The Time Tutor by Bee Ridgway Page A

lifted in the arms of a strong man. He carried her out of the building site and down the street to a little inn. Vogelstein followed, stretched on a board like a corpse. Soon, the two of them were ensconced in a cozy room up under the rafters. The landlady left them, after a great deal of fussing, with plenty of beer and a cold chicken, and Alva finally had a chance to sit down. Which she did, on a little three-legged stool by the window.
    Vogelstein, tucked up under the covers with a bandage on his head, gave her a smile. “Well, wife,” he said. “Come bring your husband that beaker of beer, and stroke his fevered brow.”
    She raised her eyebrows, and took a sip of the beer. “It’s good,” she said. “And I’m not sure you should have any. Is alcohol good for your poor head?”
    â€œConfound it, bring me that beaker!”
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    â€œHow are we going to pay for this room?”
    Dar opened his eyes to find her standing over him, still in that ridiculous shift.
    â€œDidn’t the landlady give you a dress?”
    She didn’t answer that; just looked at him with those drowned violet eyes of hers. She was holding a copper cup, hopefully of water, hopefully for him.
    She held it out, and he drank. He was feeling much better. The mice had finally chewed their way out of his skull, leaving it sore and full of holes, but his own again.
    â€œThank you,” he said.
    She regarded him soberly. “No jokes,” she said.
    He shook his head. “I shall be earnestness itself.”
    â€œNo remarks about wives or husbands.”
    â€œNone.”
    â€œAll right, then.” She put the cup on the windowsill and came back over to the bed. To his amazement, she drew the covers back. He was still in his linen smock, but the chill air nipped at him. She must be cold in nothing but her shift. “May I?” It took him a moment to realize that she was asking permission to crawl into bed with him.
    â€œOf course.” He shifted a bit to the side, and she tucked herself into bed, under the coarse linen sheet. She smiled at him before she laid her head against his shoulder, and she put her arm across his chest, just like . . . well, like a wife. “How long are we stuck here?” she asked.
    Experimentally, he curled his arm around her back. She didn’t object. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I don’t know when my talent will return. Or how long it will take to teach you to use yours.”
    She was silent for a moment, and he reveled in the feeling of her warm breath against his neck. Then, “Keep still,” she said, and she insinuated her freezing feet in between his calves.
    â€œOh my God, woman!” he jerked his legs away.
    Her feet stalked his warmth. “Keep still, I said.”
    â€œNoah and all the shitting animals! You’re going to kill me.”
    But wherever he moved, she found him, until finally he gave in and lay still and let her brand him with her icy extremities. “Tsssss,” she said in his ear, imitating the sound of hot irons being doused in water.
    â€œI suppose I deserve it,” he said, when the worst of the suffering had subsided.
    â€œYou most certainly do.” She raised herself up on one elbow and grinned at him, while she wiggled her toes to a yet warmer spot on his leg. Her breasts were pressed to his chest, and the evil glint in her eye held a promise of heat. She was really having a good time at his expense, the blasted Swedish witch.
    He watched her, knowing he was grinning, too, like a fool, knowing he was falling in love with her.
    He hoped it took a long time for his talent to return.
    He hoped she was a very slow learner.
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    Vogelstein was propped up on a pillow and bolster, drinking beef broth and looking, after a night’s sleep, quite a lot more like himself. Or at least Alva guessed he looked