more than you admire mine.â
She couldnât help herself. She looked down at the toes of her dusty old slippers sticking out from beneath her equally old gown. âMy feet? You cannot even see my feet. Are you trying to drive me mad with jests?â
Without a word, he came down on his haunches and lifted her gown until he could see the narrow cords that bound the slippers to her feet. He untied the knot, eased one slipper off her foot. âAh,â he said, and raised her bare foot to set it on his thigh. âWould you just look at that foot? I thank the saints it is reasonably clean.â
She wanted to snatch her foot away, but she didnât do anything, just watched him look at her foot. Then he was running the pad of his thumb over each of her toes. Her toes quivered and curled. Then his hand cupped around her foot, stroking the arch. He said, âI was wondering if your feet would be too big. What a blessing that they are not.â He looked up at her and smiled. âWhat do you think about the curse?â
Her breath whooshed out of her. Still, she left her foot where it was. She felt his hard thigh beneath her sole, the soft wool of his trousers, and the warmth of his big handnow closing about her ankle to steady her. This was all very odd. His fingers were now molding themselves around her heel. She said, âMy feet arenât too big. My grandmother has always told me my feet were just like hers and therefore perfect.â He was making her foot feel warm. It was absurd. She said not another word until he replaced her slipper and tied the cord together again. Slowly, he rose.
She looked at the wine stains on his dusty gray tunic and said, âYou will sleep in the stewardâs chamber. I will send a servant to fetch your tunic. It must be washed. I do not want it to be ruined, at least by my hand. I know no more about the curse than you do. It is odd to see so many young men.â
A black eyebrow went up.
âYou and your men. You are all young.â
âDumas, my master-at-arms, is nearly forty, a grand old age.â
âYou call nearly forty a grand old age? Our master-at-arms, Crispin, has reached his sixty-eighth year. As for you, you have yet to reach your twenty-fifth year, despite all that experience I see in your eyes.â
âTo gain sixty-eight years and still talk and walk and make sense and lift oneâs armâthatâs an amazing thing.â
âAye, it is. I donât want you to die.â
Bishop thought that sentiment boded well. âWhy not?â
It was as if sheâd just realized what sheâd said. She closed down like a clam.
âIs it because you admire my excellent parts so much?â
âThat could be a small measure of it,â she said, and looked down at the foot heâd stroked.
He grinned. âI have been here for nearly four hours. I am still breathing.â He pressed his palm to his stained tunic. âMy heart still beats.â He took her hand and flattened her palm against his chest.
âAye, it beats. Very strongly. I believe it is beating faster than it was just a moment ago. Why is that?â
He quickly moved her hand. âMy heart beats just as itshould,â he said. âI think I may be safe, particularly since my death would mean yours and your grandfatherâs as well. The writers of the curse couldnât have intended that.â
âNo, they couldnât.â
âI will discover the truth, Merryn. I must. You know I cannot leave. If I did, my task unfinished, the king would knock my head into a stone wall.â
She smiled at that, and showed him a deep dimple on her left cheek. It was the first glowing smile sheâd given him. âYou fear the king more than ancient curses?â
âOh, aye, I do. Do you believe the curse was fashioned especially for you, that some Druids hundreds of years ago said, âThis is for Merryn de Gay and none