The King's Mistress Read Free Page B

condolences, my lady. May I be so bold as to ask how?” The last thing he wanted to do—orders or no—was to escort a contagious Lady Armstrong back to Edinburgh.
    She wrung her hands. “A carriage accident.”
    He nodded. Good. Well, not good for her parents, of course.
    He looked about the modestly furnished room, this time taking note of the basket filled with skeins of green and yellow wool, the odd chair, the bench and small bowl overflowing with dandelions sitting on the stone hearth, of the oil lamp, a handful of well-worn texts and a few candlesticks. There was little enough of a personal nature. One trunk at best, which his destrier could easily carry. “Your father was trackman in service to the earl, I believe.”
    “He was.”
    “So, with a new man coming and nothing left to hold you here, am I correct in assuming we can pack up and be on our way before gloaming?”
    “Umm, umm…” Lady Greer looked about in panicked fashion. “But I’ve yet to say good-bye to the animals, sir!” She blushed to a pretty rose, something he couldn’t recall her ever doing in the past, then waved in dismissive fashion. “I meant to the tenants, of course.”
    “Of course.” Grief could make idiots of us all, he supposed. And likely explained why her voice sounded deeper then he recalled it being. Aye, she was likely hoarse from weeping, although weeping didn’t explain why she spoke in such stilted fashion.
    “Sir, I’ve yet given thought to what I should take or leave behind.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I need a full day to pack and set my affairs in order.”
    Since he was in no hurry to return her to their king, he said, “Why not take two? You have many a woolly beast in yon pasture you doubtless wish to kiss good-bye.”
    Her cornflower blue eyes narrowed. “Doubtless.”
    “But please be mindful of my horse as you pack. He’ll also be carrying me.”
    “Does that mean my taking the rocking chair is out of the question?”
    “Absolutely!” He huffed, then realized she was only taunting him, that she was trying not to grin, then lost the battle, which brought light into the low-ceilinged room and an odd sensation to his belly. My God, he’d always found Lady Greer pretty but had never thought of her as truly beautiful… Until now. That smile. Absolutely captivating. Why hadn’t he noticed it or the dimple in her right cheek before? No wonder his liege had become so enamored.
    His gaze drifted down the long column of her neck to the gentle swell of her breasts. Feeling heat rise in his loins, he gave himself a hard mental shake and cleared his throat.
    Christ’s blood. Lusting after his king’s prime flesh could prove a fast route to the gallows. He blew through his teeth.
    He’d need a place to bed down for two days. Randy as he felt and without her having a chaperone, his staying here—even in the barn—was definitely out of the question. “Whilst you settle your affairs, I shall be at the small lodging I passed in the village.”
    Her lovely eyes went wide again. “Oh no! Not there. No, no. The place is crawling with fleas. Loads and loads of fleas. Bucketsful.”
    “Bucketsful?”
    “Oh, aye.” She made a delicate shudder, setting the golden wisps framing her face to fluttering. “You’ll be far more comfortable staying at the abbey in Morehead. Simple but clean. Much nicer, truly. And you’ll not be getting weevils with your porridge…as you could expect at Mr. Bailey’s.”
    He arched an eyebrow. “Mr. Bailey has fleas and weevils?”
    “Aye, ’tis a terrible place. Truly.”
    He couldn’t help but grin. She looked so earnest, but he suspected her defaming poor Mr. Bailey was more likely due to a female aversion to anything crawly rather than to the actual number of crawlies Mr. Bailey might have. Britt had stopped at the establishment to quench his thirst, and the hostel hadn’t appeared any worse than most. But to be assured he wouldn’t be