“I got a chemise like you, my lady, but naught else. I expect that Pietro will be able to find me a skirt and shirt however. When Dermid gets back I’ll send him off to ask.” She wrapped herself in her drying cloth and sat down next to her mistress.
Rosamund handed her the brush. “Dry your hair,” she said.
“Oh, I couldn’t use your brush, my lady,” Annie protested.
“Then your hair will dry a tangle, Annie,” Rosamund said.
“I’ll use my fingers,” Annie told her. “ ’Tis what I do anyhow.”
While Annie was drying her hair Dermid returned with their packs from the horses. He flushed at the sight of the two women wrapped in their drying cloths. “I’ll leave your pack there, my lady,” he addressed Rosamund, his eyes averted from her. “And I’ll distribute the rest as they ought to be.” He tossed one of the saddlebags on Rosamund’s bed and scurried away.
Annie giggled. “He ain’t too brave now, is he?” she said.
“Go and put on your chemise,” Rosamund instructed her. “I can put my own on, and then I’m going to lie down and have a nap on that soft-looking bed. You should do the same, lass. Until the seamstress comes after siesta, whatever that is, there is naught for us to do.” She lay down upon the bed, suddenly tired and unable to even pull out her chemise. “Just for a little bit,” she said to herself softly, and she closed her eyes.
“I’m sending Dermid for that Pietro. I can’t go around without my clothes until something new can be made for me,” Annie said, and after putting on her chemise she went off to seek out her fellow servant
Patrick finally appeared to find Rosamund sleeping. Seeing her upon the bed, wrapped in the drying cloth, so much of her bare to his view was tempting. Then he spied the tub still out on the terrace. He stripped off his travel-worn garments, then walked outside and climbed into the tub. The water was lukewarm and well used, but he was nonetheless able to wash himself thoroughly using the scented soap upon the tub’s shelf. He sniffed and smiled. The fragrance was a familiar one, one he had not smelled in years.
Annie returned to the terrace in her chemise and gave a little squeak to see him so ensconced. “Oh, my lord!” She blushed furiously.
“Give me your drying cloth, lassie, as I can see you are quit of it, and then find your own place,” he ordered the serving girl gently.
“Aye, my lord,” she answered him. “Pietro is sending the seamstress to us after siesta. What is siesta?”
“The time following the midday meal and the late afternoon when the sun is less hot,” he explained. “It is the custom to nap, or otherwise amuse oneself, Annie.”
“Thank you, my lord!” she answered, giving him a bobbing little curtsy. “Shall I wake my lady?”
“Nay, Annie. She is fair worn, I can see. Let her sleep. I will shortly join her. Run along now, lass.” He took the drying cloth from the girl.
“Yes, my lord,” Annie said obediently, and she was quickly gone.
Patrick pulled himself out of the tub and dried himself off before wrapping the cloth about his loins and seating himself on the marble bench. The sun on his shoulders felt wonderful. He had forgotten how good one’s body felt when exposed to the air and the heat of the sun. And he realized now that if Rosamund was tired after their exhausting journey then so was he. He stood and went back inside, lying down next to her. She murmured softly, but made no other indication that she was even aware of him. His eyes closed, and he was swiftly asleep.
When he awoke several hours later, Rosamund was gone from their bed, but he could hear her in the dayroom beyond. He gave himself a few moments for his head to clear, and then he stretched before arising to walk towards the sound of her voice.
“Ah, you are awake,” she said, seeing him. She was seated at a table, eating ravenously. “Come and eat so we may siesta again,” she told him, and she licked her fingers clean of grease from the chicken wing she was devouring. “I am going to enjoy this southern style of living, my darling.”
He sat down opposite her with a grin and helped himself to the full bowl of oysters, which he began cracking open and swallowing whole.
“I left them for you,” she said sweetly. “I thought you might need your strength, my lord.” She picked up her goblet. “You are right. This San Lorenzan wine is delicious.” Then she reached out for the pitcher and poured a generous measure into his goblet. “The seamstress is coming later,” she said.
“So Annie said,” he replied as he picked up the goblet to drink some wine.
“She is Pietro’s daughter, an old friend of yours, I believe,” Rosamund said innocently.
He choked upon his wine. “Celestina? Jesu! Maria!”
Rosamund giggled mischievously. “Pietro says you will not recognize her, for she has grown with age, bairns, and her busy enterprise. I shall be fascinated to meet her.”
“You will behave yourself, madame,” he said sternly.
“Now, Patrick, it is not often that the current mistress is permitted to meet the mistress of one’s youth,” she teased him wickedly.
His green eyes narrowed. “You’re a bad wench,” he said.
“I am,” she agreed, “but I promise to behave. Will you have some of this delicious roast kid?” She carved several slices and put them on his plate together with an artichoke that had been steamed in wine, some fresh bread, and a wedge of soft cheese. “The ambassador has an excellent cook,” she noted, and then she returned to her own meal.
