Stormfire by Christine Monson Read Free Book Online Page B

gibberish. But I doubt she knows a thing about it."
    He crossed to the pallet. Catherine, seeming to sense his presence, moaned and flung an arm outward as if to ward him off. Her eyes were faint blue shadows under the lids. Wondering what horrors they were seeing, he watched them flicker. Her nose was swollen, blurring the definition of her features. The parted jacket nearly exposed her breasts, and, without thinking, he pulled the ragged coverlet over her.
    Peg, watching him with a speculative expression, announced rather loudly, "I'm thinkin' she could do with an extra blanket."
    He looked up, green eyes unreadable, then glanced at the window and shrugged. "As you like. She's unlikely to last a fortnight without it." Shoving the knife into his breeches band, he left the way he had come.

    Catherine lay inert, trying to think what miserable part of herself she did not want to move first. "There's a horrible creature in my head with a hammer," she mumbled.
    " Tis a leprechaun, no doubt," Peg said, briskly stripping the blanket down to the foot of the bed. Because the prisoner was numb with cold, the additional draft had little effect.
    "Leprechaun?" Catherine muttered dully.
    "Aye. Mischievous little men. Some folk call them elves. They cause all sorts of trouble unless ye put out milk for them."
    "Milk?" Catherine's eyes flew open with hope.
    "Aye. But ye'll not be seein' breakfast for hours," said Peg, slapping a small pile of linen on the bed. "Nearly half the mornin's gone and ye've plenty to do, so ye'd better be movin'."
    Catherine squinted into the dark. "You're confused," she said flatly. "It's still night."
    "Night, me mither's bun." Peg sniffed. "The birds is caterwaulin'. Out of bed, girl."
    As Catherine struggled to her elbows, a sharp pain shot through her neck and down her spine. Stifling a groan, she cranked her complaining body out of bed. When she had reached a more or less stable standing position, Peg thrust a worn, colorless shirt at her from the linen pile on the bed. Catherine looked at it. "You're joking." When Peg did not even blink, she sighed. Every muscle shrieking, Catherine worked her way out of her jacket, then into the shirt. One of Peg's own, it dropped directly over her head to her waist, ignoring her shoulders on the way.
    "A tad large," Peg noted. "Pull it up and draw the cord at the neck. . . . Tighter. I want no good Irishmen bein' tempted to sin. That's it. Rip off a strip round the hem and tie it about yer waist." Peg stood back and surveyed the effect. "Well . . . ye won't be dazzlin' the Prince of Wales, but it looks better than it ought."
    Catherine tried to pull on her jacket but the narrow sleeves refused to pass over the shirt, so with a sigh, she firmly ripped the sleeves off the once-fine garment and made a passable vest. She had slept in her boots, so at least she was forgiven the necessity of bending over to put them on; she thought she might collapse if she did.
    "Come along with ye." Peg led the way through a series of corridors. up a narrow flight of steps, then pushed open a door.
    The whitewashed kitchen was enormous. Windows, which lined the far wall, had heavy shutters with musket slits; deep-set casement wells indicated stone foundation walls three feet thick. The place could easily be turned into a fortress. Massive hoods sheltered huge hearths on the near wall. Down the center of the room was a long row of oak tables where several women were either up to their elbows in bread dough or making up vats of porridge and slicing bacon slabs for the fireplaces. As Catherine's nose twitched, her stomach let out a sullen growl. Two boys in their early teens were stacking wood at the near fireplace; one gave her a shy, furtive smile. As she smiled back, his companion gave him a warning thump on the shoulder. "Back to your, work, Danny!" He turned back to his chore. The women were less shy. One by one, as they became aware of her presence, they stared. A wave of hostility