"Lee Edgar - Plot 03 - Plot For A King" - читать интересную книгу автора (Edgar Lee)

that, Andrew thought, though how he was going to manage it, he hadn’t a clue.
Sam sat on the bed and tears flowed so Andrew put his hand gently on the lad’s shoulder. ‘Don’t
worry, I’ll think of something. In the meantime, we must get you tidied up. You can’t see the King
looking like a tramp.’
His smile beamed through his tears. ‘So you’ll take me with you?’
Andrew nodded. ‘I’ll find a way. Let’s see what we can do to clean you up. Get undressed, I’ll find
some warm water.’
He left the reluctant-looking Sam sitting on the bed and slipped out with the jug. After persuading
the landlord to allow him a little water from the stove, he carried it back upstairs. Sam was still
sitting where he had left him.
Andrew poured some of the water into a bowl. ‘Come on, Sam. You must get washed.’
He grabbed the youth by the arm and pulled him gently but firmly to his feet. Sitting on the bed,
he stood Sam in front of him and started to undo the buttons of the dirty shirt. He pulled the shirt
open and, embarrassed, looked up to Sam’s face. ‘You...You’re not a boy.’
Sam sighed. ‘No, sir. Never have been.’
Andrew had seen his sister, Rachel, without clothing many times when he was young and once,
he even caught sight of Carrie on her veranda and was ashamed for a week afterward. Mary Beth
had always kept herself well covered up but here, standing half-naked in front of him, was a
skinny girl.
He gently closed her shirt. ‘Sam. How old are you?’
‘Fifteen, sir.’
‘Do you have brothers?’
‘Five, sir.’ The girl looked down at her dirty feet. ‘All dead.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Her eyes flicked to his. ‘Are you going to help me wash now?’
‘I’m not sure...’
‘Please.’
‘I’m not your brother, Sam.’
‘I know. But my father told me you are a good friend of the King.’
Andrew sighed. Why can’t everyone be as innocent as this? Reluctantly, he helped her to scrub
her back and legs and then let her finish her own washing while he looked out of the window at the
snow-capped roofs and candle-lit windows. The blizzard had stopped and everything sparkled as
the moon started its journey across the cleared sky.
Sam finished, dried herself and put on a cotton nightshirt she had taken from her small bag of
belongings. She thanked him and then climbed into the bed. Oh well, Andrew sighed, bang goes a
good night’s sleep. He slipped off his waistcoat and curled up on the floor. It was freezing.
Sam sat up. ‘Why don’t you come into the bed?’
‘Because it’s not done.’
‘Why not?’
Her small, childlike face reflected the light and acted like a magnet to him and, as if in a dream,
he climbed in beside her. She was warm as toast.
There was little room in that single bed and he lay on his back staring at the ceiling as the
candle flickered its last breath. What was he going to do with this girl? How could he take her
along? Was he guilty of leading her on? Promising something he could not fulfil? Just as the
candle died, the door burst open and in staggered Sergeant Briggs with a tankard of ale in one
hand and a buxom wench in the other.
‘Just checking you’ve not run away,’ he boomed as he swayed about in the doorway. ‘Though I
needn’t have worried, need I?’
He laughed and practically fell outside as Andrew looked round and saw that Samantha was
sitting up looking much more than her age in the poor light.