. “That bad, my lord?”
“No, they’re doing well enough.” I felt suddenly like an awkward lad using a blunt sword instead of a full-grown man on the cusp of ruling a nation.
“Then the poultice I packed into each is easing the pain?”
“Poultice?” I glanced down at my arm and chest to the places she’d stitched. I caught a whiff of spices I couldn’t begin to name. “The wounds do hurt, but I’m sure without your efforts I’d have no relief.”
She studied another one of the areas and then draped the cloak back over my shoulders and arms. Ought I mention how appealing I looked without my tunic? Vilmar or Kresten would say such a thing.
