Chapter 1.1

Chapter 1

Lord Reinard looked down at me, his fists rapidly clenching and unclenching. He does that whenever he’s in a full temper, working the air like a kitchen girl kneading dough. It’s best not to cross him at these times, best to not even be in the same building, for he has a touch of his father in him. More than a touch, some days. I normally find a way to avoid him at those times, but that morning he had caught me unawares as I crouched on the hearth of the solar, a scrub brush in hand.

"Gerard." His voice was as tense as his jawline. Blonde hair flew wild about his narrow face, like a madman’s. "Just what are you doing?"

I wiped my hands on my ragged trousers, my worst pair, then signed, "I am washing the hearth. It is very dirty."

"And who told you to do that?"

"No one. I saw it was dirty yesterday, when I played for you. I thought it should be clean." Even a simple harpist deserved a clean scrap of floor to kneel on – even if he had to clean it himself.