The Prisoner Bride

“I heard what you said,” Jean-Marc retorted.

“What of it? She goaded me, just as I said.”

“Women don’t goad you,” Jean-Marc told him. “Never. You’re beyond being bothered by the lot of them, except for your mother and sisters. But one day in company with Mistress Glenys Seymour and you’ve come all undone. I don’t like it. Nay.” He shook his blond head. “I don’t like a moment of it.”

Kieran ran a hand through his hair, fully exasperated. “Neither do I,” he said. “God save me from quick-witted females.” He shook his head and turned for the stairs. “I want a drink.”

With a sigh, Jean-Marc followed. “I need one,” he murmured in agreement.

In the chamber they had left, Dina watched her mistress with troubled eyes.

“He did not mean what he said, mistress,” she said softly. “’Tis clear he’s not used to being turned aside from dallying.”

“Nay, I have no doubt of that,” Glenys agreed, swallowing down the pain his words had given her. It was foolish to be hurt. She knew full well how unattractive she was. And she didn’t care what Kieran FitzAllen thought of her, anywise. He was a rogue and a knave and a scoundrel. No one of true worth would care for what such a man either said or thought.

Dina’s shivering brought Glenys back to the situation at hand, and she began to unlace her own wet cloak.

“Hurry and undress yourself,” she told the maid. “This door has no latch to it, but I’ll stand guard until you’ve wrapped yourself in one of the blankets.” With a quick movement, she tossed her cloak over the back of one chair, then went to close the chamber’s heavy wooden door.

Dina obediently stood and began to unlace her own cloak, which she set over the back of the other chair.

“This small fire will never have them dry come morn,” she said dismally, tugging at her surcoat with frozen fingers. “Master Bostwick spoke the truth of that. Ah, God above, I cannot get this off.” She groaned aloud as she strove to pull one arm out of the surcoat’s long sleeve. “’Tis too wet and heavy.”

“Come here, then, and let me give you aid,” Glenys instructed. “We must hurry before the promised food and drink are brought. I vow I’ll not partake of sustenance until we’re both dry and halfway warmed.” She tugged at Dina’s surcoat until the maid was able to slip her arms free. The heavy, wet garment slid to the floor, leaving Dina clothed only in her chemise, leggings and shoes.

“God’s mercy, ’tis so cold!” she cried, shivering and hugging her arms about herself. “How will we ever get warm?”

Glenys pushed her toward one of the pallets. “Take everything off, quickly, and wrap yourself in a blanket. We’ll dry your things first and then, once you’ve dressed again, you’ll stand guard whilst I care for my own things.”

“But how will we get them dry, mistress?” Dina inquired, hurriedly removing her remaining garments and tossing them aside in order to wrap herself in the warmth of the blanket.

“I believe this will work,” Glenys murmured, untying the small leather pouch at her girdle. “I’ve seen my uncle use this powder for a like purpose before, though now I wish I had watched him more closely. I’m most uncertain about how much to use, or if ’twill do more harm than good, but we must try it. Bring everything to me here and spread it out. Quickly, Dina!

“Just a small sprinkling, I think,” she said a few moments later as she dug into the now opened bag, pinching up a small amount of the fine, glittering grains. Drawing in a calming breath, she held her hand out over the garments and shoes that lay before her and carefully released the powder bit by bit, lightly dusting them all. They grains fell, sparkling, as if alive—though Glenys knew full well it was only an illusion—and once fallen, sent out a tiny puff of purple smoke that briefly filled the air. Coughing, Glenys waved it away and then bent to touch Dina’s surcoat. She felt all about the heavy green cloth to make certain that she was correct, at last lifting her head and smiling at her waiting maid.

“’Tis dry!”

Dina was beside her in a moment, feeling for herself. “Why, it is!” She set a hand to her chemise, then to her shoes. “They’re all dry! It worked! May God and your uncle be praised. I always knew his sorcery was powerful, but this is more than I’d ever believed.”

“’Tis no sorcery, Dina,” Glenys told her. “’Tis alchemy, a beneficial blending of natural elements. There is no magic in it.”