Never underestimate the commercial value of mental illness.
Grimme slid Brìghde a stony look at supper when she raised her eyebrow in question. “Well?”
“’Tis done, but do not make me do that again.”
Then she smiled sweetly at him and fluttered her eyelashes.
He dropped his head and started to laugh.
“Have some wine,” she said playfully and filled his goblet from the pitcher sitting in front of her. “Ye’re more amusin’ with a few goblets in ye.” Read more
They did not take his order to open their chambers well.
After gathering his mistresses in his chambers the next morning, he paced in front of them, his hands behind his back, and barked,
“This is not up for discussion! You cannot imagine how embarrassed I was to be told our bills had not been paid, and in front of my wife! Why could you not have simply given the bills to Sir John?” Read more
“Pierce?”
Brìghde knocked on his door, but he didn’t answer. She opened it softly, and crept into his chambers to find him fast asleep on his bed, still in his filthy clothes. He had refused to stay for supper, though Grimme commanded that the others do so. Pierce had not eaten from the tray Brìghde had had sent up.
She sighed and turned to creep out quietly again.
“Lady Bridget?” he said softly.
“Aye,” she said, rushing to the bed and sitting upon it, stroking his hair and battered face.
“I won.”
“I know. I’m verra proud of you.” Read more
The screaming commenced as soon as the six of them were spotted rounding the turn into the lane that led to the keep just after suppertime. At first it was faint, but got sharper as it grew nearer.
The boys were slumped in their saddles, half asleep, more than ready to let their ponies carry them without direction and simply hold on to pommels and manes.
Grimme and Brìghde were leading the ponies from horseback, and their horses hadn’t had a good run all day so they were antsy and irritated, dancing and prancing and pawing. Grimme could almost see the ponies rolling their eyes. Read more
Brìghde supervised the loading of her linens and livery, which was a true count according to the bill Sir John had received. Furthermore, she had all the clothing she had ordered. She beamed at the seamstress, for the clothes were well sewn and softer than they looked.
“’Tis too plain for you, my lady,” the seamstress said. “You should be in green or black velvet.”
“Oh, I will be!” she assured her. “I ordered many new gowns in Hogarth. Only one black, but don’t tell Lord Kyneward. He hates black. But the clothier tried to sell me a yellow fabric, do you believe.” The seamstress studied Brìghde’s complexion then grimaced, and Brìghde nodded in agreement. “Just so. ’Twas the most expensive fabric in the shop, which is no surprise. My wedding dress was a red split kirtle over a turquoise skirt.” Read more