What the Heart Sees Read Online Free Page B

accommodate five or six big men at a time but at the moment there was only Cassandra and another older woman she knew as Nosey Rosie in the hut.
    “I’ll take them rags of yourn, dearie,” Rosie said, wrinkling up her nose, which was prodigious enough to have earned her the nickname. “I’ve orders to see ye clean and presentable, a term ye could use to describe owt yer wearin’ at the moment.”
    Cassie hugged her arms across her chest, protecting the leather jerkin from the fat hands that reached for it. “What are you going to do with my clothes?”
    “Burning would be my first choice,” Rosie declared, “but leave go o’ them now. I’ll see they’re washed an’ hung out to dry in the sun.”
    Warily, Cassie lowered her arms. She had but one pair of leggings, one tunic and one shirt and could ill afford to have any of the three burned or lost.
    “God’s trewth, girl.” Rosie was behind her unplaiting the tangle of her hair as Cassie unlaced her shirt and leggings and set them aside. “Ye’ve got whole families o’ creatures livin’ in here.”
    She clucked her tongue and shooed Cassie into the hot water while she went and found some harsh soap. It was only the second time in her life that Cassie had bathed in a proper tub. Usually she made do with a bucket and cloth, or washed in a nearby icy stream. Heating water was an unheard-of luxury.
    As she sank up to her shoulders in the warmed water, she smiled. This must be why noble men and women had such white skin and smelled so sweet. She splashed her hands across the surface and carried water to her shoulders and neck, thinking she felt quite regal in a genuine real hot bath.
    A large fat hand covered her head and pushed, sending her down under the surface of the water. It held her there while she thrashed and spluttered and her lungs were emptied of air. The hand let her come up again, but only long enough to pour something horrid and smelly in her hair, give it a rub, then dunk her under again.
    “Lice,” Rosie declared. “Ye’d not want to see them hoppin’ from yer head to his lordship’s pigeon pie, now would ye?”
    Cassie was still swearing, still sputtering. Her eyes were stinging from whatever Rosie had poured onto her head, and now it was compounded by yet another concoction that was rubbed and scrubbed into her hair half a dozen times, before being rinsed and scrubbed again. By the time Rosie declared the waist-long mass bug-free, her scalp was on fire and she was fuming close to tears.
    “Do ye need help scrubbin’ yer nether parts or can ye manage that much yer own self?”
    “Myself,” Cassie gasped. “I can manage myself.”
    “Good. Here’s the soap, here’s the cloth. I’ll be checkin’ when yer done so no sense just ticklin’ it over yer hide an’ callin’ it clean.”
    Cassie glared, but the woman simply put her hands to her hips and glared back.
    In the end, she soaked and scrubbed and rubbed her toes and fingernails with sand; she soaped her face until she was sure her freckles had come off then stood and allowed Rosie to pour a bucket of water scented with lavender oil over her hair and body. Following a harsh drubbing with a towel, she sat in front of the fire and endured another round of cussing while her hair was brushed and dried. A plain white linen sheath was dropped over her head followed by a tunic of pale green damask. Long sleeves were laced to the shoulders and a narrow braided rope of silk threads went around her waist, tied so the tasselled ends fell straight down the middle, almost to the floor.
    There were no polished steel mirrors in the bath house so she had no idea what she looked like, and she was too busy looking down, admiring the soft green slippers that peeked from beneath the hem of the gown to notice the expression on Rosie’s face. When she did look up, the woman’s frown was sternly back in place.
    “Have a care not to drip grease on the frock or wipe yer mouth on a sleeve. Try to walk