stoked the fire, fanning the kindling with a bellows. “Simon would you milk the goat? It’s for Regalo.”
Simon choked on his spoon. He looked up from his steaming bowl of stew. “Me? Milk the goat? I’m a knight, Guy. Why do I have to—” He clamped his mouth shut, his complaint cut short by Guy’s beseeching look.
Guy came to the table and rested his big hand on Sybilla’s shoulder, his touch reassuring.
“You rest. I’ll feed him, Mistress Corbuc. He’ll get better. Wait and see.” He reached for a fur coverlet resting on a stool. He tossed the fur over Regalo.
Lady Morna’s gentle voice drifted from the darkened corner. “He won’t take milk from you, Sir Guy. He’s chosen her.” She pointed to Sybilla. “’Tis the way for a colt who’s been elfshot. He’s lost affinity for the mare and bonded to another—her.”
Guy spun around. “Only Mistress Corbuc?”
Lady Morna nodded. “He’ll only let her feed him. For days, mayhap weeks. Who knows?”
Guy shot a befuddled look at Sybilla. Sybilla lowered her eyes. What Lady Morna said was true. ’Twas a common thing for an elfshot foal to reject the mare and bond with someone, or something else. She had seen an elfshot foal become attached to a wine barrel.
The goat brayed. Squirting milk hit at the bottom of a pail while Simon grumbled and Lady Morna spoke softly to her animals, and to Addy, though the old mare seemed indifferent.
Guy swore beneath his breath. “Then come, Sybilla. I’ll prop him up while you feed him.”
The winter chill chased away by the fire’s heat, Sybilla could actually feel her toes and fingers. Guy had shown nothing but kindness to her, the least she could do is do what he asked. He seemed just as determined to save Regalo as she.
Sybilla eased from the bench. “His affliction was an act of nature. You know that don’t you?”
Guy grunted. “I’ve no fear of the foal or of you, mistress, if that’s what troubles you. Rest assured, I’m not of mind to put you or the colt aside. But if what Lady Morna says is true, as I suspect it is, I will require your company for weeks.”
Sybilla sat down beside the foal and slipped her finger between his velvet lips. He stopped smacking for a moment and made a weak attempt to suckle, his soft lips pursed and his tongue curled at the edges. She sat back on her heels, surprised and relieved he hadn’t lost that vital reflex.
“Blessed Mother,” she said, her voice more animated than she intended, “he’s trying to drink.”
Guy propped Regalo upright and Sybilla held a wine skin filled with goat’s milk to the foal’s mouth. He slurped and dribbled, spilling as much as he took in.
Lady Morna donned her red velvet cloak. “We’ll need more firewood.” She slipped on her deerskin gloves.
Guy turned to Simon. “Simon, could you––”
Simon held up his hand. “Help her? Why of course,” he answered, then mumbled, “Milk the goat, fetch the wood…” He pulled his cloak over his shoulders. “Guy of Warwick, if you hadn’t saved my arse at Balmont I’d refuse. But the ladies tell me it’s a good arse and I’m glad to have it still, thanks to you.” Simon winked at Sybilla and followed Lady Morna out the door.
A sharp blast of winter wind sliced through the cottage before the door slammed shut.
Guy nudged Sybilla with his elbow. “Let me try to feed Regalo. You’re exhausted and there’s still hot stew and fresh bread on the table.”
Sybilla shook her head, though the very thought of warm brown bread and rabbit stew made her woozy. “He’ll not let you.”
Guy took the wine skin from Sybilla’s hands and held it to the foal’s lips. Regalo closed his mouth, his head weaving, his eyes glazed and vacant. He spit the spout from his mouth and rested his chin on his knees, ignoring Guy.
Guy’s brow furrowed. He handed the wineskin to Sybilla and watched, his expression thoughtful.
Sybilla put the spout into Regalo’s mouth. He suckled ’til the wineskin had emptied. Apparently satisfied, he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Sybilla rubbed the foal’s ears, acutely aware of Guy’s nearness, of the way he watched her, the way he knelt so close beside her, their shoulders touching.
Reaching across the foal, she pulled a deerskin cover over his haunches. At the same time, Guy reached across her lap for the emptied wineskin. The tip of his nose grazed her cheek.
Startled, she drew back and parted her lips to say, “I’m sorry.”
His mouth covered hers before she uttered a single word.
His lips warm and pliant, caressed her, the taste of him pleasingly rich. His arm slipped around her waist and as he drew her closer, her back arched. Her breasts crushed against his solid chest, she could feel his heart thudding, pounding as hard as her own.
His breath quickened and his hand skimmed up her back and came to rest on her shoulder.
Lord help her, but she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her face in his warmth.
Just as quickly as he’d swept her up, he broke their embrace and drew back.
The door banged open and in stomped a snow-dusted Simon, his arms filled with wood. His eyes flashed with bemusement—and with warning. Lady Morna came in behind him, her dark gaze focused on Sybilla.
Sybilla wiped her mouth and turned away, unable to meet Lady Morna’s eyes or to look at Guy. Mother Mary, why had he kissed her? What was it about this man that drew her in?
She gulped. He was now her employer, some would say her master—which she intended to address, and soon. But, he hadn’t introduced her to Lady Morna as his servant.
She touched her lips with her fingers. She could still taste him, a wonderful taste, rich and smoky, all man, a taste that left her wanting more.
Would he expect more?
Heat crept up her neck.
Simon cleared his throat. He dumped the wood beside the hearth and stretched his arms over his head. He yawned. “If I’m done with all my chores now, I’ll be turning in.” He bedded down, his makeshift pallet a long wide chest stashed against the wall, opposite the goat pen.
In the silence, Lady Morna looked at Guy. “I see,” she said, softly, her face impassive. She glanced at Sybilla. “Get some rest if you can. You must all leave here before the dawn.”
Guy turned slowly to face the beautiful seer, his eyes apologetic, like a child who’d been caught with his hand in the sweetmeats. “I’m sorry, Morna. We’ll leave as soon as we can.”
She nodded. Without another word, she ascended the ladder to the loft like an angel dressed in red, with her long dark hair shimmering in the firelight.
Still reeling from his inexplicable kiss, Sybilla steadied her tingling nerves by pulling her knees beneath her faded blue skirt and hugging her legs to her chest. Guy kept his eyes
