Love at First Sight Read Free Page B

naught to detract from his compelling looks. Indeed, they lent an irresistible, sinister quality to his features.
    Inexplicably, a yearning deep within her pulsed for release. Like a flame to the moth.
    A sharp kick to her shin interrupted her disturbed musings, and she realized the lord was speaking.
    “. . . brought some stupid wench who knows not the language?”
    Stupid wench? She glanced around. Of whom did he speak?
    “Nay, mi’lord.” Spindleshanks’ tone was conciliatory. “She is well versed in Norman French.”
    They were speaking of her? By the rood!
    Golde summoned a practiced tone to conceal her outrage. “I speak English, and Gaelic as well.”
    The lord’s black eyes shifted until it appeared he was looking directly at her, though the blankness of his gaze betrayed his inability to do so. “My offspring will not be exposed to a language fit only for grunting pigs. One word of English from your mouth and you will be dismissed.”
    ’Twas no easy task to maintain her placid facade as all thought of returning home flew from her head. ’Twould be a pleasure to cozen the hidebound, arrogant bastard. Meanwhile, she would be certain to teach his offspring English. And Gaelic incantations as well. Let his toadship explain that to his pious Norman priests.
    For the moment she affected a humble, concerned tone. Let the dolt think her some Saxon whelp instead of the Celt she was. “Mayhap you should seek the aid of a good Norman witchwife. I would not wish to distress you, considering your obvious aversion to all things English.”
    Spindleshanks kicked her shin again and she cast him a glance that promised retribution.
    The lord’s hard voice recaptured her attention. “Few possess the brazen ignorance to come into Skyenvic and insult me.”
    She’d thought her disdain well veiled, and redoubled her effort to sound sincere. “I meant no offense, your lordship. ’Twas my thinking you would respond more quickly—”
    She gasped as pain shot through her shin, then loosed her ire on the chamberlain. “Kick me again, baseborn mucker, and I will send your puling soul straight to hell.”
    Spindleshanks winced, but his voice remained level when he addressed the baron. “Mi’lord, I—”
    The fair-featured man who’d greeted them cleared his throat and spoke smoothly. “Mayhap, Sperville, we should look elsewhere for a more mature woman to care for the children.”
    “Children?” Golde demanded. Of what did the man speak?
    “Enough!” the lord bellowed. Slamming his fist on the linen-covered tabletop, he rose, his visage thunderous.
    Golde clutched her skirts, preparing to flee. Glancing over her shoulder, she judged the shadowed entrance to the hall to be several furlongs distant, though surely it could not be. Her gaze darted to the bare walls on either side of her, but she could see no doors. The windows were perhaps three times a man’s height, and even if she climbed the table trestles stacked beneath them, she would be unable to reach the openings.
    Sir Sperville lightly patted her elbow as if to reassure her all was well. Obviously, the fool knew not when to fly.
    “You will tell me, wench,” continued Lord Delamaure, “to what purpose you are come to Skyenvic.”
    “Your forgiveness, my liege.” The chamberlain spoke before she could reply. “I see now I have made a poor choice—”
    “By the throat of Christ. You will hold your tongue, Sperville, else I will cut it from your head.”
    Spindleshanks responded without a trace of fear. “Yes, my liege, but—”
    Golde could stand no more. “Know you what dangers your chamberlain braved to enlist my aid that you might regain your sight? For a week he traveled alone over roads thick with thieves and outlaws to reach me. You should be grateful to have a man of such courage in your service.”
    Rage twisted the lord’s countenance and she took an involuntary backward step. From her lowly position, he appeared huge, both in height and