"Irene Radford - Merlins Descendents 02 - Guardian of the Trust" - читать интересную книгу автора (Radford Irene)

Lotta always made sure the entire grange celebrated the joy of life. What would they do without her?
What would he do without her guidance, her steady will keeping him from giving in to the violence in his
nature? Even now his hands trembled with the need to lash out at something, someone. He clenched them
tightly, until Resmiranda squealed a little protest at the intensity of his grip on her hand. Her fragile little
hand, not a sword hilt. HeтАЩd put his soldiering days behind him over fifty years ago, when Lotta came
into his life and showed him a different way of living. Still his need for violence haunted him.
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He gulped and forced himself to continue what heтАЩd started. тАЬI have to wash my hands before working
magic, Uncle Henry,тАЭ Resmiranda insisted. She tugged free of his grasp and darted to the ewer and basin
on the side table. Happily she splashed water over her hands and face. Just like the puppies she so loved,
she slapped the collected water in the basin before returning to his side. Her wet hand slipped into his
easily. Mathilde, her mother, scowled at her and counted three more prayers on her beads.

тАЬAunt Lotta is a croneтАФan older wisewoman,тАЭ Henry explained, more to his nephewтАЩs wife than to
Resmiranda. тАЬYour mother, counting her prayers in the corner, is a matron. And you, little Resmiranda,
are yet a maid. Together the three of you can build the great healing magic.тАЭ At eight, the child manifested
a wonderful understanding of arcane rituals. Mathilde, her mundane mother, hid from all references to
magic.

Resmiranda stood behind him and squeezed his hand in understanding. He gently squeezed back,
acknowledging her acceptance of the task before them. Thump, thum, thump, thum. His heart beat in a
rhythm nearer to normal. He took a deep, steadying breath.

They stood there for a long time, watching Lotta breathe. She had wasted away so much in only two
days, she barely made a bump beneath the blankets and counterpane. Her gray hair spread out across
the bolster looked dull against the white bedding.

Henry held the memory of the setting sun glinting off her rich black tresses, giving them deep blue
highlights as she spun in place before the Beltane bonfire, nude and at home. He remembered the
heaviness of her breasts, the slight rounding of her belly, the joy of joining with her that nightтАж Her hair
had seemed a silken mantle fanning out around her head as she lay beneath him. The blue highlights within
it seemed almost like the halo of a saint. The saint who had given him back his reasons for living. He had
wept with joy.

She had been a young girl their first time together, barely old enough to marry.

They had conceived their first child that night. To him she would always be that beautiful young girl, full
of life and love for the world and all who dwelled within it.

He still hardened with need every time he looked into her beautiful blue eyes.

Thump, thum. Holding his memories in his heart steadied him. тАЬResmiranda,тАЭ Aunt Lotta whispered
hoarsely. тАЬPlace your hand upon my chest. I need your strength.тАЭ Her cough deepened.

Henry didnтАЩt like the terrible rattling sound. Resmiranda cringed away from it, too.