Waterborne Exile Read Free Page B

Or was that something else she read in his expression? Something he tried to keep hidden?
    She was intrigued now. “Really, do try. Wait here for me while I change. I’ll be only a couple of minutes. Then we’ll rejoin the feast and dance the night away. I would like that.”
    Panic. Definitely panic in his eyes now. The muscles of his forearm tensed beneath her fingers. “My lady, it would not be seemly – not for one of my station.”
    “Oh, that’s nonsense. I never met anyone named so well as you: bleak by name and bleak by nature.”
    “My lady, I’ve told you before, it’s pronounced ‘Blecklow’.”
    Drelena smiled. She knew she had a winning smile, she’d been told so often enough. “Nonsense. You’ll always be Bleaky to me. Unless… Unless you care to prove me wrong?” She leaned closer, her plan forgotten, her discontent, decorum, everything forgotten. She closed her fingers about his forearm. For a moment he tensed more than she thought was possible, then with a muttered oath he wrapped his free arm about her and pulled her close, kissing her hungrily. And what a kiss. It ignited her body so she melted against him, pressing every inch of her body up against his. And suddenly nothing else mattered, none of it, but this delicious sensation as their breath and tongues mingled, the taste of brandy on his lips. Then a door clattered open at the far end of the hall and Bleaklow released her as laughing voices entered the room. They sprang apart guiltily, only to see the merrymakers vanish through a door at the far corner of the hall. Their lapse in decorum hadn’t been noticed at all.
    She couldn’t stifle the bubble of laughter, but Bleaklow looked horrified.
    “My apologies, my lady. I ought never have presumed.”
    “Oh, but Bleaky, you almost had me convinced.”
    “I am sorry, my lady. It was wrong of me. I swear it won’t happen again.”
    This time her winning smile didn’t work. Bleaklow hurried away towards the great hall, as if he feared she’d chase after him. She even considered it for a moment. But that was a moment of madness, and she chided herself for such weakness. It was his loss, not hers. Damn him. She wouldn’t be rebuffed a second time. And she wouldn’t risk being turned from her purpose again.
    She hurried to her chamber in the tower, casting off the soiled gown. As she’d anticipated, most of the servants were enjoying the festivities, as was only right and proper. This was the perfect opportunity. She stuffed the clothes she’d selected earlier into a bag she’d hidden in the depths of her cupboard – she hadn’t dared pack the bag beforehand in case one of the servants spotted it. They were a diligent bunch – excellent servants, of course, but too observant to risk it. She extracted two purses from beneath the mattress where she’d hidden them. The slimmer one she fastened about her waist. The fatter one she likewise fastened about her waist, but tucked it inside the waistband of the heavy skirt she’d chosen. The weight of the purse pressed against her thigh, beyond the ken of cutpurses. To complete the outfit she added a heavy jacket and hooded cloak, all garments she’d discreetly acquired on trips to the local market.
    She was almost ready. One last thing remained. There she met a slight hitch – the shears she’d appropriated for the task were no longer in her work basket. After a quick search she gave up and took her eating knife from its sheath. It would have to do. She couldn’t hope to pass for a commoner if she wore her hair in the long tresses of a noblewoman. It took a few minutes to hack her hair to shoulder length, not so unevenly, she hoped. She tied it back with a leather lace and took a cool look at her reflection in the mirror above the side table in her chamber. It might be a long time before she had the luxury of studying her own reflection again. The difference without her long hair was already startling; the shapeless woollen