by Ranay James
Was he undressing? Of course, you ninny, she mentally scolded herself. He is not letting the opportunity of a warm bath pass by him any more than you would have let it by pass you.
She realized that he thought she was a boy so of course he would be undressing.
Morgan heard his involuntary sigh escape his lips, and she knew he had silently slipped into the warm water. She wondered as his squire how she could help him with his personal needs. He answered that question almost before the thought was completely formed.
“Morgan, come here and wash my hair, please.”
She was behind him, so he could not see her face. He heard rather than saw her back into the table.
“Oh, bloody hell,” she whispered then touched the decanter she had nearly knocked over in her retreat.
“Come now, surely you knew you would have to aid me with my personal needs? And right now, I need you to wash the grime out of my hair. Hurry, the water will cool soon, and I have had enough cold water on me for one day.” His command was not abrupt, but Morgan was left in little doubt that she was to follow that order.
Tossing caution to the wind, Morgan placed her hands on his head. It was just hair she told herself.
Kneeling at the end of the tub, she gently she began to massage his scalp with the soap he'd handed her. To counter the way she was feeling she forced herself to think about the past, not what she was doing.
After the death of her father she had never been close to a man except her uncle, and that situation wasn't pleasant. Until three days ago, when she had taken the spill off the horse, her uncle was the only person to touch her. Morgan tightly closed her eyes against those memories.
She had slept two nights in a row next to this man, rode pressed to him for hours on a horse, and was now washing his hair while he sat naked in this tub. Her initial reaction of uncertainty had given way to curiosity, and she allowed herself to explore further. He was naked in a bathtub, and his sword was across the room. What could he possibly do?
His thick and silky hair rolled through her fingers like the beautifully soft satin ribbons she remembered having as a child. Rubbing his temples and smoothing his brow from the center of his forehead moving outward released a flood of memories that quickly filled her mind, even though these memories she had long buried. Morgan saw her mother doing this to her father while he sat with his eyes closed in his great chair before the fire. Nic was doing much the same.
"My mum used to do this for my father," she said absently as she moved onto the crown of his head and ran her short nails gently against his scalp. A groan was the byproduct. Gasping, she quickly tried to pull her hands away, but he grabbed her wrists to stop her retreat, heedless of the water he splashed on the floor in the process.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she apologized.
“You did not hurt me, Morgan. That was a moan of contentment. It seems to be soothing my headache.”
His grip loosened on her and he leaned his head back against the rim of the tub. It was far too small for a man of his enormous size. She continued to soap his hair, massaging his scalp. Then when clean, she rinsed it with water left by the groom for just such a purpose. Nic leaned forward in the small tub, slopping water on the floor and exposing his broad back for Morgan’s inspection. She assumed that he wanted her to wash his back, too.
His skin was smooth, tan, and free of any major scares. The few she did see stood out in sharp, white contrast to the tan of the rest of his back. They were scars from many battles, but none threatening even to her untrained eye.
"You've been lucky," she commented.
"So, far, yes." Nic understood what she was saying.
She could see through the murky water a whiter line of skin marking where his pants hugged and covered his hips guarding them from the sun. As she continued her ministrations, her body was responding. Her inexperience kept her from realizing the warning signs in him or herself as she continued to touch him out of curiosity as much as necessity.
Nic felt the butterfly touches of her inexperienced hands. He felt the heat coming off her body as she leaned in close to do his bidding. He leaned back in the tub, and rested his arms on the narrow rim then he closed his eyes. His legs were so long he had to pull his knees up to fit into the tub. It was not enough to hide him from her view.
She was beautiful and he wanted her. He wanted to make love to her more than any other woman he had ever taken to his bed. He purposely allowed her to look at him in his state of full arousal, wanting her to see what she did for him. It would come in handy down the line. She was not going to be pleased he knew she was a duchess and had kept that knowledge from her.
"Oh, now, that's just rude," she gasped and tried to advert her eyes, yet curious all the same, as she tossed the wash cloth over him. It only served to become a tent pole.
Nic softly laughed. "Rude or not, there you have it, a little barracks for all my soldiers."
Morgan shook her head. "You're impossible, Nic."
Fully aware of her needs as a woman, he could make love to her in this roadside inn. Her seduction would be child’s play.
However, it was too dangerous. So, carnal needs would have to wait. His top priority was getting her to safety and having sex with her would come later. Yet he was not made of stone and knew he had to salvage this quickly.
“Never mind me," he said casually with the wave of his hand. "You know how it is sometimes for us men when we fantasizes about beautiful women. As you can see, the physical effects can be hard to disguise. Now, hurry lad and get me a cloth to dry. The bath has grown cold even if I have not.” Nic laughed at his pun knowing he was far from cold for this woman.
She felt quick pangs of jealously rise at the thought of him fantasizing about another woman.
Trying to act as unaffected as possible, she quipped before thinking. "Well, sir, might I suggest you do your fantasizing in private. I have no wish to see that thing pointing the way to the northern star.” Morgan pointed.
Nic laughed in delight and relief. “Well put, Morgan. Very well put.”
Morgan had no right to be angry that he was thinking of his woman. Undoubtedly, she would be tiny, blond, and full breasted; no feminine characteristics Morgan could ever claim to have in her possession. Her feelings of inadequacy filtered to the surface, having never really cared before that she had no curves.
She quickly scrambled to her feet to fetch Nic a towel. Rising in one swift movement from the tub, he towered above her with the water sliding off his lethal body.
With towel in hand, she watched in fascination as a single drop made a slow and treacherous journey from his shoulder to his hip. Embarrassed at her own behavior, Morgan avoided his gaze as he took the towel from her just before she turned back to the fire.
Laying his clothes beside hers to dry, Morgan turned her attention to the table as if it were the most interesting item in the world. Nic was behind her. She could feel him; sense him yet, he had not touched her. She almost wished he would.
He reached out his hand to touch her, but then he smartly pulled back. Thank goodness his better judgment had taken over. Had he touched her, Nic would not have stopped with a kiss and that would have been a Pandora's Box.
"Where are your clothes," Morgan asked as Nic made his way to the table and sat down opposite her.
“I was not able to find a set of dry clothes that fit. I'll just stay as I am until the fire has dried my own.”
He had no wish to put the sopping garments back on, not when he had just begun to feel human again. He would redress in the morning and pray he did not have to fight naked with an enemy.
Nodding and keeping her eyes averted, she had suspicion that her feeling would show in her face if she looked. Her desire to inspect his unclothed body was strong with the curiosity and it was killing her. He knew it. Somehow, it stroked his male pride to know she wanted to look at him.
She was very quiet again, and Nic could guess the origins.
“Mor
gan, I know you can speak. You have done so on several occasions. Please, feel free to do so. I usually do not like having my woman seen and not heard. The same goes for my squire.” Nic said catching his mistake. “You may speak your mind when and how you choose. I will not insult, beat, or run you through for having an opinion or wishing to carry on conversation with me. It would make for a very dull or very deadly existence for both of us.”
Before Morgan could answer, a knock came at the door. Nic caught her momentary sharp intake of breath and her look of panic.
"Nic?" she questioned.
“It's all right, Lad. It is the boy coming back after the water. Quickly into bed, turn your back to the door, and cover up as much as possible,” he whispered running his hand down the side of her face in reassurance then turning her to the bed. If she noticed the gesture as odd for a man touching a boy, she kept it to herself. More than likely, it did not register through the spike of adrenalin running through her system at the thought that they had been discovered with him unarmed and nearly naked.
He remedied the unarmed part picking up his sword before answering the door. He knew it paid to be careful.
Morgan giggled at the site of her knight's only armor being an old bed sheet.
She quickly did as she was told just as Nic opened the door to allow the boy to come remove the dirty water.
“He’s better my lord?” the boy asked softly.
“Yes, he is,” Nic said then smiled with good nature. “A warm bath and dry clothes are doing wonders for his disposition. He is sleeping more naturally. All-in-all we were lucky. I think he will be fine to get on the road come morning."
"What are you instructions for me, Sir," the boy asked respectfully.
"We'll break our fast at four and take our leave before the sun is up."
"No problem, Sir. I'll have the horses ready for you."
"Good. I'll have the balance of your money for your services at that point. Now, be a good lad and run along.”
The boy eased out the door taking the dirty water with him along with a story to tell his grandchildren.
Nic closed the door softly behind him. Throwing the bolt, he turned back to Morgan just as she rolled over.
Morgan saw Nic’s guarded expression and could not tell what he was thinking. It was just as well. His thoughts were far from pure. After all, he never claimed sainthood.
Seeing her there on the bed looking clean, warm, and inviting was killing him. The firelight was playing off the crown of her hair, the warm flickers turning her smooth skin to a translucent glow. Wisely, he kept his thoughts and his hands to himself.
“Come, Morgan. Let’s eat while we have the opportunity to eat something warm.”
He did not have to ask twice as she jumped from the bed leaving the quilt falling to the floor behind her.
She was starving. Quickly going to the side facing the fire, she sat at the well-worn, but serviceable table.
“My Lord, you need to sit closer to the fire to keep from getting cold without a shirt.” A fact she was painfully aware and one she really did not have to remind him of either.
"Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Morgan."
Nic did not argue. He would have sat here anyway. If he were to sit where she was sitting, it would place his back facing the door and that was something that he was not likely to do anytime soon. It was beginners' military tactics.
Nic served their platters as was customary. She looked longingly at the food as he placed the platter in front of her. Nic thought she looked like a well-trained animal as she patiently waited until he took the first bite and then she began to eat with relish. It made him almost angry. Only heavy-handed dominance fostered this behavior.
“Oh, this is wonderful!” Morgan closed her eyes and moaned in delight as she took the first bites of the meal. Her eyes were alive as she spoke. “It has been years since I had anything warm to eat. I had almost forgotten how good it could be to have the warmth slide down my throat.”
Coming from any other woman, Nic would have looked for sexual innuendo in the words. However, he watched her in fascination at her childlike enjoyment of the simple act of eating a warm meal. Furthermore, her statement confused him. They had been on the road only three days, and surely she had not been on the run for more than a day or so before him finding her. So what did she mean? Could her being the duchess be a mistake?
“Morgan, what do you mean you have not had a warm meal in years?” Nic had not intended the words to come out as a command for an answer. He studied her and her reaction was not what Nic had expected.
Gasping, her eyes went wide and then she quickly lowered her head, closed her eyes, and placed her hands into her lap. It was as if she was bracing herself for the blow she was so sure would follow.
He watched her for a moment more, eyes narrowing, reading this body language for what it was.
She was cowering. Or was she just watchful?
Why would she fear him when he had given her no reason to? He wisely held his silence, not wanting to startle her with any sudden movements or words. He wanted her to trust him.
“Please, I beg your forgiveness,” she said weakly. He saw tears slid down her cheeks. The last few days were getting to her. And old habits die hard.
Nic saw that all joy was gone from her as she fell back into the silence Nic was growing to hate.
“I am not angry with you, Morgan. Eat your supper while it is still warm,” he encouraged her gently.
Morgan did not eat another bite nor did she say another word throughout the rest of the meal. Nic could not convince her, either, so he stopped trying.
She would not met his gaze having kept her head lowered and eyes averted.
The tension was thick between them, and he was angry with an enemy he did not know, but was growing in his suspicions.
To break the tension, Nic began to tell her stories of court, of London, and the King.
It did the trick.
As he shared his experiences, she reappeared, inching past her fear. Her curiosity was stronger than the lingering weariness she may still feel for him.
She sat in awe of the stories, and began slowing eating again, so he continued to fill her mind with information that he felt she might find useful in the future while she filled her belly.
Her mind absorbed every detail, every word. He saw she could not get enough, thinking her like a sponge taking in everything her hungry mind could absorb. Making a note to add that to the list of traits he was discovering about her, he could tell by looking into her eyes that there was a great intelligence there. He would feed that intelligence with each new adventure he passed on to her, especially if it distracted her enough to feed her physical body, as well.
With one last tale, he went on to talk about the swordplay that occurred between knights, explaining it as a way to keep his stamina up, his blade quick, and just to let off steam and energy. He talked about different offensive and defensive moves. He told her how to defend herself from an attacker. He talked of where the killing points were on a body using the uneaten bird as a model.
“Will you teach me? Please?”
She ventured the question biting her bottom lip praying she had not over stepped her boundaries with this knight.
The question surprised him, tempting him to quickly say yes. It was not proper for a woman to cross swords. Yet, Morgan was turning out to be unlike any woman he had ever met.
“We shall see.” He smiled patiently. That was all he would commit to then.
Her face was an open book for him to read. It amazed him the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight as he talked, and then how her disappointment was clear when he stopped and began to ready for bed.
She was so wrapped up in his stores she had forgotten all about his state of undress. Her eyes were having trouble staying focused on his face.
He is beautiful, she thought.
To her mortification, he was speaking to her and she had been staring.
&
nbsp; She snapped her eyes back to his face.
Nic smiled secretively to himself. He knew her body and inexperience were playing havoc with her senses. Hell, even he was having a hard time keeping his hands off her. The draw between them was unmistakable and would become more so as time passed. However, she was inexperienced, and he would not take advantage of her until he properly married her before Henry and the priest. It was up to him to keep the lines clearly drawn.
“You may sleep by the fire or in the bed. It is your choice.”
He knew he was sleeping in the bed either way. He was not about to pass up a mattress for a stone floor.
He made the offer instinctively, knowing Morgan had to feel the choice was hers to make. He saw the indecision on her face, but knew the soft mattress would prove too much temptation for her to decline. She walked to the bed and lay down. He walked across the room to join her, his towering form standing by the edge of the narrow frame.
“Morgan, roll over. I need to be between you and the door so that I can protect you from intruders if necessary.”
She almost panicked knowing that would trap her between the wall and the wall of Nic’s body.
No, she thought, she would be strong. She would play the part of his squire.
“No, I will protect you my lord." And she felt she might actually do that very thing and die trying. He was a good man who reminded her of her father not in looks, but in manner. That was what counted. "It would buy you extra time to draw your sword should an intruder enter. They would have to come past me first,” she said as she stood to face him.
Nic might have found this humorous if he had given the comment any thought, or if they had been in any other circumstance. However, since he did not stop to think, and they were not in a different place, his reaction proved swift.
“No.” He said emphatically.
She wondered how one uncomplicated word could carry such weight.
“I repeat, no, you will not.” Nic crossed his arms over his chest. “You do not have a weapon, nor do I know if you could use it even if you did own one. Now, get in bed and let me do what I do best, or go sleep by the fire.”