Page 57 of Swordheart
“Much, I assure you.”
“I’m sorry I keep offending you with the sight of my…” She swallowed. “Well, you know.”
“I’m not offended, lady. Merely… distracted.”
She turned even redder. Sarkis didn’t know whether to feel smug or guilty about that.
There is no honor in embarrassing an easily flustered woman. Control yourself.
He did wonder how Halla had managed to be married for so long and still retain the ability to blush so fiercely.
He also wondered how far down that blush went. Part of him would very much like to find out.
Great god’s teeth, what had come over him? Perhaps he needed to go roll in the snow. Except that there was no snow here yet. A plunge in icy water?
As it seems unlikely that Ser Bartholomew is keeping a frozen lake in his garden, perhaps not.
Maybe that was why he hadn’t felt this way on the road. He’d been too damn cold.
Halla had been very warm in his arms the second night. He had not appreciated that nearly enough at the time.
Right,he thought crisply.Out of the sword much too long.He clearly needed to spend some time alone, which was going to be damned difficult when he was trying to guard Halla from… well, everything.
The maid came back down the hall. Sarkis turned to her and growled, “Is there a privy in this blasted place?”
“Y-yes… sir… there’s… yes… I’ll show you…” She fled down the hall in front of him.
She was a pretty enough slip of a thing. Sarkis made an effort to be attracted to her, just to see if it was specific to Halla or if he was suddenly hopelessly randy. It didn’t work. She was much too young and nervous, and he mostly wanted to go hammer on her family’s door and demand to know why they weren’t feeding her enough, and then perhaps yell at Bartholomew for not hiring at least five more servants to help her deal with the clutter in the house.
Well, at least I am not lost to all human decency. That’s worth something, I suppose.
The maid led him to the courtyard, pointed across the walk to the privy, and then fled. Sarkis pulled the door shut behind him, leaned against it, and finally let himself think all the thoughts he’d been keeping clamped down behind his teeth.
The woman in his fantasy had white-blonde hair and water-colored eyes. And excellent breasts.
It didn’t take long, but that was fine.Style doesn’t really count when it’s just you.
He stuffed himself back into his trousers and went to wash his hands under the well pump. Then he shoved his head underneath the cold water for good measure.
Hopefully that will keep me acting like a rational being for a few hours.
He went back inside and found Halla in the kitchen. Bartholomew was wringing his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t expect company, you see, and I haven’t… well…”
“Bartholomew, it’s fine,” said Halla soothingly. “I’ll go to the market and get the makings of dinner…”
“Not dressed likethat,you won’t,” growled Sarkis, immediately abandoning his resolution about rationality.
Halla wheeled around and stared at him. “What are you, my mother?”
“If you were my daughter, you would be wearing more clothing!”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll put on shoes.”
“You’re wearing a nightshirt and the ceremonial robes from adeath cult.”
“Yes, but the cult’s extinct.”
He drew his eyebrows down in a fierce scowl.
