Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 104340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Dawn closed the chest and sat on it, tugging the shawl more tightly around her, needing its warmth.
Tingles.
All Cree had to do was look at her and her flesh would tingle. Most would say that the devil was introducing her to sins of the flesh and if she was not careful she would lose her soul to him. The thought sent the shivers racing through her and she stood ready to return to the other room and fix herself a hot brew.
She stopped and glanced down at the chest of clothes. Where had he gotten them from? Who had they belonged to and who were they intended for?
She didn’t want to think of the possibilities; she wanted to run as far as she could and not look back. But there was no place for her to go. The village Dowell was and always would be her home.
Her stomach gurgled and she realized that she had not eaten all day. She could go to the kitchen and get food as Cree had instructed. But it did not seem right for her to simply enter the kitchen and take what food she wanted.
She could however see if she could get Flanna’s attention and request a few items so that she could cook her own meal. Her stomach gurgled again and she smiled. She had no voice but her stomach certainly did and was protesting loudly its hunger.
With a quick deposit of her shawl to the chair and grabbing the wool cloak off the peg, she hurried out the door. She sniffed the air as she hurried to the kitchen... rain... you could smell its crisp scent and it was not far off.
Dawn smiled seeing Flanna outside the cookhouse and hurried over to her.
“Good lord, are you all right?” Flanna asked cringing at the sight of Dawn’s bruises.
A nod and a smile assured Flanna that she was fine.
“Stop your gossiping and hurry with those onions, woman,” came a rough shout from inside the kitchen.
Flanna shook her head and grabbed a basket from the stack outside the kitchen door. “Come with me so that we can talk.”
Dawn frowned and pointed to the basket as they walked to the wild onion patch in a field beyond the kitchen.
Flanna shook her head. “I am nothing more than a helper now and Turbett is not an easy task master. He works everyone until bone-tired, though I must admit that his food is quite tasty. And he is generous in feeding his helpers. But what of you?” she asked reaching out to take hold of Dawn’s hand. “Tongues are wagging about your attack and how Cree has punished Dorrie and how now you serve the—” Flanna bit her tongue.
Dawn slipped her arm free and brought her hands to her head and stuck two fingers up on either side.
Flanna nodded. “The devil.” And then whispered. “Do you serve the devil?”
Did she serve the devil? She wasn’t sure and so she shrugged and taking Flanna’s basket from her, plopped down in the field to gather wild onions, wishing to talk of anything other than Cree right now.
Flanna joined her and wisely spoke no more of Cree, but rather of Turbett and his dictatorial ways, which had Dawn smiling since he sounded not much different than Flanna when she had been in charge of the kitchen. And though her stomach continued to gurgle with hunger, she didn’t want this time with Flanna to end too soon. It reminded her of life before Cree had descended on the village and changed everything.
So she sat continuing to pick onions and smiling.
~~~
“It is done and yet you continue to fret and scowl,” Sloan said, pouring him and Cree more ale as they relaxed at the dais. “Dawn is now well protected. The villagers think that her chore is to service you.”
“A chore you say?”
Sloan laughed. “Fear is a better choice since that scowl would send any woman running in fright.”
“It didn’t send Dawn running; she bravely stood her ground fearful or not,” Cree informed him adamantly sounding as if he defended her. Not realizing it, though Sloan did.
“So then she is your woman now?”
“Yes,” Cree snapped.
Sloan leaned closer so that the nearby servants would not hear and said, “You’re a bloody liar.”
Cree’s dark eyes narrowed, his scowl vanished replaced by an ominous expression that had Sloan offering an apology of sorts.
“My tongue runs before I think.”
Cree simply nodded, more annoyed that Sloan had seen through to the truth, but he would not admit that he had yet to actually couple with Dawn, not even to Sloan. And he and Sloan had certainly shared many tales about the women they have bedded.
Dawn, however, was different and he would not discuss the intimacies of what he shared with her and sully her character any more than it was already being tarnished.