The Pagan's Prize
“"One more time, Marta. We want to make sure all the soap is out before she leaves the tub." While the slave woman went to refill the bucket, Zora wiped the moisture from her eyes and looked up through spiky lashes at the willowy blond who had just reentered the room. Perhaps ten years older than herself, Lady Ingigerd regarded her with such cool inquisitiveness that Zora decided the haughty Norse beauty was a good match for her ogre of an uncle. She felt like she was being inspected, the woman ...was staring at her so.
"I'm surprised that Lord Rurik didn't think to provide you with a brush or comb for your hair," Ingigerd commented, arching a thin brow as she came closer. "I've always known him to be a considerate man, especially when it comes to beautiful women." "He did." Remembering his presents, Zora swatted some suds across the surface of the water.
"Did what?" "Give me a brush." "Then you must not have used it very often. It's going to take Marta some doing to untangle all those snarls—" "I never used it.MoreLess
"I'm surprised that Lord Rurik didn't think to provide you with a brush or comb for your hair," Ingigerd commented, arching a thin brow as she came closer. "I've always known him to be a considerate man, especially when it comes to beautiful women." "He did." Remembering his presents, Zora swatted some suds across the surface of the water.
"Did what?" "Give me a brush." "Then you must not have used it very often. It's going to take Marta some doing to untangle all those snarls—" "I never used it.MoreLess
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