“Babee!” she said, in a Dutch accent, her yellow eyes lifted to his. “Come with me. Let my hair go.”
Martin saw that The Duke, now flat under the carpet was quiet, and he loosened his own wrist from the woman’s soft hair.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“It is Siedred!”
“A mongrel boy,” he said, his teeth closing and unclosing. “Where do you wish me to go?”
“To my room.”
“In this hall?”
“It is so.”
Martin looked once more at the shaking body under the carpet and took the girl by the waist.