Post by Kendrick Seithfed on Dec 6, 2008 23:48:37 GMT -6
Seithfed felt the bed shift, but was too tired to do much more than let out a grunt of dissatisfaction when last night's quarry lifted the covers and let in some of Scotland's chilly morning air. "Fine, ye lout, I'll see ye tonight," was her annoyed response, followed by a rustle of clothing as she stepped into her gown. She snatched her shoes from where they had been kicked off the night before. She flipped her long dark hair, the perfumed scent of it making his nose twitch. She was, he remembered distinctly, a great beauty. Her husband was a lucky man.
When the door slammed, he gave up any pretenses of gaining more sleep and rolled onto his back, hissing at the bright sunlight streaming through the single window of his cell-like inn room. The maid hurried in to stoke up the fire. She lingered in the doorway, contemplating the gentleman lounging in bed at this late hour, but at his smoldering glare, she hurried out with her basket of firewood and became the second woman to slam her way out of his room that morning.
Groggily swiping at his eyes, he caught a whiff of his own scent. It was decidedly not as pleasant as his bed companion's had been and he contemplated whether it was worth harassing the staff into preparing a bath. He settled for scrubbing his body clean with a sea sponge, letting rivulets of sudsy water slide down his body and pool on the floor near the hearth, where they would eventually meld into the countless other stains already littering the planks.
After completing his morning ablutions and dressing in his finest, he left the inn and luckily ran across a cart selling meat pasties. He ate his breakfast as he walked along the docks, surveying the ships currently in port and the cargo moving in and out of Skye. Who knew what ran through that man's head when his gaze turned from the docks to the castle above but that he was content with his breakfast? He finished the pasty and dusted his hands off on his pants. There was work yet to do. His gait was an easy lope, long-practiced on land and sea, and he made short time to his ship.
The work he was happy to accomplish, for it meant in the afternoon, he could take his ease with a long nap, making up for sleep lost the night before. With such a schedule, Kendrick Seithfed was a happy, happy man. He asked one of his men of a tavern last night's prize had mentioned. "And the patrons? Are they my taste?"
His man laughed. "No, my lord. They value chastity, they do. You'd like find less challenge closer to the docks."
"Pish," Seithfed said, easing back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. "The fun is in the challenge." And so it was he ignored last night's prize in favor of the company of a lovely pair of Italian handmaids, one with hair the shade of autumn wheat, the other with a slightly crooked eyetooth and a glorious pair of ... eyes.
When the door slammed, he gave up any pretenses of gaining more sleep and rolled onto his back, hissing at the bright sunlight streaming through the single window of his cell-like inn room. The maid hurried in to stoke up the fire. She lingered in the doorway, contemplating the gentleman lounging in bed at this late hour, but at his smoldering glare, she hurried out with her basket of firewood and became the second woman to slam her way out of his room that morning.
Groggily swiping at his eyes, he caught a whiff of his own scent. It was decidedly not as pleasant as his bed companion's had been and he contemplated whether it was worth harassing the staff into preparing a bath. He settled for scrubbing his body clean with a sea sponge, letting rivulets of sudsy water slide down his body and pool on the floor near the hearth, where they would eventually meld into the countless other stains already littering the planks.
After completing his morning ablutions and dressing in his finest, he left the inn and luckily ran across a cart selling meat pasties. He ate his breakfast as he walked along the docks, surveying the ships currently in port and the cargo moving in and out of Skye. Who knew what ran through that man's head when his gaze turned from the docks to the castle above but that he was content with his breakfast? He finished the pasty and dusted his hands off on his pants. There was work yet to do. His gait was an easy lope, long-practiced on land and sea, and he made short time to his ship.
The work he was happy to accomplish, for it meant in the afternoon, he could take his ease with a long nap, making up for sleep lost the night before. With such a schedule, Kendrick Seithfed was a happy, happy man. He asked one of his men of a tavern last night's prize had mentioned. "And the patrons? Are they my taste?"
His man laughed. "No, my lord. They value chastity, they do. You'd like find less challenge closer to the docks."
"Pish," Seithfed said, easing back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. "The fun is in the challenge." And so it was he ignored last night's prize in favor of the company of a lovely pair of Italian handmaids, one with hair the shade of autumn wheat, the other with a slightly crooked eyetooth and a glorious pair of ... eyes.