Lion's Bride - Iris Johansen [24]
Kadar instantly rose to his feet. “I think I’ll go order supper brought up. I detest the sound of screams.”
“Coward,” Ware said.
“Sage,” Kadar corrected as he left the room.
Thea’s fingers dug into the bunched muscles of Ware’s neck.
“Ouch!” He tried to turn his head to glare at her.
“Stay still.” Her fingers dug deeper. “The muscles will ease presently.”
“Presently?” He flinched. “You’re trying to torture me.”
“If I were trying to torture you, I’d leave you with these knots. Now be silent and let me work.”
“I’ll have bruises tomorrow.”
“They won’t last. I had bruises when I woke yesterday, and today they’re fading.”
“Bruises? Where?”
“My shoulders. You were not gentle the night you found me.”
He scowled. “I think you mean to make me feel guilt. I saw no bruises.”
Heat rushed through her as she remembered that insolent glance. “You weren’t looking at my shoulders.”
He was silent a long time. “No, I wasn’t. I was looking at your—Christ! Do you have a dagger back there? That felt like a knife thrust.”
“Good. The pain must come before the easing.”
“Are you sure you’re not just exacting vengeance?”
“I would not do that.” But she had to admit it gave her a certain amount of pleasure to have him helpless in her hands. “I believe in the payment of debts. You did me a great service. I must repay you.”
He gasped as another twinge of agony shot through him. “By trying to drive me mad with pain?”
“No, I told you that I would make you a gift. A tunic with embroidery so beautiful that it will stun everyone who sees it.”
“Keep your gift. I’m a plain man. I would never wear such a garment.”
She thought about it. “Then I’ll make you a banner. A warrior should have his own banner. What design should I embroider on it? A falcon?”
“It doesn’t matter. Save your efforts. I fight for gold, not glory.”
“A banner,” she said firmly. “And every knight in Christendom will envy you.”
“Then they would be fools,” he said with sudden violence. “I’m not a man to be envied.”
She paused in midmotion and then resumed kneading. “You are rich. You have a fine castle. Surely there are many who would envy you.”
He was silent.
“Well, at any rate, they’ll envy you your banner.”
His muscles relaxed a trifle. “You’re certain you can create something so wondrous?”
“Of course.”
He chuckled. “I should not have left you alone with Kadar. He, too, believes he can work miracles.”
“Not miracles. I just do splendid work.” The muscles of his neck were loosening, so she lessened the pressure. “And one should not be modest about one’s work. Someone might believe you less than you are.”
“A terrible fate.”
“Your neck is feeling better?”
“Yes. You have strong hands.” He added deliberately, “Not the hands of a lady who sits at an embroidery loom.”
“I knotted the silk in carpets when I was a child. My mother persuaded Nicholas to let her train me in embroidery, but it was almost too late. She had to work three years to straighten the muscles of my hands and fingers.”
“Straighten?”
“Children’s hands and bones are not fully formed. When they’re set to working the carpets for long hours, the muscles become cramped and twisted and the hands crippled for anything but the task.”
“Good God. Then why do they set children to do such work?”
“Children’s hands are small and the task is delicate,” she said matter-of-factly. “Everyone uses children for the carpet making.”
“And will you?”
“No, I will not use children at all.” She added with satisfaction, “The muscles are almost unknotted. Now it should begin to feel good.”
“It does.” He was silent a moment. “How did your mother work with your hands?”
“Like this. Every evening she pulled and stretched and kneaded. We were given a rest from the embroidery loom every four hours, and she made me open and close them over and over.”
“Why the devil did she let them put you to that task to begin with?” he asked harshly.
“I think you’re eased.” She started to remove her hands. “I’ll tell Omar to bring more hot—”
His hand shot over his shoulder and caught