Page 31 of The Herald's Heart
CHAPTER SIX
Several days and a hundred hummings later, Larkin stomped toward the once secret portal she’d used to enter the keep as a ghost. Water sloshed from the bucket she carried in one hand as she juggled strong soap, a scrub brush, and a second bucket in the other. She was damp and dirty, and thanks to Sir Talon of the Hateful Song, her life had alternated between complete misery and a state of near constant semiarousal.
“That passage stinks like a midden,” he had said to her. “The entire keep still reeks because of it. I want it clean and smelling like a meadow. Today.” Then he’d told Cleve to keep an eye on her and left softly singing, “Once more my sweet, please do you mind, I’ll give you treats ...”
Larkin wanted to breathe fire. Instead, under Cleve’s watchful eye, she’d fetched two buckets of water, found the soap, and went to do Talon’s bidding. She should be grateful for the demeaning tasks he assigned, for anger over them kept her from murdering the wretch, or worse, marching to his tune and straight into his bed.
Cleve opened the not-so-hidden door to the tunnel and carried the torch down the stairs before her. How dare Talon assume the stink in the keep was all her doing? Was it her fault if the earl was too stingy to hire a bailiff who would ensure that animals could not wander in, get lost, and die within the keep’s walls? ’Twas an excellent explanation for the noisome odor. But did Sir I Want It Done Today bother to consider anything other than her own prior behavior?
No.
At the bottom of the stairs, she threw the brush at the stonewall to vent her anger. It bounced and clattered to the floor with several satisfying thunks.
“’Ere now, ye’ve no need to throw things just ’cause Sir Talon chose me to guard ye. ’Twon’t help ye get this done any faster neither.”
Appalled that she’d let her irritation with the knight get the better of her, Larkin started down the passage. “I am sorry, Cleve. You are right. I’d best set to work.” Too bad it wasn’t Talon and not the brush that had bumped and clattered against the wall. She smiled. He would have deserved every bump and bruise. Singing bawdy songs at every turn and smiling at women as if he’d like to do with them the things he sang of.
She frowned to herself as she retrieved the brush. Then she arrived at the far end of the passage, where the new door blocked the exit to the cliffs and the sea, and began working her way back toward the stairs, scrubbing top to bottom.
A bucket and a half of water later, Larkin tossed the brush into the container and soapy water splashed onto her bodice. Mayhap this labor kept her from sharing Talon’s mattress. But it also kept her from searching the keep for the marriage box. She shivered and pulled at the wet cloth over her chest. Constantly watched as she was, she had little chance to even pick out likely spots to search at some later time. Unless she could rid herself of her guard for a short while.
Perhaps she could achieve two goals at one stroke. She jostled the bucket with her foot, and half the remaining water spread down the distance to the foot of the stairs where Cleve stood.
“Oh no, I’ve spilled most of the water.” She leaned against the wall and did her best to sound as if she were sobbing.
“What’s to do?”
“Oh Cleve,” she wailed. “I’m so tired. I cannot even keep the bucket straight and have lost nearly all the water.” She covered her face with her hands and made choking noises.
“Now, Mistress Larkin ...”
She felt Cleve’s awkward pat on her arm.
“I’ll get ye some more water in this other bucket. Ye finish with that one, and I’ll be back afore anyone’s the wiser.”
“Would you do that for me, Cleve?” She looked up at him with eyes made watery by the stench she battled with brush and soap.
“Aye, Mistress Larkin. But ye’ve got to promise me ye’ll keep working and not take advantage.”
“You’re too kind to me, Cleve. I wouldn’t think of causing you trouble. I’ll be very good and work very hard while you’re gone.”
“Good, then. I’ll be back in a trice.”
Larkin watched him pick his way carefully over the yard of hard-packed dirt and stone where she’d spilled the water. With luck, her accident had cleaned the floor for her, and she could use the respite from Cleve’s guarding to search the walls for likely hiding places.
In the dim light of the torch, she could barely see where the water had spread. She bent for a closer look. It had been a waste. All she’d achieved was a muddy mess. ’Twould be no searching now.
She dunked her brush, set the nearly empty bucket aside, knelt on the ground, and prepared to scrub away the mud. Brush in hand, she searched for the cake of soap. Where had it gone?
She heard the door at the top of the stairs creak open. Light spilled along the walls. Larkin looked up and spied her soap inches from the bottom step. She rose to reach for the cake. Then the light was cut off, and the soap was lost in the gloom.
A step sounded, then another. “Cleve?” she whispered. The guardsman was so talkative, surely he would have said something when he opened the door. The memory of deadly arrows at dusk shivered through her. With her torch casting the only light, Larkin peered upward. Quick steps preceded the male form emerging from the gloom.
“Oh ’tis you.” She let loose a relieved breath, then watched in fascinated horror as Talon took flight.
He uttered a yelp of surprise. His hands scrabbled to find purchase on the damp stonewall. His feet flew up. His back hit the floor with such force that he bounced. He twisted sideways. So fast did he fall, he only succeeded in rolling straight toward her.
The bucket sailed upward. The soapy contents dumped across her bodice while the pail flew on behind her. She sputtered and caught a breath. Talon’s impact knocked it from her, and she went crashing backward. His hands grabbed her shoulders. She fought him. Her head would smash to pieces on the stones behind her. She did not deserve to die.
