Free Love at First Sight by Sandra Lee

the dead.
    Her eyes widened. The brat and the bug were tunneling beneath the scarlet bedcover. Did none care that the boys were ruining such a beautiful piece of craftsmanship? The spread would be black by the time the little beasts were finished. Were they her children, she would . . .
    She near choked. Heaven forbid! Death would be preferable to having such unruly offspring. ’Twas not hard to imagine their mother clinging to the ceiling by her fingernails and toenails from their unexpected outbursts. The unfortunate woman had doubtless gone to her premature death, gray and wrinkled.
    Abruptly Golde chastised herself. ’Twas indecent to think irreverently of the dead.
    Still, she wondered what had happened to the baron’s wife. She must ask Sperville what he’d meant when he’d said the woman had died prematurely.
    A dark-haired youth bearing noble raiment appeared from the wardrobe. Sporting a frown, the youth approached Sir Gavarnie, and Golde was distracted by the curious manner in which his hair was slicked to his scalp with oil. Was this some new hair fashion?
    The squire waited for the baron’s laughter to subside, then lowered his head. ’Twas as if he were presenting himself to the headsman for execution. “Mi’lord, I am to blame for your attire. When I served you in the hall this morn, I assumed you had reason for dressing thus.”
    “Nay, Roland.” Delamaure grinned and raised his voice. “’Tis that fool
Spindleshanks’
fault. Were you not running errands at his direction, you would have been available to see me properly clothed.”
    A clattering crash issued from the wardrobe, and the baron smiled broadly. “Sir Sperville! Have a care with my plate.”
    “Shall I see about him?” Roland queried, a confused, wary expression on his face. Judging from his look, he knew not whether he was about to be kicked or congratulated.
    The lord chuckled and shook his head. “Methinks yon chamberlain needs to stew in his own piquant sauce for a spell.”
    Golde contemplated Delamaure’s relaxed stance. At the moment, he did not appear forbidding. Indeed, he exuded a warmth that would thaw the deepest winter freeze; a humor that invited mischief.
    What evil elf had made her think him capable of some woman’s murder?
    Again she was struck by the sensation of reassuring comfort he’d engendered in her earlier. And just now, he’d made certain of his daughter’s welfare. So he was not the ogre he’d seemed last night.
    The lord sidled away from the bedpost, and the squire hastily tossed the garments he carried to one arm. Clutching the baron’s elbow, he made to steer him when, suddenly, Delamaure halted.
    “I no longer need assistance to move about my own chamber.” He removed the young man’s hand from his arm. “Indeed, you may sleep outside the chamber door in future. However, I would that you make certain there are no impediments left lying about.”
    Pleased astonishment replaced the squire’s discomfited look. “You may depend upon it, sir.” Still, the youth hovered near the baron’s side as the lord seated himself on the bed with slow consideration.
    Roland carefully lay the black and gray garments next to him, then knelt at the lord’s feet and tapped his knee.
    Oblivious to his sons, who wallowed beneath the fine bedcover like two grunting piglets, Delamaure gave a booted foot to the squire. Then his eyes scanned the room in Golde’s direction. “Now, silver-tongued angel. Let us discuss arrangements for your employ.”
    Golde’s brows climbed her forehead. Silver-tongued angel! She’d been called many things, but never that. And ’twas foolish to derive such pleasure from the accolade.
    Yet, unable to resist the annoying glow that settled over her, she found it impossible to inform the man she would be taking immediate leave. Instead, she queried, “At what task do you intend to engage my services? You have said naught can be done to restore your sight.”
    Delamaure nodded. “I