Heady was the scent lingering in the air, burnt sage, aromatic resin and lavender. Tendrils of steam curled up toward the steepled waxed canvas ceiling, splashes of water from the deep copper bath a gentle contrast to the pelting rain that hammered against the fabric of the tent. As she lay, eyes shut, in the hot, scented water, the pretty dark haired woman slowly, repeatedly, cupped the water in gentle streams across her shoulders. Peace, contentment filled her, a sense of calm that she had rarely known, but in that moment, all was well.
“Stay there any longer and you’ll shrivel to nothing, as wrinkled as an old maid”
She opened an eye, then closed it once more with a soft exhale.
“Have you nothing better to do than to pester your sister my sweet brother?”
He walked about the dimly lit tent, his eyes taken in by a long table covered in all manner of knick knacks, pots, books, herbs and rolled fabrics holding curious tools and knives. Lifting a small clay pot, he removed the lid and held the vessel to his nose, recoiling at the acrid scent within and hastily placing it back amongst the other items. A barely restrained chuckle came from the young woman who continued to sooth Dernwynns shoulders and upper arms.
“Have you nothing better to do than languish in here like a common whore?”
At this he had her full attention, what was a chuckle turned to a gasp from the brunette. Staring at her brothers back with such ferocity as if she could somehow cast some ill curse at him, or lash him with a whip, she then turned her head to look at the girl, and then signalled toward a robe. As she stood, the dim light caught the rivulets of water that ran down her. Stepping from the tub, aided by Isabelles small hand, her brother continued to look through her belongings on the table with mild interest, turning things over, picking up this and that. Her golden hair once plastered to her skin, she pulled to one side as she was dressed in the cotton garment with the aid of the woman.
“You always say the sweetest of things Arithem, it is a wonder why you have not found a wife yet. As for languishing, I do not languish, if I did it would imply I hide, rot away, on the contrary I am enjoying life to the fullest.”
To this he turned, his eyes fixed on those of the girl to whom he directed to leave with a gentle flick of his head in the direction of the tent flap. Blushing at the bluntness of the conversation, though more so his gaze, she hurried away, exchanging the warmth and hedonistic pleasures of the tent for the cold, persistent rain.
“You hide. You drink. You..." He pointed toward the tent flap, giving his sister an incredulous look “..with her?”
She looked at him with all the innocence of a small child, as if she had no idea what he spoke of though most certainly knew what he implied.
“..Her? Her what?”
Moving to a small table, she lifted a silver flagon, her expression now turning to false curiosity as she watched his eyes, her other hand reaching for a silver goblet
“You toy with me woman. Are none of the men here good enough that you resort to one of the whores?”
A stream of red wine slowly filled the basin of the goblet, her attention on it as not to spill a drop as she replied
“Oh..all very good, very fine I am certain. Though why the change of heart? Once you would have disciplined any man who would have paid me more than a cursory glance or greeting. So contrary. Also, do not call her a whore, she has a name”
Moving to the bed, she reclined a little on the thick furs, her legs tucked to one side, her free hand propping her up whilst the drink held in the other.
“I’ll call her what I wish, she does it well, but men need wives not whores, sisters need them less still!”
Dismissing his words with a roll of the eyes and a mouthful of wine she replied.
“She merely keeps me company, pampers me, listens to me complain about my oh so caring brother, besides, it is the other sibling she holds an interest with, not I.”
Nodding toward him to accentuate her last words, she then indulged in the goblet once more, her brother huffing his amusement as he pulled a stool over before the bed, planting himself down upon it.
“Why leave a widow eh? Once there was one, you know of her, of our..child. No, to lead you must be strong, no weaknesses, I will not take another, even pretty blushing whores, but you? I am your brother, and I tell you this, it is duty, your duty to this family to carry on our lineage”
Splurting out suddenly, spraying him with a mouthful of wine, she burst into musical laughter, his face screwed up in disgust as his golden beard and tunic dripped with tiny beads of the drink.
“...Duty!? Oh my!”
Continuing in her laughter, to the point her cheeks reddened, her eyes watered and her shoulders shook, she tried her best so as not to spill another drop of the crimson drink. Dragging both palms over his face, he then stood and looked down at her, scolding with his eyes. A moment passed, her laughter turned to the brightest, most beautiful of smiles, to which he responded with a slight one of his own.
“Duty. Come, dress, we feast tonight. Tayne has venison skinned and roasting as I speak. Wear something pretty hmm?”
Anticipating her reaction, he moved aside to almost miss a soft cushion, hurled to strike him on the shoulder. Grasping his arm as if gravely wounded, he stumbled toward the tent flap, and as passing through called once more.
“Pretty!”
