by Mary Wine
The baron’s expression didn’t change, but he made a sound that betrayed his irritation. His face was a hard mask that didn’t tell her what he was thinking. His hands were clenched around his wide leather belt, his knuckles turning white. She was trapped in the doorway. Retreating inside the keep was her only option.
“Take yourself off to the bathhouse, my lord baron.” She was brazen.
His eyes narrowed as her stern words hit him. He suddenly grunted, amusement returning to his eyes. “Very well, lady, since you wish to offer me your hospitality, I accept.”
She stared at him, uncertain of the flicker burning in his dark eyes. This wasn’t a man who knew defeat, and the muscles in her neck tightened when his lips twitched into a smug grin once again.
An expression that was full of victory.
“I shall enjoy having you bathe me, Isabel. It is certainly a good place for us to begin to learn more about one another.” A gleam appeared in his eyes that sent a shiver down her body. “You will certainly learn more about my…ability to pleasure you once we are wed.”
“I did not offer to bathe you myself,” she said in a horrified whisper.
He stepped closer, capturing her wrist in a grip that surprised her with its gentleness. Instead, she felt their connection, so much that she couldn’t form a single sensible thought. Logic had always offered her salvation in the past. Before Ramon de Segrave. But now it crumbled away, leaving her at his mercy.
And the mercy of her own traitorous flesh.
“You claim you are no maiden, so it is only customary for you to attend me since you are the lady of this keep.” His voice lowered. “Or perhaps you would prefer not to act as a lady. In such a case…I will be most pleased to dispense with ceremony.”
He tugged her forward. She put up her hands and pressed against his chest. His mail tunic was hard but she shivered as though her palms rested on his flesh.
His features changed, becoming more sensual. When his eyes met hers again, there was a spark in them that sent a twist of excitement through her belly.
“I admit, sweet Isabel, I find the idea of dispensing with the church’s dictates on civilized behavior rather fitting when it comes to your argument against marriage. I will be most happy to prove my worth to you.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth went dry. For a moment, she was torn. Something inside her leaped toward the promise of sampling forbidden things. Those whispers she’d heard in the dark shadows where lovers met, the ones she’d always been too conscious of her duty to venture into.
The ones her marriage had proved so bitterly wrong…
He stroked her inner wrist, his fingertips sending ripples of delight up her arm.
A feeling of heat licked its way through her insides, urging her toward recklessly needling the baron further…so he would put his hands on her…and she’d reach for him…
“The bathhouse, then. I shall attend you there.”
A warm hand cupped her chin. She gasped, shivering as she felt the heat of his skin through his leather gauntlet.
How long had it been since a man had touched her?
Was that the reason her body was so full of impulses that she found it difficult to think?
“I find myself doubting your word, Isabel.” His fingers moved gently along the side of her jaw while his gaze cut into her. “You claim to be a woman of experience and yet you blush like a maid. Were you a wife or a bride?”
She stiffened, lifting her chin from his grasp. “A wife. Although I found the title of possession more appropriate. I had a place among my husband’s playthings. To be used or toyed with at his leisure. You cannot expect me to resume such a position when I have a choice.”
For all her fascination with him, Ramon was like any other man. He would expect her to perform to his satisfaction or suffer his displeasure.
“What I expect, lady, is not to be judged guilty of another man’s crimes.”
She drew in a deep breath and lifted her arms so that his grip on her wrist was clearly in sight. “Do you not even now make it clear your will shall become mine?”
He released her. For a moment, she was disappointed. But he reached out and stroked the surface of her scarlet cheek.
“Do you not blush, lady? Is that not the sign of inexperience?”
It was a sign of something she wasn’t willing to admit.
“I never claimed to be experienced, Lord de Segrave. My marriage lasted less than a season. What I said was, I am no longer a virgin.”
He withdrew his hand and stepped back, his hands returning to his belt. There was a hard look on his face, but he offered her a single nod in agreement.
“Well then, lady, I shall await your hospitality at my bath.” His eyes narrowed. “I assure you, you will be more experienced when you finish tending to me.”
“And I assure you, my lord baron, you shall not be so pleased with your victory.”
* * *
“The brute,” Mildred said softly from her hiding place. She emerged from behind the door frame. “He enjoyed baiting you.”
Isabel snorted, not caring that the sound wasn’t genteel. “That is the nature of a man, to gain what they crave. A wagon full of barley or a wife, men seem to see little difference.”
Mildred frowned. “I’ll attend him with you.”
“Nay,” Isabel responded. “I am not afraid of him, nor shall I have him thinking I cannot find the courage to look upon him in naught but his skin. He has nothing I have not seen before. Best to settle this matter of whether or not I am interested in sharing a bed with him now.”
She refused to be intimidated. The brute wanted his back scrubbed? Well, she may not have much experience when it came to the marriage bed but she knew how to put a shine on a clod of dirt if need be. He’d not be so pleased with himself when she was finished. Her attention settled on Mildred’s covered head.
“Let me have your wimple.”
Mildred clicked her tongue but there was a glint of merriment in her eyes. “Careful now. Play games with that man and I fear he’ll not be satisfied until he has bested you. Knights who become barons often do not know how to admit defeat.”
“Neither do I.” Isabel spoke confidently. “We’d all have empty bellies if I were given to shying away from situations that appeared too difficult to manage. Or that the rest of the world felt only a man could manage.”
“Right you are about that, my lamb.”
Isabel unwrapped the cloth that shrouded Mildred’s head. Isabel fit the cap over her own hair, and Mildred helped tuck Isabel’s braids into the back of it as Isabel pulled the tie closed to keep her hair completely inside the cap. There was a second piece that was little more than a square of linen, folded in half and sewn to the top of the cap. Once flipped back from her face, it fluttered down to hide every inch of her neck.
“We cannot have the baron displeased with my lack of modesty.”
Mildred pressed her lips into a firm line to conceal her amusement. “Certainly not.”
Isabel lifted the front of her robes and walked down the steps before she lost her nerve. She embraced her temper, which had flared from having her duties interrupted by Ramon’s demands.
It was a bath, nothing else. A courtesy the lady of the manor performed for honored guests.
That was all.
If the man wanted to bare his body in her presence, fine. She wouldn’t be impressed, not a bit. Men so often considered their members to be something a woman enjoyed seeing, but Ramon de Segrave was bound to be disappointed if he thought the sight of his cock might sway her position on wedding him.
You certainly were interested in him.
Isabel muttered beneath her breath as she got closer to the bathhouse. She was a fool.
Her husband had delighted in showing off his erect member before demanding her submission. She w
as obviously quite correct in her conclusions about Ramon. The man was exactly like her late husband.
Yet, he was correct about her condemning him for crimes he hadn’t committed.
Guilt made her stop. She stood for a moment and listened to the sound of the baron’s men making camp.
It was welcome.
She could not deny it brought a sense of relief. Tonight, her people would sleep soundly, knowing there would be no raids.
Well, she still wasn’t interested in wedding the man. But she was willing to admit that there were some benefits to the baron being here. Such was logical thinking—something which had served her well.
Now all she needed to do was find logical reasons for rejecting the baron’s proposal.
The bathhouse was at the end of one of the long store buildings. With the warm spring weather, the window shutters were open. Isabel had to add wood to the hearth and push it into the ash to touch the coals, because no one needed a fire during the day at this time of year. The sound of the river rushing by filled the long room, and she could hear several women singing as they washed clothing. It was a short walk outside the bathhouse to the stone embankment her father had built to keep the water from changing its path by eroding the bank during the spring melting of snow.
The river rushed up to the edge of the stones, and there were long poles for lifting buckets of water. Women used the surface of the stone walkway for scrubbing clothing, and the strong scent of lye soap lingered in the air. The soap kept the mold from growing on the stones and making the surface slick. The stone wall allowed the river close but kept the rushing current from eroding the land that the bathhouse was built on.
Long troughs leaned up against the outside wall. Isabel lifted one and fit it into a standing trough that was near the edge of the wall. She would haul the water up from the river and dump it into the trough so that it would run into the bathhouse through the window. For bathing in the spring, it made the chore much easier. In winter, she would have to haul buckets of snow.
She walked back into the bathhouse and pushed the large kettle into the flames of the fire. It was always hanging off a large hook, ready to be heated. The flames licked at the drops of water on the exterior, making them sizzle.
“Lady?”
She turned to find two youths holding a bathing tub that was far larger than any Thistle Hill had.
“The baron’s tub, lady. Where would you like it?” one of the boys asked.
She lifted one hand and pointed toward the open window. “Put the foot beneath the end of the trough.”
The window cell was notched to keep the trough steady and the boys looked at it once they had set the large tub down.
“That’s a clever design,” one of the boys remarked.
“Must save wear on the hands for sure.” They continued talking to one another as they left. Isabel frowned at their backs, annoyed at the way they had left her to the task of bathing their lord. Her irritation doubled when she remembered that it was Ramon de Segrave who had decided she would be the one washing his back.
Along with several other intimate duties, if she wasn’t clever enough to outwit the man.
Isabel walked closer to the tub and looked at it. It was quite large, but she realized that Ramon de Segrave would have had to sit with his knees against his chest in the tubs that she had to offer. She frowned—the tub was confirmation that he had come to her land with the intention of staying.
If he had gained the king’s favor, she would have to wed him.
That thought sent a chill down her back and she didn’t care for the weakness that was seeping into her. She was already thinking of yielding and it simply wouldn’t do. Moving quickly, she tried to use the chore of filling the tub to dispel her dark mood. She’d learned to stay busy so as not to dwell on the fact that she hadn’t cared for her husband’s touch, because the more she thought about it, the worse she dreaded sunset.
A hiss came from the hearth and the water she had left to heat. It was boiling over the sides of the kettle. Reaching for a length of iron that had a hook on the end, she used it to pull forward the arm holding the kettle so she might grasp the handle. She poured it into the tub and set more water for heating.
“How curious to see you wearing a wimple now that we are in private.” A shiver crossed her back and rippled down her body. The man’s voice was like a sliver of a summer midnight, when the cool breeze was a welcome thing. Something you wanted to sink into and be wrapped in. Isabel bit her lip to contain her gasp. She resisted the urge to reach up and touch the veil that now covered her head.
“There was no reason to wrap my head when I was working in the keep with only my women about.” She gave him a stern look. “And I certainly cannot have a baron disappointed with my conduct.”
The baron pulled off one of his leather gauntlets, tugging on each fingertip until he removed the garment. Her gaze lingered on the bare skin of his hand for a moment that seemed far too long.
“You are already contradicting yourself, Lady Isabel.”
The baron’s dark eyes moved to the edge of the linen that she had wrapped around her hair. The bathhouse suddenly felt small with him here. He moved across the space between them and reached out to finger one lock of hair that was stubbornly curling outside the fabric. “For I find this moment quite pleasing.”
This time her gasp was quite loud. She jumped back, retreating from his touch.
“Your hair is quite comely, Isabel. You have set me the challenge of seeing it again. I enjoy a challenge.”
She sucked in a harsh breath, reality cutting through the weakness in her knees. “Of course. Such is the nature of a man. To conquer challenges.”
One of his dark eyebrows rose. “You believe me shallow. And yet, if I were a man who spent his days spinning tales of what he was going to do, while never accomplishing any of those things, would you not label me something worse?”
Isabel turned away from him, guilt needling her. She dipped one hand into the water to test its temperature. There was no point in arguing with him. “Your bath is prepared.”
“But I am not.”
She turned back to face him and frowned when she discovered him watching her with eyes that challenged her. He tossed his other gauntlet aside and flexed his fingers. The knuckles popped, sounding too loud, her senses overly aware of every detail. He curled one finger, beckoning her forward.
“Come here and offer me your hospitality.”
She was tempted to refuse him. The urge to disgrace her mother’s teachings was almost too strong to ignore.
God’s teeth! The man affected her intensely.
Which was all the more reason she had to face him with her shoulders squared.
He was naught but a man, and she knew what was hidden under his clothing.
“Since that is what you wish.”
He was watching her, the weight of his stare feeling too hot.
“Do you wish me to tell you that I shall enjoy having you touch me?” His voice was deep and coated with male satisfaction.
She jerked her attention away from the ties that closed his tunic. “Have done with teasing me. I cannot imagine why it amuses you so much. We are strangers.”
His fingers stroked across her cheek. It was a whisper of a touch, and yet she felt it as though it had been as loud as thunder cracking directly above her head.
“I intend for us to be much more intimate, very soon.”
“I have not agreed to wed you, Baron de Segrave.” Isabel propped her hands on her hips. “You seem to have been in the company of women who are easily impressed with a few smooth words; women who would allow you to touch them without seeking anything from you except compliments. I am not such a woman.”
He crossed his hands over his chest, which made his biceps look larger. “I know full well you have not agreed that a union b
etween us would be best. Since you have failed to use logic to make the best decision, I am employing other methods of swaying your mind.”
There was a hard determination flickering in his eyes that horrified her.
“Then I owe you no hospitality, my lord, because you are not maintaining your knightly virtues.”
He laughed and his features transformed momentarily into something she found quite attractive. His eyes sparkled with his amusement, reminding her of her father and the days when there had been much merriment at Thistle Hill.
“You have a romantic view of the chivalric code. It reminds me of a new squire.” His smile faded. “One who has yet to endure the harsher side of being a knight in the service of the king.”
“Many things are better when spoken of, than during the time they must be endured. Just as the squire learns the harsh realities of war, the bride discovers the disappointments becoming a wife yields.”
“You did speak truly.” His tone had hardened. “You were a wife.” It gave her no solace to hear his agreement. She felt devastated. Ramon de Segrave would be far more accustomed to having his every instruction followed because the man was used to commanding an army. He was as solid as the armor he’d been wearing; even now his face was devoid of any hints to his true thoughts. She caught herself staring at him, trying to find any trace of the merriment that had been there so short a time ago.
There was none.
She looked back at the ties that laced his tunic closed, to avoid looking at him any longer. In the pit of her belly she felt a growing sense of vulnerability that sickened her. How simple it might be for him to take everything he wanted from her.
Well, she could choose whether she wanted to allow herself to be frightened of him.
She refused.
But still, the man unleashed a weakness in her. One she must never allow him to see.
The laces slid free easily, leaving his tunic gaping open. She focused on the task before her. Trying to imagine he was one of her father’s friends.
A very ancient one, with rotten teeth and stinking feet.
“You will have to sit on the stool so I may remove your tunic.”