Free Wings of the Storm by Susan Sizemore Page B

of the storeroom. "Another morning at Passfair has begun," Jane said around a yawn.
    The barest hint of dream memory teased at the back of her conscious mind, but she ignored it purposefully. She knew there was no use dwelling on erotic non-sense. She vowed not to think of the Welshman at all. Or chocolate. She had more than enough to fill her attention with a full day's worth of duties before her. She had promised Bertram she'd finally inspect the main storerooms in the deep cellar today.
    Actually, Jane reflected, grabbing Melisande by the scruff of the neck, the housebreaking wasn't going too bad considering she was a grown dog. The pup-pies jumped down from the bed to follow after

    them. Their training was going very well. The deerhounds really were intelligent animals. Probably because they weren't too distant relatives of their smarter wolf cousins.
    "In my time," she told them, "your species has descended to little more than mindless toys."
    She threw open the curtain blocking her alcove from the rest of the storeroom and pulled the dog with her through the opening, only to trip over the lump lying across the doorway. She fell flat on her face with a startled shout. She hit her nose on the hard stone this time. She came up clutching her painfully throbbing nose to find a young red-haired woman staring at her in horrified surprise.
    "My lady, I'm so sorry!"
    "Who are you? What are you doing here?" Jane noticed Melisande sitting calmly on her haunches, watching the two of them with a happy doggy expres-sion. "And why didn't you at least bark?" she demanded irritably of the hound. She looked at her fingers. They were sticky with blood from the tip of her nose. It felt like a pavement burn. Nothing bro-ken; just another bruise.
    "I could use some aspirin," she muttered in English.
    The woman had backed toward the alcove, staring at Jane in wide-eyed expectation. She was a tiny thing, with carrot-red hair and freckle-dotted milk-white skin. Very pretty, really. "My lady?" she questioned,
    stepping forward eagerly when Jane spoke.
    Jane climbed to her feet, glad she hadn't hit her already bruised hip when she fell. She noticed the soreness in her backside was much improved this morning. She looked down at the little woman and repeated, "Who are you?"
    "Berthild," the redhead answered promptly. "Switha sent me to serve you."
    Berthild? Right, she recalled. Switha's sister. The one with the soldier boyfriend. "What were you doing on my floor? You are what I fell over, aren't you?"
    "I was sleeping by your door, my lady," was the swift explanation. "It is my duty."
    Jane looked down at the bare wood. Duty? That sort of duty could lead to arthritis and who knew what else in the drafty air. "I see."
    It seemed she now had a personal servant to be responsible for. The thought left her kind of unnerved. It was one thing to supervise the large group of people needed to keep Passfair running. It was definitely a challenge—an enjoyable challenge. But she had an uncomfortable feeling about having a peasant girl to call her own. Berthild here didn't have any rights. She was totally dependent on her mis-tress's goodwill.
    Jane knew it would be pleasant to have someone to take care of all her little needs. She didn't like the responsibility that went with it.
    "Owning people is icky," she mumbled behind her hand as she touched her nose again. The bleeding had stopped, at least. The entertainment over, Melisande rose and rushed out the open storeroom door with her pups. The dogs' hasty exit reminded Jane of her original purpose. She was also reminded that the key to the room was missing. If she could lock the door, she wouldn't have ended up with a sore nose to go with the black eye.

    Oh, well, Berthild was there. She undoubtedly expected to be put to work. Jane smiled at her. "First you can clean up the mess in the alcove. And I need some laundry done. The yellow underdress is silk. The washing instructions for the material has got to