The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. "Go on first with the light," he said. He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. . . " "It wouldn't surprise me if he did," remarked Griffin. A rare moment of amusement lightened Melusine’s mood for a moment.
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