The Scrivener s Tale - By Fiona McIntosh Page 0,91
... other men do their best to avoid him or just give him what he wants. But you defied him and you trounced him. But what's far more unnerving is I watched him burn you and you didn't make a sound. I don't understand that - it frightens me. We also have to dress the wound.'
'I won't trouble you, Vivienne, I promise. And my wound appeared to be far worse than it is,' he lied. 'Just a surface scald.'
Her expression told him she didn't believe a word of it. 'Wait,' she said, touching his arm. 'Don't go yet. Stay with me here tonight.'
He looked at her with curiosity. 'I won't, but - '
'No need to explain,' she said shortly, looking aggrieved. 'It was just a way to thank you ...' She didn't finish and her tone was so tight, it made Cassien feel momentarily breathless.
He let out a sigh. 'I was simply going to say that while I wouldn't remain here, I would like you to come to the Yew Inn with me.' He scratched his chin. 'For what's left of this night.'
She paused before a small sheepish smile ghosted her mouth. 'What about Hamelyn?'
'I'm sure he can stay downstairs. The innkeeper's kind to him, seems to know him well enough.' He waited expectantly, watching her. 'I think when he sees my coin he'll forgive our earlier disturbance.'
She nodded. 'I suppose you have paid me for the night.'
'I have.' He took her hand, inwardly delighting at the feel of a woman's skin again. 'I would prefer you come with me because you want to. There is no obligation. The money I've paid is yours without encumbrance.'
Vivienne leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips, but the pressure of her breasts against his chest promised so much more. 'You're very ... polite, aren't you? I'm not used to that. All right, I will spend the night because I want to,' she said staring deeply into his eyes. 'And because you haven't hurt my sister.'
Later, in his room, after Vivienne had assured the innkeeper that all scores were settled, he allowed her to begin undressing them both. He'd been with women in his youth, but it had been far too long since he'd had such tender attention.
Vivienne watched him with a thoughtful frown creasing her face as she undid her bodice.
'Let's have some wine.' Cassien knew once that bodice of hers was undone he wouldn't be able to think straight again this evening.
'Let me get it for you.' She smiled seductively as her blouse fell fully open and he saw her body properly for the first time. She returned with a goblet of the wine that he'd ordered sent up.
Cassien sipped and groaned, closing his eyes. 'That's so delicious.' How long had it been since he'd tasted wine?
'Strike me, I haven't begun yet. Pain first, before pleasure,' she teased, pulling two small vessels closer. One contained tepid water, laced with vinegar. The other was a tiny pot containing a gluey paste he recognised as the ash of burned cotton emulsified with lavender oil.
He gave a brief laugh. 'Vivienne, you need to have walked in my boots to know why this wine, a beautiful woman sitting on top of me and this soft pallet is an incredible treat.'
'Why don't you tell me about the path you've walked in those boots?' she said, unlacing his breeches. 'I'm intrigued.'
'Why?' he said, sipping again and allowing the fruity wine to roll around his mouth.
'Well, let's see. These are fine clothes,' she remarked, fingering his linen shirt, 'and you've handed out money easily today. I heard you speak of Wevyr weapons - those don't come cheap.' She loosened the laces of his shirt. 'You are hardly without ...' She stopped talking and her mouth remained open as she stared at his bared chest.
Cassien had known this moment was coming. It couldn't be avoided if he was to live normally among ordinary people. Fynch had asked the old girl who'd helped bathe him in the barrel not to mention it and paid her handsomely for her silence. But with someone like Vivienne - unless he'd insisted on darkening the room - he was never going to escape a confrontation. And every man needed the release that he was about to enjoy. He could wish that her silence was due to the oozing of the burn wound, but he knew he was clutching at clouds.