The Winter King
Page 50
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“Very well.” He gestured curtly to dismiss Baroc, then crossed the tent to take a seat at the lacquered camp desk set up in one corner.
Khamsin started to object, then gave it up. There was no point in objecting to his presence. This was his tent, and she was his wife. And except for the fact that darkness and arras had hidden the sight of her from him last night, he already knew her body more intimately than any other person in the world.
Gathering her skirts, she walked to the small sleeping area separated from the main tent by the folding, four-foot-tall screens. With the growing lamps ringed around the sleeping pallet still unlit and the small, makeshift chamber wreathed in shadow, the screened wall offered a small sense of privacy. Her trunk had been set beside the mound of furs and pillows, near the outer tent wall.
“There should be a length of white sheeting in my trunk,” she told Bella softly. “Fetch it, please.” The young maid lifted the trunk lid and rummaged around inside for a few moments before locating the folded white cloth and handing it to Kham. “Thank you. No, don’t light the lamps just yet. Help me out of this gown first.”
While the maid unlaced the loose ties at the back of her gown, Kham glanced over the tops of the screens towards Wynter. He was sitting at the camp desk, reviewing a small sheaf of papers, periodically pausing to dip a quill in ink and scratch notations on the papers.
The cooler air of the tent swirled across Kham’s shoulders and back as Bella freed the last of the laces, and the gown fell open.
As if he were there on that small breath of air, tasting the warmth of her bare skin, instantly and intimately aware of her, Wynter looked up, directly into her eyes. Kham’s breath caught in her throat. She clutched the loose gown to her chest, fighting the shocking desire to let it fall from her body beneath Wynter’s burning gaze.
Bella moved between them and spread out the sheet in her hand, blocking Wynter’s view. “This is as much privacy as I can give you, my lady,” she murmured. “Powerful as he is, I don’t think he can see through people.”
Kham dragged in a shaky breath and fought the hysterical urge to laugh, wishing she were half as modest as Bella thought she was. She forced her fingers to loosen their grip on her gown. It tumbled down around her ankles in a puddle of fabric. Bella moved with swift industry, wrapping Kham’s nakedness in swaths of cool, silky linen. Khamsin clutched the edges of the fabric between her br**sts, letting the bulk of the sheeting drape low, just skimming the top of her bu**ocks and leaving her back bare for healing.
Not daring to glance in Wynter’s direction, she knelt on the thick, padded pallet while Bella lit the growing lamps one by one. A muffled sound came from the main tent area, followed by a brief swirl of cold wind. Even without turning to look, Kham knew that Wynter had left.
“I thought he’d never leave,” Bella muttered, confirming it. “I don’t know what to make of him. He acts so concerned for your health, you’d almost think he actually cared. It’s hard to believe he intends to abandon you on some frozen glacier and leave you there to die if you don’t give him a child before year’s end. Seems cold and unnatural, if you ask me. Now, let me turn these growing lamps up a bit, then you just lie still while I clean your wounds.” Bella gently stroked a damp cloth over Khamsin’s back. With Wynter gone and the growing lamps turned on full, the temperature in the small sleeping area rose quickly to a warm, toasty bake. “There now, that feels better doesn’t it? Summer warm, like home the way it used to be.”
It did feel better. The warm light soaked into Kham’s skin like rain into thirsty soil. She closed her eyes and murmured a wordless agreement. She heard Bella kneel on the floor beside her, heard the quiet snick of a jar opening, then felt Bella’s hands gently began rubbing Tildy’s cream into her skin. Her touch was kinder than it had been in the jolting coach, and if Khamsin closed her eyes, she could almost believe it was Tildy, not Bella, tending her with a mother’s love.
Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, but she would not let them fall. Her path had been laid out, and Tildy would not ever again walk it with her. Khamsin, who had never truly been alone in the world, would have to learn to be so. The child who had always found refuge in her nursemaid’s maternal love would have to become a woman, strong and self-sufficient.
Because no matter what it took, Khamsin had no intention of letting any man—husband, king, or the Sun God himself—stake her out on a glacier and leave her to die.
CHAPTER 8
A Flame in Snow
Four days later, Wynter paced outside Khamsin’s carriage, his body humming with pent-up energy. Valik stood rock still a few feet behind him, no less agitated than Wynter but better able to hide it. Inside the carriage, the Wintercraig army’s most experienced surgeon, Jorgun Magnusson, was examining Khamsin, whose health had taken an alarming turn for the worse.
She hadn’t complained. Not even once. The stubborn little weatherwitch just suffered her misery in silence and soldiered on. That near-heroic stoicism was not what Wynter had come to expect from Summerlanders, and it would have won his grudging admiration if not for the way she and her maid had conspired to hide her worsening condition from him.
Wynter had slowed his army’s pace to a crawl, hoping that would lessen Khamsin’s travel sickness. He’d stopped frequently so she could rest, hoping that would bolster her strength, but she’d grown so thin and wan she was near transparent. He’d even drawn back the snow clouds that had blanketed Summerlea skies for so long, hoping direct sunlight would provide her a measure of healing that the growing lamps had not.
Khamsin started to object, then gave it up. There was no point in objecting to his presence. This was his tent, and she was his wife. And except for the fact that darkness and arras had hidden the sight of her from him last night, he already knew her body more intimately than any other person in the world.
Gathering her skirts, she walked to the small sleeping area separated from the main tent by the folding, four-foot-tall screens. With the growing lamps ringed around the sleeping pallet still unlit and the small, makeshift chamber wreathed in shadow, the screened wall offered a small sense of privacy. Her trunk had been set beside the mound of furs and pillows, near the outer tent wall.
“There should be a length of white sheeting in my trunk,” she told Bella softly. “Fetch it, please.” The young maid lifted the trunk lid and rummaged around inside for a few moments before locating the folded white cloth and handing it to Kham. “Thank you. No, don’t light the lamps just yet. Help me out of this gown first.”
While the maid unlaced the loose ties at the back of her gown, Kham glanced over the tops of the screens towards Wynter. He was sitting at the camp desk, reviewing a small sheaf of papers, periodically pausing to dip a quill in ink and scratch notations on the papers.
The cooler air of the tent swirled across Kham’s shoulders and back as Bella freed the last of the laces, and the gown fell open.
As if he were there on that small breath of air, tasting the warmth of her bare skin, instantly and intimately aware of her, Wynter looked up, directly into her eyes. Kham’s breath caught in her throat. She clutched the loose gown to her chest, fighting the shocking desire to let it fall from her body beneath Wynter’s burning gaze.
Bella moved between them and spread out the sheet in her hand, blocking Wynter’s view. “This is as much privacy as I can give you, my lady,” she murmured. “Powerful as he is, I don’t think he can see through people.”
Kham dragged in a shaky breath and fought the hysterical urge to laugh, wishing she were half as modest as Bella thought she was. She forced her fingers to loosen their grip on her gown. It tumbled down around her ankles in a puddle of fabric. Bella moved with swift industry, wrapping Kham’s nakedness in swaths of cool, silky linen. Khamsin clutched the edges of the fabric between her br**sts, letting the bulk of the sheeting drape low, just skimming the top of her bu**ocks and leaving her back bare for healing.
Not daring to glance in Wynter’s direction, she knelt on the thick, padded pallet while Bella lit the growing lamps one by one. A muffled sound came from the main tent area, followed by a brief swirl of cold wind. Even without turning to look, Kham knew that Wynter had left.
“I thought he’d never leave,” Bella muttered, confirming it. “I don’t know what to make of him. He acts so concerned for your health, you’d almost think he actually cared. It’s hard to believe he intends to abandon you on some frozen glacier and leave you there to die if you don’t give him a child before year’s end. Seems cold and unnatural, if you ask me. Now, let me turn these growing lamps up a bit, then you just lie still while I clean your wounds.” Bella gently stroked a damp cloth over Khamsin’s back. With Wynter gone and the growing lamps turned on full, the temperature in the small sleeping area rose quickly to a warm, toasty bake. “There now, that feels better doesn’t it? Summer warm, like home the way it used to be.”
It did feel better. The warm light soaked into Kham’s skin like rain into thirsty soil. She closed her eyes and murmured a wordless agreement. She heard Bella kneel on the floor beside her, heard the quiet snick of a jar opening, then felt Bella’s hands gently began rubbing Tildy’s cream into her skin. Her touch was kinder than it had been in the jolting coach, and if Khamsin closed her eyes, she could almost believe it was Tildy, not Bella, tending her with a mother’s love.
Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, but she would not let them fall. Her path had been laid out, and Tildy would not ever again walk it with her. Khamsin, who had never truly been alone in the world, would have to learn to be so. The child who had always found refuge in her nursemaid’s maternal love would have to become a woman, strong and self-sufficient.
Because no matter what it took, Khamsin had no intention of letting any man—husband, king, or the Sun God himself—stake her out on a glacier and leave her to die.
CHAPTER 8
A Flame in Snow
Four days later, Wynter paced outside Khamsin’s carriage, his body humming with pent-up energy. Valik stood rock still a few feet behind him, no less agitated than Wynter but better able to hide it. Inside the carriage, the Wintercraig army’s most experienced surgeon, Jorgun Magnusson, was examining Khamsin, whose health had taken an alarming turn for the worse.
She hadn’t complained. Not even once. The stubborn little weatherwitch just suffered her misery in silence and soldiered on. That near-heroic stoicism was not what Wynter had come to expect from Summerlanders, and it would have won his grudging admiration if not for the way she and her maid had conspired to hide her worsening condition from him.
Wynter had slowed his army’s pace to a crawl, hoping that would lessen Khamsin’s travel sickness. He’d stopped frequently so she could rest, hoping that would bolster her strength, but she’d grown so thin and wan she was near transparent. He’d even drawn back the snow clouds that had blanketed Summerlea skies for so long, hoping direct sunlight would provide her a measure of healing that the growing lamps had not.
