by Mary Wine
He grunted and a moment later he pulled the garment over his head with one swift motion.
“You will learn that I am a man who enjoys doing some things himself.” He dropped his tunic over the stool he’d refused to sit on.
“Or one that cannot stomach doing anything a woman suggests he do.”
He snorted, but the corners of his lips rose into a grin. “You truly have been without a master.”
Her temper flared and her hands went back on her hips. This would have earned her a slap from her husband, but Ramon de Segrave only chuckled.
“Go on, lady, I dare you to argue with me while we have no one to witness where our passions might take us.”
“Temper has naught to do with passion.”
“I disagree.” His voice came out in a sultry tone that sent a ripple of emotion through her. “Dare you proceed and test which of us will prevail as the victor in this subject?”
He was trying to bait her once again. Isabel ordered herself to maintain her dignity and grant him no response. Reaching up, she leaned closer to him in order to reach the ties that closed the collar of his under robe. She caught a hint of his scent, and even before his bath it was clear he was not a man who allowed himself to stink.
“Why do you insist that every guest who comes to Thistle Hill bathe before entering your keep?”
“Such keeps the fleas out of our beds. I banned rushes on the floors for the same reason. The rats find the keep less comfortable than the marshes now.”
She reached for the cuff of one sleeve and untied the laces. Her eyes traced the calluses on his palms that proved he was a master of his sword.
“That must make lying in bed, in only your skin, a pleasant experience.”
She gasped and pulled too hard on the laces of the second cuff. They knotted and she had to pick at them while he chuckled at her.
In naught but skin? She’d never… Yet…
“You’re thinking about it, are you not?” he teased her.
She jumped and bit back a curse. The cuff came loose at last.
“I might accuse you of enjoying toying with me, but I believe you would consider it a compliment,” she said boldly.
She was surprised. A tingle went through her, and she enjoyed it. Bechard had never teased her. A claimed wife was nothing a man had to bother teasing.
“There, lady. Admit you are enjoying my company.”
“Perhaps.”
His chest rumbled with a chuckle that bounced off the walls of the bathhouse. His fingers touched her chin, raising her face so their eyes met again. It was a gentle touch, just a soft contact that wouldn’t have woken a baby, but her heart hammered inside her chest.
“The idea of you in naught but skin is a pleasant one.”
“A sinful one,” she corrected.
“Not so.” He slid his fingers beneath the tie that held the wimple closed. With a swift jerk, he snapped it.
She jumped back, but her braids were falling down her back, the wimple no longer secure. His lips curled up with victory.
“Since I have asked you to wed, it is not sinful to contemplate knowing you, Isabel.”
His dark eyes dared her to continue. She reached up and pulled the ruined wimple off her head. It would be wiser to refuse him her hospitality, but part of her could not stomach the idea of retreating.
In fact, it was intolerable.
She was not a mouse.
She reached up and dug her hands into the shoulders of his shirt. With a short jerk she pulled the under tunic off him, baring him from neck to waist.
He was nothing like her husband at all.
Two
Isabel pulled in a deep breath and swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. Ramon de Segrave was muscular, his shoulders wider than his waist. He didn’t have a round belly that spoke of too many fine meals and indulgence. No, he didn’t resemble her husband at all.
“The look on your face is truly a compliment, Isabel.”
There was heat in his tone that sent a curl of desire through her belly.
He sat down and stretched out one leg so she might assist him in removing his boot and their eyes met as she grasped it. Her insides tightened, her mouth going dry as she tugged on the boot, and she licked her lips in front of him.
“You like what you see.” His statement was bold and arrogant.
“That is not—” She clamped her mouth shut before she found herself guilty of lying. The man was not worth spending time on her knees while she made recompense for the sin of speaking untruthfully.
She deposited the boot behind her and heard him chuckling. Her temper ignited, but if she left the bathhouse, the man would call her a coward.
Justly so.
Well, she wasn’t having any of that.
Seems like you won’t be having any of him either…
The second boot took more work to remove because she did not have her anger to aide her. She was too busy chiding herself for her immodest thoughts.
The last thing she needed was to turn wanton.
Isabel set the second boot beside the first one and turned around to discover the baron on his feet again. He wore only his leggings now and the front was filled out with an unmistakable bulge. She hesitated, another tingle of heat sliding through her belly.
“Are you crying quarter, lady?” His voice was deep and edged with the challenge she had seen in his eyes. She raised her face so he could see her determination. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to cast gauntlets.
“I have seen a man’s parts before.” At least her tone didn’t betray the rising heat inside her.
She picked up his boots and carried them toward the door so they might not be near the tub when she began using the soap. Lye could leave spots on the stained leather.
“So you have stated.” There was a soft splash and she turned to discover the leggings draped over the stool and the baron settling into his tub. His back was to her and she was grateful for the moment of privacy. Yet she had to confess that she was also disappointed. She reached up to wipe away several beads of perspiration from her forehead. She wasn’t working hard enough for such a response from her body, and yet her fingers came away wet.
He stretched his arms out and even wiggled his toes.
“I have been wearing those boots for three days,” he grumbled. “I believe I could become accustomed to some of your rules.” He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. “Perhaps we might negotiate an agreement between both of our desires.”
Isabel reached for a small pottery dish that contained the soap. She held her tongue for a moment, trying to decipher his expression. “I have never met a man who accepted a woman’s will above his own. By your own words, you think I have been without a master too long.”
“Without masters, we would all become beasts.”
“And your master sent you here.” She spoke without thinking. She scolded herself for being so familiar with the man. Eve had spoken to the serpent and look where that had led: straight into damnation.
Ramon nodded. “True. I believe Richard has faith in my ability to see the wisdom in us wedding.”
Of course. A king would always expect his subjects to bend to his will.
She bit her lip to remain silent—what was the point in arguing? Such would prove that she was less loyal, or perhaps less mature. Only spoiled children argued against their place. She used a soft cloth to scoop up some of the soft soap and set the dish aside.
“I am pleasantly surprised that you use soap.”
Isabel discovered herself hesitating to apply the first touch. “My father served the king and brought many useful things back with him from his time on the Crusade. For all of their faults, the Moors know much of how to make life here on earth more comfortable.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “I do
ubt God cares for stench, even if I have ridden beside men who reject everything Eastern because it comes not from a Christian hand.”
“Careful, you’ll end up in the stocks with unchristian talk such as that.”
He shrugged and leaned forward so she could wash his back. “I’ve been there before for unchristian…behavior. Likely part of the reason why Richard suggested I wed you. He fears for my soul if I do not have the church’s blessing to enjoy the comfort of a woman.”
“So I am an opportunity to avoid hellfire, now?”
She forced her hands forward and ran the linen cloth along the top of his shoulders. A tiny ripple of sensation raced up her arms, raising goose bumps. She ordered herself to dispense with being so aware of the man but that didn’t seem to have any effect at all upon her fickle emotions. She tightened her grip so her fingers wouldn’t tremble like some virgin on her wedding night.
Who’s feeling the heat of hellfire now?
“I learned a few things in the east myself. Thistle Hill has need of fortification. This keep should become a castle,” Ramon said.
She pulled her hands back, frustration making her crush the bathing cloth until water squeezed between her fingers and dropped down the front of her over robe.
She knew that it had to be done, yet she did not have the skill to do it. “The king calls away every man with building knowledge.”
“I have such knowledge.” The baron made a soft sound beneath his breath. “You could become accustomed to my presence, Isabel.”
He wasn’t merely making a suggestion. She heard the unmistakable ring of promise in his voice. Authority.
Well, she recalled that part of being a wife very well.
“Is that what having me bathe you is about, then?” Her voice quivered with her temper. “To introduce me to the position that is now mine by your decree?”
He continued to look out the window, giving her only his back to scrub. “We are both past the age of sonnets delivered through our servants.”
“Aye, there is naught sweetly gallant about you, sir.”
She turned in a swirl of her robes and made it three steps before Ramon’s deep voice stopped her.
“Nor is there anything sweetly demure about you.”
She turned to face him in shock. No knight spoke like that to a lady.
“Of course I am sweet, or at least kind. I did not ride to your home and tell you all that you know must change,” she said, but the look in his eyes froze her. His eyes glittered with something more than determination—something partially savage. His toes no longer rested on the upper edge of the tub either. He had his feet planted firmly on the bottom of the tub and one hand gripping the side so that he might rise quickly.
“I am a man of my word, lady. My king sent me here and told me to consider you for a wife.” His voice dipped low, becoming menacing.
“I doubt the king envisioned me bathing you as a means of introduction.”
His lips split into a wolfish grin. “I don’t doubt it. Richard needs a wife as much as I if he hopes to evade heaven’s wrath.”
There was a splash of water as he pushed to his feet. Water glistened down his length as he stood facing her, without any hint that being completely nude bothered him. He enjoyed shocking her. Every inch of him was solid, including the look in his eyes that confirmed what he threatened her with.
“Have you no shame?” Her voice faltered, catching as she tried to force her gaze to rest only on his face.
“None at all when it comes to winning the battle.” A warning flashed in his dark eyes. He lifted one hand and motioned her back toward him. “The choice is yours, lady. Assume your duty or I will run you to ground. You may be a lady or a vixen with me.”
Isabel was suddenly so angry her head hurt. Her fingers curled into fists as she toyed with the idea of leaving.
Christ! He’d likely pursue her into the yard just as he was.
The beast was bold enough, for certain.
She returned to where the bathing cloth was lying on the floor. She picked it up and looked back at Ramon to find him watching her with amusement shimmering in his eyes.
“I’ll not get locked in the stocks beside you because the priests think I led you on.”
“Ah, the sight of your uncovered hair…raised my passions beyond control…” he taunted her.
Raised…
Her glance slid low, down his body, until she was looking at his member.
“You’ll find it is indeed…raised.”
Her temper sizzled hotter than the coals on the hearth.
“Well, sit down then if you want me to finish washing you. You are too tall for me to reach your back when you are on your feet.”
One of his dark eyebrows rose. “Since I am on my feet, perhaps you should wash what is within your reach.” His tone was far too smug for her taste. Isabel raised her hand with the cloth clenched inside her fist.
“As…you…like…”
She punched toward his belly, but he caught her fist. His fingers curled all the way around her fist, in a grip that was solid but painless. She looked at the hold he had on her, her eyes tracing the corded muscles that ran along his forearm and up to his bicep.
The man had the strength to hurt her, there was no doubt about it.
“You have courage.”
Three words had never sparked such an intense reaction inside her before. She raised her face and discovered the baron’s gaze burning with approval. It spread through her like fire consuming dry straw. There was simply no way to ignore that she was pleased to have earned such praise, for he was not a man to praise the undeserving.
But her eyes narrowed as she contemplated the pleased expression on his face. “If I had wept and trembled like a frightened mouse—”
“I would have gladly granted your desire to remain unwed.”
He sat down, giving her his back again. Isabel gaped and then shut her mouth.
She was so foolish…so undisciplined.
Regret burned a path through her as she began scrubbing his wide back. At least her thoughts were troubling enough to distract her from what her hands were doing. Let the man think what he would. She hadn’t promised him anything. So long as she performed the duties required of the lady of the manor, Ramon de Segrave would have to respect her wishes. With her father gone, there was no one who might order her to wed except for the king. She was suddenly glad Richard was set to depart on his Crusade.
She wished him a quick journey, and that was the truth.
* * *
“Do you have any skin left on your back?” Ambrose asked. Ramon’s fellow knight entered the bathing area with one of his young squires following him with a stack of fresh clothing.
Ramon shrugged into a fresh under robe and smirked at Ambrose. Isabel had left him the moment she had finished washing him, since it was a squire’s duty to dress his lord. Or a wife’s, but he’d needled her enough for one hour.
“It is for certain I have no fleas, thanks to the lady’s efforts.”
Ambrose snorted. “That lady looked as though she were intent on scrubbing your skin from your bones. I would have refused to allow her near my cock as well.”
“It was worth it to have her hands on me.”
Ramon watched Ambrose shake his head. He didn’t care if Ambrose approved of his intention to wed the heiress of Camoys or not. A part of him found it humorous the knight didn’t like Isabel.
Although discovering that emotion did not set well with him.
Marriage was a fine tool for arranging a situation to benefit all. It was not something that required emotions. All that was required was enough attraction to ensure his bride didn’t leave his cock cold and useless when it came time to produce children.
His damned cock was still rock hard and drawing a curious look from his page.
“None of us have set foot inside the keep, because you yielded to the lady’s order that we must bathe first. The men descended to the river banks, scattering the shocked inhabitants.” Ambrose chuckled.
The squire was trying to stifle his laughter and doing a poor job. Ramon turned and walked toward the window until he could see the river. A good number of his men were still bare as newborns along the bank. Conversation drifted up to the window from men enjoying the moment, doing something they liked instead of the chore of making camp.
“I should imagine Lady Isabel is quite pleased to see her instructions being heeded so diligently,” Ambrose choked out.
Ramon grinned. “She is likely spitting fire.” He sat down so his squire could dress him. “I admit I cannot wait to see her reaction.”
* * *
“The man is Satan reborn.” Mildred covered her face with her apron.
“Hush. If the church knights hear you, we shall have even more unwanted knights on our land,” Isabel hissed. “I do not believe I can endure such.” Her voice softened and she sighed when Mildred peeked at her around the edge of her apron. “Forgive me for being cross.”
Mildred grunted. “I believe you are allowed to be unsettled, my lady.” The older woman dropped the apron and frowned at the line of naked backsides on display. She waved her hand and turned her back on the river.
“The baron is a huge beast of a man; I agree with your refusing to wed him.” Mildred nodded her head. “His member is far too thick and—”
“Do not say it,” Isabel interrupted her companion. “I saw enough of the man and I wasn’t peeking around the door frame as you clearly were.”
Mildred shrugged, unrepentant. “A member like that means only one thing,” Mildred continued in spite of Isabel’s displeasure with the topic. She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “The man will have a great appetite for the flesh. Every midwife will tell you a member that thick and long is a demanding one. He’ll need to spend once a night at least and likely twice with sacs such as those.”
Isabel groaned and felt her cheeks burn with the memory of what Ramon looked like beneath his tunic. Mildred noticed the color immediately.