"Kate Forsyth - Eileanan 01 - The Witches Of Eileanan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forsyth Kate)

"The tea," Meghan said, and Isabeau felt herself flush as she stumbled to the fire where the old
clay teapot hung above the flames. It was not like her to lose her composure; she wondered at it,
even as she poured the fragrant brew into the cups and got the honeycakes out of the tin on the
mantelpiece.
 "Made with honey from our own bees," Meghan said.

"And where have ye hidden the hives?" Seychella asked with amusement in her voice.

"Now that's a secret," Meghan smiled, drinking the tea and nodding at Isabeau, who was perched
on a stool by the fire, her usual seat taken by the stranger. "Why no' have your bath, Isabeau? Ye're
filthy!"

"But I want to listen," Isabeau protested.

"Ye can still listen," Seychella soothed. "I will talk while ye bathe."

A little shy at the idea of bathing before a stranger, Isabeau nonetheless pulled out the hip-high tub
from the corner beside the fire and poured in hot water from the kettle. She mixed it with cold water
from the barrel on the other side and tested the temperature with her finger. It was only just
lukewarm, so Isabeau stirred the water with her finger and concentrated. Slowly she felt the water
around her finger begin to heat until steam billowed up from the rippling surface. She felt rather than
saw the exchange of glances by the two women, and flushed.

"So the lassie heats her own water," Seychella murmured, and Isabeau clearly heard the
amusement in her voice. "Well, certainly quicker than boiling the kettle over and over!"

Slowly Isabeau unbraided her hair, conscious of the dark-haired woman's gaze. Fiery red and
very curly, Isabeau's hair reached below her knees and, released from its tight braids, stuck out in a
frizzy halo all round her face and body.

"So she has no' cut it like so many lassies do now," Seychella said in satisfaction.

"O' course no'," Meghan responded grumpily. "I'm no' yet that far removed from the Coven!"

"No, ye be an auld-fashioned one, that be for sure!"

Ignoring them, Isabeau tossed a bundle of fragrant rose leaves into the water and a few drops of
oil scented with Starwood, before stripping off her grimy breeches, the woolen jerkin and her
sweat-stained shirt.

"Does she ken ahdayeh?" Seychella asked as the girl stepped into the water, studiously ignoring
the older women's gaze.

"The rudiments," Meghan responded. "Only what I could teach her, and ye ken I canna move
around as much as I once did. She knows all the stances though, and I've been as critical as I
could."

Isabeau concentrated on scrubbing her back with the long-handled brush. She had always been
more interested in swimming in the loch or exploring the valley with her animal friends than in
ahdayeh, the art of fighting. She just could not imagine needing to fight or use a weapon.