Page 11 of The Knucker King

“God’s blood,” she spat.

Bramble, tucked up by the hearth, lifted his head. What is it?

“Every single piece of clothing I wore today will need to be cleaned,” Avice tutted.

She turned her eyes to the corner of the room, her dirty garments were piled high in a wicker basket, and she knew in her coffer that very few clean clothes remained.

“I also need to wash,” she growled. “I really have had enough of today.” She glanced over to the closed wooden shutters. “Tonight,” she corrected herself.

So, wash? Bramble suggested with a tilt of his head.

“I have not collected ice from the river today. I only have healing waters left. It seems wrong to use that for cleaning myself. It is supposed to be used for my medicines.”

But you smell. Bramble snuffed, resting his head back on his paws.

Avice knew she should save the gifted healing water for her patients. She studied the precious ceramic jars pushed flush against the daubed walls. She remembered the effort it took to fill them. Back and forth with her carefully stitched leather bags that Trewoofe would take into his well and top up.

Her skin itched from the filth. The only part of her that did not feel grimy was the place where the Knucker’s tongue had touched her. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of the warmth, the wetness. She clenched her thighs as she felt a dampness of her own at the memory that now seemed determined to haunt her every thought.

Avice shook her head from side-to-side. Wash, change, sleep.

She fetched a bowl and linen rag from the scuffed table. Carefully removing the lid from the jar and scooping, she gathered some of the healing waters. She took a sip, sating her thirst, before placing the brimming bowl on the table. She finally peeled off her chemise and stockings, tossing them into the dirty clothes pile.

Thanks to Ashling keeping the cottage warm, the water was tepid. Beginning on her face, Avice began to scrub. She hissed as the cloth contacted her scars. One circling her eye and the other marking her lips. They had chapped with the frigid wind. She continued, until the worst of the filth was removed, and then scrubbed herself dry with another rag. Stepping over to her coffer, she pulled out a fresh chemise and stockings and quickly dressed.

Avice’s eyes grew heavy as she stumbled over to the wooden pallet, laden with blankets and furs in front of the hearth. Ignoring the hunger gnawing at her stomach, instead worrying more about the cold that seeped into her joints, she lay down, piling herself up with the bedding. Rolling over so she faced Bramble, who was curled up on the rammed-earth floor, she patted the pallet.

“Just for tonight,” she offered, teeth chattering. “I cannot get warm.”

With an enthusiastic wag of his tail, the Grim bounced up. He plonked his head onto Avice’s belly. The midwife gave a sleepy chuckle at his puppy-like enthusiasm. She wove her fingers into his wiry hair as her eyelids grew heavy.

“Good boy, Bramble,” she murmured.

The gentle thump of the Grim’s tail sent soothing reverberations through her. The rhythm finally sent Avice to sleep, with the ghostly feeling of Trewoofe’s tongue slipping into her dreams.

6

Chapter 6

Avice

Trewoofe’s tongue. Hot, wet, and everywhere. It caressed up from her wrist and flicked beneath her bodice. The Knucker languidly circled each large breast, teasing but not touching her pebbled nipples. His tongue slipped down further, making Avice buck and whimper in desire; the fiery burn of want coursed through her veins. Finally, he reached between her thighs —

A loud knocking had Avice jolting awake.

Bramble brayed. He bounded towards the source of the noise and whimpered at the locked door. Avice bolted upright, squeezing her thighs closed, trying to hide her wetness. She realised for the first time she could remember… she wanted. Her long hair was plastered to the back of her neck, and her cheeks burnt with the residual desire from her dream of Trewoofe.

She scrubbed her palm across her face. He is a Knucker; you should not be feeling this way. She placed a shaking hand on her racing heart and let out a long exhale. Calm down.

Another loud knock on the door finally brought Avice to her senses. She sighed. Throwing back her blankets and furs, she leapt to her feet. Stepping over to her coffer, she pulled out a long robe, giving her slightly more modesty than the chemise she slept in.

Bramble sniffed at the bottom of the door. Avice! It is John the Fisher. He wagged his tail enthusiastically.

Avice sighed in relief as she finger-combed her tangled hair. Stepping over to the door, she unlocked it. The hinges creaked as it blew open, the freezing wind buffeting her. She recoiled and squinted at the frigid air stinging her chapped scars.

“Midwife Avice,” his friendly voice said.

She opened her eyes and beamed up at the man who stood in her doorway. “John Fisher,” she greeted. “I am afraid you find me in a state. I have been working all the previous night and day and have only just woken.”