“That fable is man’s invention. God wouldn’t punish an entire gender because of one mistake.”
“You believe that, do you? Well, let me tell you what I believe. The priests accuse Eve of bringing evil into the world because they refuse to take responsibility themselves. If they ever came face to face with her, they’d be frightened out of their skins. They preach against feminine wiles because, deep down, they know any woman with half a brain would run screaming from their advances.”
“Don’t let Father Cedric hear you say that.”
“Let him hear. He could use a shock or two.”
“But he’s a good man. You know that as well as I.”
“My mother was good, too, yet she suffered the same pain we all face. Why?”
“Why indeed?” a male voice rang out from the far side of the room.
Emma’s heart fluttered as William entered the solar. His wry grin made her wonder just how much of the conversation he’d heard.
Gertrude lifted her chin. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” he replied. “You’ve raised an interesting question about what women experience.”
Gertrude tossed her long, chestnut braid over her shoulder. “I suppose you have an answer.”
“I have a guess,” said William. “Perhaps the pain balances out the tremendous pleasure women feel during lovemaking.”
“’Tis no more than a man’s pleasure,” Gertrude retorted.
William’s smile grew. “In intensity, maybe not. But there’s something to be said for repetition.”
Gertrude made a face. “You are misinformed.”
His smile vanished. “I don’t know who’s been schooling you, Gertrude, but he’s obviously a poor lover.”
Gertrude snatched up her embroidery and stood. “I’m leaving.”
“A pity,” said William.
In a huff, Gertrude marched out of the solar. William grinned unrepentantly.
“I believe you’ve made a friend,” Emma said dryly.
“I only hope I haven’t lost one.”
“Meaning?”
He crossed his arms. “I was rude to you the other night.”
“Aye. You were.”
“I was angry with my brother.”
“And with me, it seemed.”
“’Twas more growl than grievance.”
An awkward hush fell between them. William shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“And?” said Emma.
He unfolded his arms. “And what?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Forgive me, but I thought you were apologizing.”
“Oh,” he said. Then he clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry.”
She hesitated, then gave him a nod of acceptance. “Better late than never, I suppose.”
“There have been demands on my time.”
“And you needed space, just as I did the other day.”
He regarded her in silence. “Perhaps I did,” he said at last.
“Will you need space tonight?”
His face brightened. “No. We’ll sup together.”
“In the hall?”
“In our bedchamber.”
Her stomach quivered. “Oh,” she said.
He stepped closer. “Afterward, I’ll return a favor that’s long overdue.”
“What favor is that?”
“The excellent bath you gave me.”
She blinked. “You’re going to bathe me?”
“I am. ’Twill be painless, I assure you.”
She raised her eyebrows and gave him a dubious look.
“You doubt me?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not exactly. I just feel a bit…”
“Anxious?”
“Like a lamb to the slaughter.”
He chuckled. “How would you feel if you did doubt me?”
She crinkled her nose. “Well…”
“Don’t answer that. Just come with me.”
****
In the warmth and privacy of their bedchamber, William observed his wife. She wore red, and the color suited her. However hard she tried to curb her passion, ’twas there, waiting to be unleashed. As she stared down at her half-eaten supper, the fire’s glow enhanced her delicate features, yet softened the thin creases on her forehead. Somehow, he had to help her relax.
“Not hungry?” he said.
Startled, Emma looked up. “No,” she murmured.
He gazed into her wide, violet eyes and renewed his determination to woo her. ’Twould take every ounce of his patience and skill, but he had to succeed. And he would.
She glanced at his empty trencher. “Your appetite thrives, I see.”
“Aye.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “I need sustenance to perform my duties.”
“You mean my bath?”
“That is no duty. ’Tis a pleasure.”
“One you could easily forego.”
“I think not.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
He grinned. “Shall I call the servants?”
“Let me,” she said, standing. Her lips performed a nervous twitch which might’ve been meant as a smile. “I must excuse myself for a moment anyway.”
He stood and skirted the edge of the table so there was no barrier between them. “Why?”
“I must visit the garderobe.”
“Are you unwell?”
“Oh, no. Just heeding the call of nature.”
He studied her face and wondered if she’d run away again. But he had to let her go. Trust was essential to any working relationship.
He nodded. “Very well.”
She skittered past him and disappeared down the stairs. Not five minutes later, four servants filed into the chamber. They cleared away food, prepared the bath, and kept their eyes on their work all the while. William’s eyes watched the doorway. He saw only shadows, phantoms created by the flickering torches that lined the stairwell.
When all of the servants had gone and his patience had begun to waver, he heard at last the light pat of slippered feet climbing the stairs. Then he sighed with satisfaction as Emma appeared in the doorway.
“I was beginning to feel your absence,” he said.
She seemed rooted to the threshold. “I lost track of time,” she said. “Again.”
He laughed. “’Tis a sad state when you prefer the garderobe to my company.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Well, before you say anything else, come in and shut the door. Your bathwater won’t stay warm forever.”
She nodded and slid the thick, oak bolt in place. Then she turned and regarded him through narrowed eyes.
“Well?” he said.
“I have a request to make,” she said.
He smiled. “Perhaps you’d like to be washed gently or rubbed in a particular place.”
Her blush rivaled her red dress. “You’re not making this easy.”
“No, but I’m having fun.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m listening, though. Pray continue.”
She cleared her throat. “I’m ready to undress and let you bathe me, but you should remember our discussion.”
“Which one?”
“The one about the curse. You must promise to behave.”
He grinned. Her tenacity was second to none. “I promise.”
“Good. You are a man of your word.”
“And you are still woefully clad.”
She gave him a look drenched with meaning, then settled onto a stool. Carefully, she removed her headdress and unbraided her lustrous hair. It flowed down her back and swayed at her hips with the dark, velvet promise of midnight. Casting a glance at the tub, she pulled off her slippers and stockings…and gave him a tantalizing glimpse of her calves.
She continued to avoid his gaze as she stood again. She doffed her overtunic, then wriggled out of her inner tunic. All that remained was her thin, linen s
mock.
She hesitated and met his gaze. “Do you have to drool?”
He raised a hand to his mouth. “I feel no moisture.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, but don’t blame me. If you weren’t so lovely, I wouldn’t be obliged to look.”
She smiled. Then her hands found her hips. “I think you delight in catching me off-guard.”
“I’d be more delighted if you were nude. Come now, remove your chemise. Your bathwater grows cold.”
She took a deep breath and gathered the sides of her smock. Slowly, she pulled the garment over her head.
His breath caught in his throat. She was perfect. Her legs were long and shapely. At their apex, black curls shone like silken midnight against her creamy white skin. Her full hips tapered to a small waist; her rounded breasts to taut, pink nipples.
His manhood hardened. He was speechless.
“William?” she said.
He ripped his gaze from her breasts and sought her amethyst eyes. “Aye,” he rasped.
“Remember your promise.”
He willed his blood to cool. Then he nodded.
She threw her hair over her breasts in an apparent effort to hide her nakedness. But as she hurried to the cloth-lined tub and stepped inside it, her bare back gave William an exquisite view of her curvaceous bottom. He licked his lips and sauntered toward the tub.
Immersed in bathwater, Emma hugged her knees to her chest and gave him a shy smile. “’Tis still warm,” she said.
“Is it?” He imagined her flesh would feel even warmer locked around his manhood, but he banished the thought as soon as it came. Control was crucial.
“Aye, thankfully,” she said.
The roaring fire beyond the tub was too hot for William, so he started to remove his clothes. With each garment that fell to the floor, Emma’s eyes grew larger.
When only his breeches remained, he knelt beside the tub. “Better,” he said.
“How so?” she croaked.
He grabbed the jar of soap and breathed in the scent of rose petals. “I was too warm.”
“Oh,” she said, still clutching her knees.
He gave her the gentlest smile he could muster. “Your knees make a poor shield, Emma. Your bath will be easier and quicker if you relax.”
Nodding, she released her knees and slid her legs under the water.
He fought the urge to caress her heaving breasts. The left one was slightly larger than the right, its pink tip even riper for his touch.
He cleared his throat. “Shall we start with your hair?”
Again, she nodded. She seemed to have lost the power of speech, but not her inherent grace. Gliding forward in the tub, she arched her back and submerged her hair in the water. The movement was beautiful, natural, and incredibly sensual. Her hard nipples pointed skyward, and he clenched his free hand into a fist to keep from reaching out to them.
She lifted her head with the same slow, catlike elegance. Suppressing a savage curse, he plunged his fingers into the soft soap. He ignored his arousal and focused instead on lathering her wet hair.
As his fingers massaged her scalp, she closed her eyes. “Mmm,” she hummed.
The sound was like music. “You see?” he said. “There’s naught to fear.”
Rhythmically and thoroughly, he washed her hair. Then he grabbed a ewer from the floor and poured. She sighed as the warm water cascaded over her hair and down her back.
He grinned. “You’re easy to please.”
Her eyes opened. “Am I?”
“You take pleasure in the simplest things.”
“I suppose I do. Textures, scents, sensations. The way a fruit feels in my mouth is just as important as how it tastes.”
“I understand, but you’d be amazed how many don’t.”
She frowned. “It seems wasteful to shun our senses. They should be savored.”
Exactly, he thought. She was a child of nature, a champion of sensation. And she’d just voiced his thoughts with uncanny precision.
Her cheeks flooded with color. “I didn’t mean…that is to say…”
“I know,” he said. “Let’s continue with your bath.”
He doused a clean rag, lifted her hair, and scrubbed her back. Then he smeared soap on the rag and washed her feet.
“Such tiny toes,” he commented.
“Tinier than yours, at any rate.”
“By a mile.” He slid the washrag from her left ankle to her calf. The flesh was soft and supple, a foretaste of pleasures to come.
He swallowed hard and moved to her knee. His attentions there were brief, for he couldn’t resist pushing the washcloth higher. Almost before he realized it, the cloth waded to the bottom of the tub, and his bare hand massaged her thigh.
She seized the washrag. “I’d better do the next bit.”
His hand inched higher. “To which bit do you refer?”
She clapped her hand over his. “You know very well.”
His eyes bored into hers. “But this is your bath. You should relax and let me do the work.”
“I’d rather do it myself.”
He nodded and removed his hand from her thigh with exaggerated care. But he couldn’t remove his gaze from her hand as she slid the washcloth between her legs.
She ignored his stare while she washed herself but looked up when she finished. She handed him the rag. “You’re drooling again,” she muttered.
He took the washrag and kissed it. “I’ve a right to,” he murmured against the cloth.
She blushed. “You may continue.”
His heart leapt. “With my kiss?”
“With my bath.”
Battling his excitement, William added more soap to the rag and began to wash Emma’s stomach. He dipped the cloth into her navel, and she giggled.
“So you’re ticklish there,” he said with a grin.
“Mayhap,” she replied.
He wiggled his index finger in the tiny hole, and she laughed out loud. ’Twas a beautiful sound.
“Tell the truth,” he said, tickling her still.
“Aye,” she admitted. “Now please stop!”
He relented and slid the washcloth up her belly to the valley between her breasts. Casually, he slipped the cloth beneath her left breast, then circled to the top. She gasped as it moved across the nipple.
“Perhaps I should wash this part as well,” she said.
“No,” he insisted. “This part is mine.”
Through the thin cloth, he felt her pap harden. He moved the rag in a circular motion, lingering on the nipple as long as he dared.
With effort, he tore his gaze from the flushed peak to observe Emma’s expression. She bit her lip, resisting her passion, even as he inflamed it.
Go ahead, he thought, fight me. But before this night is through, you will know your true nature.
He shifted the washcloth to the other breast. Emma clamped her mouth shut and stared straight ahead. Her hands gripped the edge of the tub.
After prying her fingers loose, he washed her left arm and then her right. His final stop was her long neck. Then he threw the rag into the soapy water.
She regarded him. “Finished?”
He smiled. “I could scrub your bottom.”
“You’ve done quite enough. Now, if you’ll hand me a drying cloth, I’ll get out.”
“My lady,” he said with a bow. He unfolded a large cloth, then stood and held it outstretched.
She rose quickly amid a swash of water. Then she wrapped the cloth around her, covering everything from the top of her breasts to the middle of her thighs.
Lamenting the size of the drying cloth, he took her hand and helped her from the tub. “Shall I comb your hair?” he offered.
She sat before the hearth. “Thank you, but I can do it.”
He crossed the chamber and leaned against the bed. Entranced, he watched Emma work the tangles from her hair. The fire in the hearth seemed an inferno which might devour her at an
y moment.
No, he thought with a grin. That’s my job.
“Emma,” he said.
She pushed her straight, combed hair away from her face and looked at him. “Aye?”
“Come to me.”
“Why?”
He rubbed his hands together. “I have a craving for sweetmeat.”
Chapter Fifteen
Emma tried and failed to keep her gaze from William’s bare chest. Between his hungry eyes and the fur coverlets, he looked like a primitive hunter. Why that appealed, she couldn’t fathom.
“You want a sweetmeat?” she asked.
His teeth gleamed. “I need one.”
“I’m surprised you’ve a stomach for it after the supper you consumed.”
“My appetite is insatiable at times.”
Her nipples still tingled from his exploits with the washrag. Hugging the drying cloth, she stood. “Perhaps I should dress and call one of the servants.”
“There’s no need.”
“But I see no sweetmeats about. Did you hide them somewhere?”
“Actually, you did.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
His eyes were as black as the moonless night outside. “The sweetmeat I want is hidden beneath that cloth.”
Suspicion dawned. “You mean my body?”
“Part of it.”
“Which part?”
“You’ll see.”
“I don’t wish to.”
He stood to his full height and folded his arms. “Emma.”
Clutching her comb, she stepped backward. The fire’s heat reached out for her. The flames hissed and whispered at her back, snapping kindling with unmitigated ease. The hearth was alive…and ardent.
“I know your fears, and I’ll respect them,” William said. “I told you before, there are other things we can do. You must trust me.”
But can I trust myself? she wondered.
“I want to,” she said aloud.
He unfolded his arms. “Then come to me.”
She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Enough of this dithering by the fire, she scolded herself. Are you a woman or a child? Go.
She set the comb on the stool, then pushed back her shoulders. With head held high, she crossed the chamber and halted in front of him. He towered over her. Dark, powerful, and handsome as the night was long.
Flight of the Raven Page 13