the pump at the sink and found it worked. She scrubbed at her face until it was clean.
Then she allowed herself to go over to the stove.
The warmth washed over her making her feel dizzy. There were two chairs there and Amy sank into one. She rested her feet on a convenient footstool close to the stove and held out her hands to the warmth, shuddering with the relief.
Hell might be pictured as flames, she thought, but this was surely heaven. She took a towel and rubbed at her hair, then tilted her head toward the heat. For once the crop was useful; it should dry in no time. As she ran her hands through it to speed the process, she looked around thoughtfully.
It was a very plain kitchen. There was the stone sink with the pump and a bucket underneath to catch the drainings. In the center of the room was a deal table and four chairs. To her right were the cupboards she had seen through the window, their contents hidden behind closed doors. Against the far wall stood a dresser with some pottery plates and cups upon it and three silver tankards. They struck her as strange in such a simple household.
But then her host did not belong in this place either.
It was not these things which struck her most, however, though she could not quite decide what did.
After a moment she realized. There was no aroma. She'd never before been in a kitchen without the smell of food. There was nothing cooking on the stove and, she would guess, hadn't been all day. There were no herbs hanging from the beams, no strings of onions and garlic.
The only sign of food at all was a loaf of bread on the table, along with a crock of butter and some cheese. Was that all her host ate? Perhaps he, too, was a victim of sudden poverty.
Amy became aware of hunger. She longed for some bread and cheese and a cup of hot tea.
There was a blackened kettle keeping warm to one side of the hob, but Amy had no way of knowing where the tea-making things were, if indeed the house could afford such a luxury. Besides, it would be overbold to make so free with someone else's kitchen.
Amy wished her host would return quickly, but then she recalled her state of dress. She might be fully covered but she felt half naked. Moreover, she realized, all her clothes were in that muddy pile in the corner. She no longer had any real clothes fit to wear.
She heard the back door slam and booted footsteps in the passageway.
Chapter 3
Harry shook off the cape and hung it up, grimacing at the muddy trail into the kitchen. Was it better to clean muddy floors when wet, or was one supposed to leave them to dry like clothes? He hoped the latter. Firkin had been given the day off, and with this weather he'd likely not bother to come back before tomorrow.
Harry sat on the bench and used the bootjack to pull off his wet boots, then put on his slippers.
He wondered who his unexpected guest was. She'd spoken like a lady but that worn-out old cart and the worn-out old horse in the shafts argued at the best genteel poverty.
He supposed she was a penny-pinched spinster of uncertain years and was now in a state of the vapors about being alone with a daring rogue. Well, he'd be charming to her and soon reassure her. He had a gift for charming females of all ages.
Reassuring smile in place, he walked into the kitchen.
And stopped dead.
Sitting beside the practical, mundane stove was an angel in a blanket, looking up at him with huge blue eyes.
Suddenly it registered. Frightened eyes.
Instinct took over. With scarce a moment's hesitation he said cheerfully, "Your nag's taken care of. I moved her into the stables, rubbed her down, and gave her a feed." He swung the kettle over the heat. "I'm sure you can use a cup of tea. I'm afraid I've not much food. Just bread and cheese and a Melton pie." He braced himself and looked at her. Still an angel, but a lot less frightened.
He risked a smile. "Would you like some?"
She smiled back. He could feel his heart begin to pound. He'd seen a lot of lovely women, but he'd never seen one as beautiful as this. Vague notions of fairies and bewitchment began to dance in his head, but