The Countess' Captive (The Fairytale Keeper Book 2) by Andrea Cefalo Read Free Book Online

herbs, a bit of powder, and drizzles the concoction with oil, before pulling a stone from his satchel, and mashing the mixture into a paste. “Here we are now.” He places his thumb in the paste and anoints the knot on my head. I wince at his touch. “That should bring the swelling down a bit faster. Now where is that girl?”
    Just as the words roll off his tongue, a petite, blond kitchen maid enters with a mug, sets it upon the desk, and scurries out. The physician reaches in his bag once more for another blend of herbs, placing them in the drink.
    “Drink this. It shall ease the pain and help you sleep.”
    I eye him suspiciously.
    “Or do not drink it. It is up to you.” He turns to place his tools back in his bag and leaves.
    I eye the drink.
    Did Galadriel hire this man to poison me?
    She could blame my death on yesterday’s fall, and since she has been nothing but kind to me in front of Father, he would not suspect her.
    My head pounds dully with a tolerable, yet irritating pain. Some form of distraction would make it more bearable, but I haven’t any. A cold burn blazes around the knot and relief tempts me to try the potion.
    I trace the brim of the mug.
    Would she really poison me?
    Well, there are only two ways to find out, and one of those I am not nearly stupid enough to try.

    When Father and Galadriel return, I am sitting at a table set for supper in the tavern.
    Father’s face is lax with annoyance. Perhaps, if I just allow Galadriel to bore him for a few more days, we’ll be heading back to Cologne within the week.
    Galadriel dips into the chair next to mine. The scent of rosewater stings my eyes, and I blink back tears. Did she buy a dozen vials and dump them over her head? I suppose she truly does not count her coins. I lift my cup to my lips, hoping the wine’s woodsy fragrance might mask the pungent rose garden beside me.
    “Are you feeling better?” Galadriel’s voice is shrill.
    Father sits with a groan.
    “Yes, thank you,” I say, evenly.
    “Ready for our travels tomorrow?” she prods.
    “Yes and you?”
    “Yes, I am quite looking forward to getting home.”
    Our feigned pleasantries could almost pass as honest.
    I’d like to ask Father if he enjoyed the market. I can tell by his face that he did not. He used to hate people who tossed groschens about like they’re pfennigs. Now he plays house with one. Perhaps, he’s becoming one. I’d like to ask him what he bought. A pair of shoes? A brooch?
    A dozen quips perch on my tongue. I drown them in wine. I must behave. Father’s threat of convents and everlasting virginity still stand. Neither sentence is worth the satisfaction of a single guilt-inducing jape.
    I really am trying to behave. A bar maid brought a freshly baked loaf of bread and butter an hour ago. I guzzled my wine to keep hunger pangs at bay. I’ve valiantly fought the urge to eat it in hopes that Father notices my good manners. All the while, bearing the sweet, doughy scent. I can almost still smell it through Galadriel’s perfume.
    Praise God, Father breaks the loaf in half. I clasp my hands below the table to keep from pouncing upon the half–loaf sitting before me. My mouth waters, and after a brief moment, I tear a piece and eat. Meat and cheeses follow.
    We eat in near silence. A silence I find discomforting once my belly is filled, and so I chance speaking. Perhaps I can still bring Father some cheer.
    “Papa, I learned a new story.”
    He grunts in reply, but his sour expression softens.
    “It’s called The Three Army Surgeons. Have you heard it? The man who told it to me learned it while on crusade.”
    His face perks at the title. Anything to do with battles always sparks an interest in men. This isn’t the typical woman’s tale with a damsel in peril and a knight who saves her. “Would you like to hear it?”
    Galadriel peruses Father’s face.
    He tears a hunk of chicken from the bone with his teeth. “Surgeons, eh? Sounds like a bloody