TemptressofTime Read Online Free

the hours she’d
spent atop an uncomfortable saddle. The slops themselves created issues when
she needed to relieve herself. While a man could easily slip his member between
the folds, she had to untie the waistband, bundle the fabric and that of her
long chainse and riding skirt out of the way, then squat. All the while, she
worried that someone would discover her looking absurd. Leaves with which to
wipe herself were often out of reach, on branches far above her head. When
used, they left her already aching bottom raw.
    Which made her first encounter of any length with the
dark-haired noble—Walker Mornay, Duke de Beaumont—more than somewhat
surprising. Oh, they’d mumbled polite greetings to one another as they mounted
their horses, but that had been the extent of her conversation with either
noble. So on this particular morning, her poor, raw bottom having brought tears
to her eyes, encountering the duke blocking her path made her surly.
    “Kindly get out of my way.” She refused to acknowledge him
by name or title, either of which would tacitly grant him power over her. So
would saying “please”.
    “In a moment.” His fingers under her chin forced her to look
up at him, into those dark orbs that made her skin go hot and cold at the same
time. Holding her chin in one hand, he gently swiped away her tears with a
square piece of linen too small to be a handkerchief. Finished, he reached
under his tight-fitting tunic then held out a stack of more linen squares.
    Undone by his unexpected kindness, she could only gape up at
him as he said, “Tuck the used ones into your purse. In a day or two we shall
stay with Baron Dupont and you can have them laundered.”
    “Th-thank you,” she murmured, ducking her head so he
wouldn’t see her embarrassed gratitude. Since she had no coin, the purse
hanging from her belt would serve as a handy laundry basket.
    Some servant at her uncle’s might have packed the squares
amongst her things, she supposed. She hadn’t thought to look, hadn’t had a
chance to consider changing clothes. Nor had she had the privacy in which to do
so.
    They’d traveled at a steady pace, slow enough for the
horse-drawn wagons to keep up, covering between six and ten miles each day.
Remarkably fast, Adrian had told her.
    The duke’s voice drew her attention back to him. “In spring
especially—now— leaves are soft. In summer almost the same. Fall makes them
brittle and in winter they are absent entirely. It is then that you should plan
on carrying these.”
    “I don’t imagine I shall do much traveling once I reach my
new home.” Unless it has a portal that will take me to my real home. Please,
please, please…let me find a way back to where I belong. Realizing she
sounded snooty, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I think these may come in
handy even after we reach our destination.” She would bet highborn folks
routinely washed with some sort of cloth after putting the garderobe to use.
    He looked puzzled for an instant, most likely over “come in
handy”. Then he gave a curt nod, turned and called out, “You are most welcome,”
as he strode to his saddled horse.
    His sarcastic tone almost prompted her to thank him again
but she bit her tongue. If anything, he owed her an apology for not giving her
the squares sooner. Moreover, he owed her an explanation for his ducal title.
If she remembered any of her research correctly Edward the Third created the
English title of duke in the 1330s for his oldest son. So either she was
confusing her clothing with an earlier era—say 1100—or Walker Mornay was a duke
from somewhere else, like Saxony or France. Still, to have such a lofty title
meant he had family connections of the highest order. Hell, for all she knew he
could be the son of the King of France. But that would make him the dauphin,
wouldn’t it?
    The whole when question gave her a headache,
exacerbated by Adrian popping into her path and demanding, “For what are