Love at First Sight Read Free

slump thus?” Sir Sperville interrupted her internal diatribe as he rose to sit beside her. “You appear to be malformed.”
    “Malformed!” Golde squared her shoulders and sat straighter. “What would you call your spindly shanks?” The chamberlain’s nose twitched as if there was a bothersome gnat flying about his face. “Must you always scowl? His lordship will find it most unbecoming.”
    “His lordship is blind,” Golde sneered. “Once I heal him, his joy will be such that he will not care if I am a toothless dragon.”
    “All the same,” Sperville sniffed, “your bearing is a reflection upon me. I’ll not have the good folk of Skyenvic questioning my choice of healers.”
    Golde cast him a disbelieving look. “Ungrateful cur. You are recovered from your ceaseless retching by my good hand, yet you dare to insult me. Doubtless, your master is just as thankless, and my time will be wasted restoring his sight. I may as well order the boat about and return home.”
    Her tone belied the true sentiments behind her words, for the closer they drew to Skyenvic, the greater grew her discomfort. She would return home in an instant if Sperville agreed.
    But Spindleshanks, as Golde decided then and there to think of him, demurred. “Think of me as you will. My shortcomings are indeed great. Unlike me,” he continued, “Sir Gavarnie e’er places the needs of others before his own. Since his wife’s premature death, none at Skyenvic go hungry, nor cold in winter. He is praised by Church and serf alike for his generosity, while wisdom tempers his judgment and manner so that he is never cruel or cross. Wishes for his long life and good health follow him wherever he goes.”
    Golde envisioned an elderly, white-haired man, a widower. A saint, no less, if one believed Spindleshanks. “It strikes me that your Gavarnie Delamaure is trying to assure himself a place in heaven by atoning for his sins here on earth. Thus, he’s brought blindness upon himself that he will appear more worthy in God’s eyes.”
    She waited for an enraged response from Sperville. Instead, his owlish eyes appeared fixated upon her, while his mouth hung slightly open.
    Then he blinked and turned his head that she could not see his countenance. “I am no healer and cannot say what stole my liege’s sight. I can only say that Sir Gavarnie will never be whole until he is able to see.” Golde’s breath caught. ’Twas respect she’d seen in the chamberlain’s eyes; respect for her. She was right in her assumptions about Delamaure bringing blindness upon himself.
    Well, not exactly
her
assumptions, she admitted. ’Twas Mimskin who’d determined the cause of Delamaure’s ailment, before she’d brought Sperville to Golde’s cottage that day.
    “Can’t abide them snufflers wot inflicts hurts on themselves to gain God’s favor,” Mimskin had said later, after Sperville had taken himself off to dine. “No reason why ye shouldn’t profit from the man’s stupidity. All ye need do is make the man believe in yer magic, and his eyes will heal themselves.”
    Golde’s gaze slid now to the chest that contained her clothing and medicines. Not that the medicines would be useful in curing aught but the most common of illnesses. Rather, Mimskin had instructed her to mix several potions together until they stank “worse than a buzzard’s supper.” Then she was to convince this Gavarnie Delamaure that the concoction would heal his eyes.
    Which should not be difficult. Had she not spent the past four years of her life convincing people of her prophesies? Did any amongst her culls doubt her word?
    Yet, she was unable to completely reassure herself, and her spirits tumbled further when the rudderman called, “Port, ho!”
    In short order, they had docked in the town of New Market, loaded their belongings on a cart, and set off for Castle Skyenvic where Golde would collect her fortune.
    ’Twas the only thought that held her still upon reaching the