“Get in the tub,” he ordered, turning his back to her.
She made a face at his back as she sat up, using the fur pelt to cover her front.
He went outside to gather wood, leaving the door open. When he returned, he gave her a pointed look, acknowledging that she hadn’t moved a bit yet and he was losing patience with her.
Esme didn’t have a chance to think twice about what she did next. Toste was bent over the fire, his back to her, when she dropped her pelt and flew out the open doorway. She didn’t stop to think that she was naked and barefooted and, though the sun was shining brightly, the ground was still covered with a thin layer of snow. Nor did she consider where she was headed. Escape had been her only goal.
She glanced back over her shoulder, fully expecting to see Toste at her heels. Instead, she saw him leaning against the door jamb of the hut, arms folded over his chest. He wasn’t even coming after her. And he was smirking. The troll! But then he pushed away from the door frame and began to walk after her. Walk. He was so confident of catching her that he didn’t even bother to ran.
Esme glanced right and left, shivering with cold, as she decided which direction to head. Several cotters standing outside their huts noticed her and were pointing. She decided to run in the opposite direction, away from the castle. There should be some outbuildings in the fields where cows grazed, or farther on where Eadyth’s conical beehives rose in the distance.
She had almost reached a three-sided cow byre when Toste tackled her from behind and she landed flat on her face in the mud. Because milch cows came into this area for a period of time every day, the ground was not covered with snow, nor was it frozen. Just muddy. Luckily, there were no cow pies under her. Leastways, she thought she would smell them if there were.
“Esme, Esme, Esme,” Toste said against her ear. “What a foolish wench you are! Dost know how much you are adding to your punishment with this latest misdeed? You truly must have a death wish.”
“I care not anymore,” she proclaimed. “Get off me, you big overblown lout. You must weigh as much as a… cow… nay, a bull… a randy old bull.”
He laughed and rolled off her, standing and pulling her to her feet all in one motion. His eyes went wide as he gazed at her… all of her… covered with mud, from her face to her breasts and belly and woman place, even her legs and toes. He, on the other hand, had only a small amount of mud on him… his hands and his braies. But then he seemed to notice something else. Her teeth were chattering and her body was shaking uncontrollably with cold.
“Tsk tsk tsk!” he tutted as he swept her up in his arms and began to carry her swiftly back to the hut. He seemed not to care that the mud on her body rubbed off onto the front of him as he held her close against his chest with her dirty face nestled in the crook of his neck.
As soon as they entered the hut, he placed her in the tub of lukewarm water and carefully poured another cauldron of boiling water in to heat it up more. Washing his hands, he then used palmfuls of water to rinse his neck where her muddy face had been buried. He gave her a quick glance, taking in her still chattering teeth with a frown. Without speaking, he went out to get another bucket of rainwater, which he put into the cauldron to heat up. Next, he poured a cup of mead into a metal tankard and set it among the hot coals. Within moments he handed it to her and ordered, “Drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.” Now that her body’s chill had dissipated, she sank lower into the scented water, wondering what would come next.
“Drink!” he said more forcefully and placed the cup against her lips. She would have to drink or have it running down her chin. Once she’d swallowed half of it, he took pity on her pleading eyes and set the cup aside. The mulled mead had done the job he’d intended, warming her from the inside as the water did from the outside.