Birthing Ella Bandita Read Online Free Page A

near the lone place setting. From the parlor, the rising sun shone through the eastern windows, gleaming along the wooden floors and fading away before the stairs.
    The sudden creak in the floor startled the younger maid to look up. At the sight of her Patron’s daughter, she spilled the tray of oranges. The other servant turned and scowled at the stains on the pristine linen. She opened her mouth to scold the other, but closed it when she saw who stood just beyond the doors. The Sorcerer suspected this must be the girl’s personal maid when the woman curtseyed. She looked over her mistress, taking in the ruined gown, unkempt hair and grimy face, and paled more than the younger maid.
    The servants looked at each other and back to the girl, all three standing motionless. The trio made a tableau of panic until the heavy tread coming down the stairs spurred them to action. The older maid hurried to place the tray of oranges over the soiled tablecloth, the younger poured a stream of coffee into a china cup, and the girl turned to meet her father. The Sorcerer also held his breath, knowing that what he wanted depended on the Patron’s reaction.
    His boots appeared first when he stepped down from the landing. The Patron would be working in the fields again that morning. He was dressed in peasant garb and there was a permanent cake of mud around the soles of his boots. His torso held the vestiges of the formidable strength he had when he claimed this estate as a young man. His large hands were calloused from years of hard work, the mark of a farmer. Yet his hands were also those of a nobleman. His fingers were scrubbed each day; his nails were rounded and clean of dirt.
    The Patron stopped when he saw his daughter, his eyes wide with surprise. He opened his mouth as if to speak. Then his gaze dropped. As he took in the girl’s appearance, he flushed and his lips clamped in a tight line. Shaking his head, the Patron flicked his eyes away and came down the last stretch of stairs, stepping past the girl to the dining parlor. His manner was stately when he claimed his seat at the end of the table.
    The girl stared after her father, the high color draining from her cheeks. Her lips trembled and empty swallows rippled down her throat while she fought to regain her poise.
    The maids shifted their regard between their Patron and his daughter. He said nothing until he had taken a few sips of coffee. Then he placed a few orange slices on his plate and reached for the bread, nodding at his daughter with a glance to her maid.
    “I think she needs to attend to her toilette.”
    “Yes, Patron.”
    The rigid features of the older servant relaxed. She left her position at table to approach her mistress and curtseyed to her again.
    “Would you like me to draw you a bath, Miss?”
    As the last of the liquid cloud dissipated, the polite smile and empty eyes of the aging lady’s maid faded from the Sorcerer’s mind, yet the well-modulated voice lingered. Miss, he wondered, frowning. Miss. How strange that her own maid should address her in such a common manner, even if she was the only person in the entire village that spoke to the girl.
    His eyes snapped open. He’d forgotten the Patron had never given his daughter a name. The Sorcerer of the Caverns leaned back into the pillows of blood red velvet, smiling up at the bright sky at the end of the tunnel.
    She would be back.

Chapter Two
    The portrait was the size of life. It hung between floors on the wall of the landing facing the upper stairs. The woman was painted on canvas exactly as she had been when she was alive. Lamps always burned around her so she could be seen day or night. She stood facing the artist, her butter yellow gown falling in graceful folds from her chest to her feet. Her pale blonde hair hung loose and free around her shoulders and arms. Her lips were curved in the impish smile that had enchanted the Patron on the night he met her. Her body was straight, head leaning over