"Katherine Kerr - Deverry 02 - Darkspell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kerr Katherine)

‘And I took the bait, sure enough. Here, the tieryn wants you to come sit with her.’

‘At the honor table? What a cursed nuisance. It’s a good thing I put on a clean shirt.’

Cullyn laughed. Usually Nevyn dressed like a farmer in shabby brown clothes, but today he’d actually
put on a white shirt with Lovyan’s red lion blazon at the yokes and a pair of patched but respectable gray
brigga.

‘Before you go,’ Cullyn said. ‘Have you had any . . . well, news of my Jill?’

‘You mean: have a scryed her out lately. Come with me.’

They made their way over to the second hearth, where an entire hog was roasting on a spit. For a
moment Nevyn stared intently into the flames.

‘I see Jill and Rhodry looking in good spirits,’ he said at last. They’re walking through a town on a
nice sunny day, going up to a shop of some sort. Wait! I know that place. It’s Otho the Silversmith’s in
Dun Manannan, but he doesn’t seem to be in at the moment.’

‘I don’t suppose you can tell if she’s with child.’

‘She’s not showing the babe if she is. I can understand your concern.’

‘Well, it’s bound to happen, sooner or later. I just hope she has the wit to ride home when it does.’

‘She’s never lacked for wit.’

Although Cullyn agreed, worry ate at him. Jill was, after all, his only child.

‘I just hope they have enough coin for the winter,’ the captain remarked.

‘Well, we gave them plenty between us, if Rhodry doesn’t drink it all away, anyway.’

‘Oh, Jill won’t let him do that. My lass is as tight as an old farmwife with every cursed copper.’ He
allowed himself a brief smile. ‘At least she knows the long road cursed well.’

Because the mattress was full of bedbugs, Rhodry sat on the floor of the tiny innchamber while he
watched Jill frowning in concentration as she mended a rip in his only shirt. She was dressed in a pair of
dirty blue brigga and a lad’s plain linen overshirt, and her golden hair was cropped short like a lad’s, too,
but she was so beautiful, with her wide blue eyes, delicate features, and soft mouth, that he loved simply
looking at her.

‘Ah by the black hairy ass of the Lord of Hell!’ she snarled at last. This’ll just have to do. I hate
sewing.’

‘You have my humble thanks for lowering yourself enough to mend my clothes.’

With another snarl, she threw the shirt into his face. Laughing he shook it out, once-white linen stained
with sweat and rust from his mail. On the yokes were the blazons of the red lion, all that he had left of his