Read Divine by Mistake for Free Online Page A
Authors: P.C. Cast
she suddenly blushed, hastily grabbed a soft cloth and began wiping my face dry.
It amazed me to realize I was exhausted. All I’d done was puke my guts up, try to talk and drink a couple swallows of water. Suzanna stroked the hair back from my forehead, humming a tuneless song.
“Rest, my Lady. All is well.”
And just what the hell was she wearing…?
My other friend, blackness, stealthily took me away again.
2
“Forgive me, my Lady. You must awaken.”
No, I’ve called in a sub, let me sleep. This must be a horrible dream. Maybe if I screwed my eyes tightly shut and concentrated on conjuring up a dream image of Hugh Jackman enslaved to me by love, I would drift back into my Dreamland.
Then I made the mistake of swallowing.
Crap—my throat was killing…crap. Oh…that’s right. I might be dead. And my eyes popped open.
Two nymphet/nurses flanked the long-haired Suzanna. One had a gauzy something-or-other draped over her shapely and very bare arms. The other was holding combs and brushes and a lovely little crown-like golden thing (I think they’re called coronets). Hmm…Hell couldn’t be all bad if it had jewelry.
“My Lady, your father’s messenger has just arrived, and he announces that the banns have been posted and your betrothed will be meeting you here to finalize the handfast ceremony.”
My what?
“Today. Please, we must make you ready.”
All I could do was blink up at her. What was she talking about? My betrothed? I wasn’t even dating anyone! I’d fired the last guy I’d gone out with halfway through our blind date (Note to self: never, ever go on another blind date).
Suzanna seemed to hesitate. “Mistress, are you still unable to speak?”
“Misssss—uhh.” What was up with this “mistress” and “my Lady” crap?
Obviously, my rasping opossum-like whisper was answer enough. I noticed that the sound of my very messed-up voice sent the nymphets into an attractive state of panic. Suz acted pissed off; suddenly she was snatching the gauzy robe, combs and jewels from the nymphs.
“You are dismissed.” (Boy, she sounded stern—which intensified the strange, almost musical lilt to her voice.) “I will care for our mistress.” They scampered away, looking relieved. Guess they don’t make nurses like they used to.
“Here, my Lady, lean on my arm and I will take you to the baths.”
You’d think getting up and walking to take a (much-needed) bath wouldn’t be a tough thing to do, and maybe it wouldn’t have been if the damn room would quit moving.
“Uuuuhhh—” I felt like I was hobbling, like one of the old crones from Act I of Macbeth—God knows my hair felt scraggly enough that I must have looked the part.
“You are doing well, my Lady. Come, it is only a few more steps.”
We were walking down a dimly lighted hall. Glancing up, I noticed the lighting was dim because, well, because (and this made me come to a total halt) there were live torches jutting out of wrought-iron holders. I have a college degree; you can’t fool me. Live torches are not normal for a hospital! And, damnit! I most certainly am not engaged!
“My Lady, do you need to rest?”
What had happened to Suzanna? Did they stop making Prozac while I was “out,” and had that sent her into some kind of tragic medieval hysteria? One of my arms was already linked with hers, so grabbing her other hand was simple. I forced her to turn toward me and look directly at me. Taking my time, swallowing several times in an attempt to clear the opossum from my throat, I held her gaze with mine and said slowly and intently, “What has happened?”
Still, she tried to look away, but I gave her hands a quick shake and her eyes darted back to mine.
“My Lady…” She paused and glanced around her like she was afraid of being overheard, then she whispered in a serious-as-Oprah-in-a-shoe-store voice, “What is your name?”
Okay, I’d play. But if Sean Connery showed up around the next corner, I would
It amazed me to realize I was exhausted. All I’d done was puke my guts up, try to talk and drink a couple swallows of water. Suzanna stroked the hair back from my forehead, humming a tuneless song.
“Rest, my Lady. All is well.”
And just what the hell was she wearing…?
My other friend, blackness, stealthily took me away again.
2
“Forgive me, my Lady. You must awaken.”
No, I’ve called in a sub, let me sleep. This must be a horrible dream. Maybe if I screwed my eyes tightly shut and concentrated on conjuring up a dream image of Hugh Jackman enslaved to me by love, I would drift back into my Dreamland.
Then I made the mistake of swallowing.
Crap—my throat was killing…crap. Oh…that’s right. I might be dead. And my eyes popped open.
Two nymphet/nurses flanked the long-haired Suzanna. One had a gauzy something-or-other draped over her shapely and very bare arms. The other was holding combs and brushes and a lovely little crown-like golden thing (I think they’re called coronets). Hmm…Hell couldn’t be all bad if it had jewelry.
“My Lady, your father’s messenger has just arrived, and he announces that the banns have been posted and your betrothed will be meeting you here to finalize the handfast ceremony.”
My what?
“Today. Please, we must make you ready.”
All I could do was blink up at her. What was she talking about? My betrothed? I wasn’t even dating anyone! I’d fired the last guy I’d gone out with halfway through our blind date (Note to self: never, ever go on another blind date).
Suzanna seemed to hesitate. “Mistress, are you still unable to speak?”
“Misssss—uhh.” What was up with this “mistress” and “my Lady” crap?
Obviously, my rasping opossum-like whisper was answer enough. I noticed that the sound of my very messed-up voice sent the nymphets into an attractive state of panic. Suz acted pissed off; suddenly she was snatching the gauzy robe, combs and jewels from the nymphs.
“You are dismissed.” (Boy, she sounded stern—which intensified the strange, almost musical lilt to her voice.) “I will care for our mistress.” They scampered away, looking relieved. Guess they don’t make nurses like they used to.
“Here, my Lady, lean on my arm and I will take you to the baths.”
You’d think getting up and walking to take a (much-needed) bath wouldn’t be a tough thing to do, and maybe it wouldn’t have been if the damn room would quit moving.
“Uuuuhhh—” I felt like I was hobbling, like one of the old crones from Act I of Macbeth—God knows my hair felt scraggly enough that I must have looked the part.
“You are doing well, my Lady. Come, it is only a few more steps.”
We were walking down a dimly lighted hall. Glancing up, I noticed the lighting was dim because, well, because (and this made me come to a total halt) there were live torches jutting out of wrought-iron holders. I have a college degree; you can’t fool me. Live torches are not normal for a hospital! And, damnit! I most certainly am not engaged!
“My Lady, do you need to rest?”
What had happened to Suzanna? Did they stop making Prozac while I was “out,” and had that sent her into some kind of tragic medieval hysteria? One of my arms was already linked with hers, so grabbing her other hand was simple. I forced her to turn toward me and look directly at me. Taking my time, swallowing several times in an attempt to clear the opossum from my throat, I held her gaze with mine and said slowly and intently, “What has happened?”
Still, she tried to look away, but I gave her hands a quick shake and her eyes darted back to mine.
“My Lady…” She paused and glanced around her like she was afraid of being overheard, then she whispered in a serious-as-Oprah-in-a-shoe-store voice, “What is your name?”
Okay, I’d play. But if Sean Connery showed up around the next corner, I would