Chapter 9
A number of villagers from Upper Flossmere were already there, as well as tenants of both Thorny Walk and Greenbriers, and we had to wait to see the gypsy, Syeira. We strolled around the camp, past the young women who danced as they shook their tambourines, and the young men who tried to interest the unwary in an unsound horse or donkey.
I paid an old crone a penny for a dish of stew that I shared with my beloved friend. “If we were alone, I’d feed this to you with my fingers,” I whispered to him, delighting in the flush I could see in the firelight.
His lips parted. “Tell me what you would do.”
Purposely I kept my voice low, so he would have to lean close to hear me. “You see this piece of bread? I’d dunk it in the stew and then rub it over your lips. When you opened your mouth to take a nibble, I’d slip my fingers in instead, and make you suck the sauce off them.”