Chapter Sixteen
A burning smell woke Marion. She struggled upright in the chair and a goblet fell from her lap. Red wine sank into the rushes.
Dragging herself up and over to the fire, she cursed while looking for the thick pad of cloth to protect her hands. Finally spotting it lying on the floor, she used it to lift the hot metal from the flames. The smoke stung her eyes and caught in her throat as she kicked the door open and carried the pot outside. She dropped it on the mud and waved the cloth over it. The stew was ruined.
Marion put her hands to her head and swore at herself. That was it. She would pour all their wine, ale and cider into the brook. John would complain, but then at least he’d be speaking to her.
She dropped her hands and looked to the sky, watching the smoke climb
