The stairs opened out on to a long corridor. Low windows, free of glass, lined the left-hand side; light and air swilled through the space. Wooden shutters had been dragged open for the daytime; no doubt they would be shut when night fell properly. Shadows dappled the wood-planked floor in broad rectangles. The maidservant opened a door to reveal a sumptuous guest chamber: a four-poster bed hung with velvet-brocade curtains, red and gold, with furs piled on sweet-smelling linen. Colourful tapestries lined the cream-plastered walls. Heat radiated throughout the room; a brazier glowed in one corner, lumps of charcoal flickering brightly.
‘My lady.’ The maidservant bowed her head, dutifully standing by the door, allowing Eva to walk into the chamber.
‘Thank you,’ said Eva, pulling off her leather gloves as she stepped over the threshold. Her tired eyes fell on the bed; she longed to throw herself upon it and fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep. ‘This is delightful.’ Ducking his head beneath the thick oak lintel, Bruin came into the room behind her. Eva wrinkled her brow at him, then addressed the maidservant. ‘Mayhap you could show Lord Bruin to his chamber now?’
‘My lady?’ Concern flickered across the maidservant’s blunt, heavy features.
‘My wife speaks in jest,’ Bruin explained. ‘We’ve had a tiff and she wants me gone.’ His granite eyes twinkled. ‘What can a man do?’ He grinned conspiratorially at the young maid. ‘This chamber is perfect, thank you. If you could send up some hot water...?’
‘Of course, my lord, at once.’ Blushing deeply beneath his attention, the girl bobbed a swift curtsy before disappearing out into the corridor. Bruin shut the door behind her, shooting the iron bolt firmly across the wide wooden planks.
‘What are you doing?’ Eva squeaked at him, scrunching her leather gloves between her fingers. ‘You need your own chamber, don’t you? We cannot stay here together.’
The mineral darkness of his eyes drifted across her lovely face, the worry creasing her smooth brow. ‘But we have to, Eva. We are supposed to be married, remember? And I have no intention of arousing any suspicion by having two separate chambers.’
‘But what on earth made you let Lord Goodric think we were married?’ A melancholy note entered her voice. ‘I don’t know why you said it.’ She sat down miserably on the bed, skirts and cloak spreading around her, hems splattered with flecks of mud from the journey. She lifted her hand, fiddling with her circlet, her veil. ‘Why did you?’
He folded his arms across his chest, moving to stand before her, muscled legs planted firmly astride. The leather on his boots was scuffed, cracking slightly. ‘Because I can protect you,’ he explained quietly, ‘if people think you are my wife. As an unmarried woman, you are vulnerable, even with me here, in a next-door chamber. It’s better this way.’
‘But it means we have to share a room,’ Eva whispered, pressing one hand to her mouth, the other tight across her stomach, cupping her elbow, defensive. Her pupils dilated, huge black pools obscuring the blue of her eyes.
He almost laughed out loud at the dread in her voice. ‘Is the prospect really that awful?’
Smoothing the rumpled silk of her veil, she settled it on her shoulder, fussing with it. Her hair smelled of river water, an earthy freshness. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied in a tired little voice. ‘I’ve never done it before. I don’t make a habit of sharing chambers with men.’ Especially men like you, she thought, her eyes travelling up the sturdy brace of his legs. The close cut of his fawn leggings revealed heavy, defined muscles that disappeared at mid-thigh, beneath the hem of his surcoat. She looked away, her throat dry, desperate for liquid. No, she thought, her blood beginning to race, the prospect of sharing a room with him wasn’t awful at all; it was exciting, exhilarating, and that was what she was worried about.
‘Look...’ Bruin sighed ‘...I have no intention of offending you in any way. But you must believe me when I tell you that sharing a room is far safer than being apart. It’s you and your safety that I’m thinking of here, nothing else.’
‘As long as that’s all it is,’ she blurted out, flushing. Her eyes shimmered, a vivid turquoise.
‘What are you implying?’ He thrust his jaw forward, brindled brows drawing together in a deep frown.
Raw colour stung her cheeks. She leaned back on the bed, balancing herself on outstretched arms. Her small hands splayed across the furs, delicate bones ridging her fingers. Her cloak parted, falling away to reveal the lithe elegance of her body encased in the richly decorated fabric of her gown. The firm span of her waist, flaring down to curving hips. ‘I—well—’ She stuttered to a halt. What had she been implying? That he would ravish her in the middle of the night? Plunder her sweet flesh and rob her of her innocence? Her breath picked up speed, emerging in sharp little gusts. ‘Nay, it’s nothing, Bruin. I’m not sure it’s a good idea, that’s all.’
‘You can trust me,’ he said slowly. But even as he spoke the words, a newborn lust ignited in his belly, a flare of lightning, streaking through his veins, untrammelled, haphazard. It would take just a fraction of a moment for him to step forward and push her down, to throw up her skirts and bury himself in her sweetness. Sheer, undiluted lust pulsed through him, throbbed at the base of his groin. He cleared his throat hastily, glaring up at the velvet canopy above the bed, the endless pleating, dredging the depths of his self-control. He could do this, he told himself sternly; he could keep himself in check around her.
‘How can I trust you?’ Eva chewed fretfully at one of her nails. ‘I have no idea what kind of man you are. Your brother’s character is all I have to judge you by.’ The pearly twilight silhouetted his burly frame, the wild strands of his hair rippling around his head; she was unable to see his face clearly. ‘I don’t know who you are at all.’
‘I’m nothing like my brother,’ he rapped out, scowling. ‘I haven’t treated you badly, have I? I’ve treated you with respect.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘But how can you be so different from your brother? I don’t understand it.’
Bruin sighed. ‘It may have something to do with our childhood, but I can’t be certain.’ The straw-stuffed mattress creaked, crackled as he bounced down on the bed, pulling off one leather boot, then the other, throwing them on the floor. Woollen leggings crushed against his thick calves, his big feet clad in fawn wool. ‘When we were born, I nearly died. I was so weak my parents doubted my survival. And growing up, I was no match for my brother physically; in any game, he would always beat me.’ His tone was blunt, matter of fact. ‘I suppose my parents indulged Steffen because they thought he was more likely to make it to adulthood.’
Eva’s gaze slid over his broad shoulders, the muscled heft of his chest. Bruin, weak? It seemed impossible, somehow. ‘So he was spoiled and indulged as a child. That shouldn’t turn him into a monster.’
Balancing one foot on his knee, Bruin kneaded his stockinged toes with strong fingers. ‘No,’ he agreed, ‘but there was always an edge to Steffen, a need to be at the top of everything, a need to win.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure what has happened to him, but from what you are telling me, it sounds like he has been given too much power by the King.’
‘And that power has gone to his head.’ She was nodding now; everything he said about Steffen was making sense. As twins they might look the same, but their characters were completely different.
‘Precisely. Steffen is nothing like me, Eva. You have my word on that.’ Throwing himself back against the pillows, he stretched his legs across the bed, half-closing his eyes with pleasure. ‘God, that’s better,’ he murmured. ‘I haven’t taken those off in a while.’
His woollen-clad toes brushed against her hip, a strangely intimate gesture. Horrified, Eva hopped up. A flush crept over her neck, climbing up her throat, and she pressed one pale hand to her skin, hoping to mask the flood of heat, heart thumping. Bruin seemed to cover the whole bed, his leoni
ne head propped up against the linen pillows, the pretty lace edging incongruous against the hard, tanned lines of his face. ‘Sorry.’ He crooked one arm behind his head. ‘I didn’t mean to push you from your perch.’
‘Your feet smell,’ she said huffily. It was the first thing that came into her head and totally untrue. There was a knock at the door and she leapt to throw the bolt across, grateful for the distraction from the big masculine body sprawled behind her. Two servants stood in the corridor, carrying wooden pails of steaming hot water. Eva stood there, dumbly, her mind bereft of speech.
‘Bring it in and pour it in the tub,’ Bruin ordered from the bed. ‘Who’s going to be first? Me or you?’ His metallic eyes fixed on Eva’s wan face.
She was desperate for a bath. The rank smell of her hair permeated her nostrils, every pore on her skin imbued with the sweat and mud and exertion of the day. But what was Bruin going to do? Was he going to lie there, on the bed, and listen as she removed her clothes, as she sank into the deliciously scented hot water? How could she bear it? She eyed the flimsy screen that obscured the bathtub from the rest of the chamber: three panels set in a zigzag line, thick colourful tapestries stretched over the wooden frames.
‘Eva, go on,’ he urged. ‘The water will be hot.’
Behind the screen she could hear the servants talking to one another, and then the gush of water hitting the wooden sides of the tub. She toed the floor, hesitating. ‘Do you have to be in this chamber? Can’t you go somewhere else?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m staying here. But I promise not to move from this bed.’
Eva chewed on her bottom lip, thinking of the wonderful scented water that awaited her. ‘All right,’ she agreed doubtfully. ‘But you will stay there, won’t you?’ The lure of the bath was too great to ignore. Bruin nodded, an air of uninterest crossing his features, giving every indication that he would keep his word. She heaved a sigh of relief, shoving the bolt back across the door as the servants left the chamber.
Removing her cloak, she laid the heavy material across an oak coffer set against the wall, then kicked off her boots, bending down to set them straight, the leather tops folding down to one side in soft gathers. Suspecting Bruin’s scrutiny, every movement she made felt contrived, awkward; but when she darted a look towards him on the bed, his eyes were closed. The tough line of his mouth had relaxed into a half-smile, making him look younger, more approachable somehow. She remembered those lips on hers, the heated promises made in his questing kiss. Her heart flipped, stupidly.
His eyes shot open, pewter chips, bright and sparkling. ‘Get a move on, Eva. That water will be cold if you stand there any longer.’
She jumped like a scalded cat, hurrying behind the screen. A host of candles flickered from a floor-standing candelabra in the corner, wax dripping down from the wicks. Steam rose from the tub. A thick linen sheet had been laid on the inside to protect the skin from rogue splinters, the ends laid over the rough wood at the top. The water swirled in the glistening candlelight, the surface scattered with rose petals. Pulling off her circlet and veil, Eva plucked swiftly at her side lacings, loosening the gown; she dragged it over her head, throwing it to the floor. Her underdress followed, then her chemise, drawers and stockings. She was naked, goosebumps rippling her skin; she glanced at the screen once more to check that it was still in place.
She climbed in, sinking down into blissful liquid heat. The water rose to her neck, coalescing around her exhausted limbs, warming them, driving out the chill of the day. She suppressed a groan of utter delight, mindful of the man who lay on the bed. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the side of the tub, pulling out the pins in her hair, dropping them to the floor one by one. Her hair straggled down, curling ebony tendrils, floating on the water like undulating seaweed. A lump of oatmeal soap had been left on a high stool next to the tub; she lathered it over her scalp and hair, digging her fingers in vigorously. Grains of oatmeal stuck to her skin as she rubbed the soap over the rest of her body, using the linen washcloth to rinse herself, skimming over the reddened scar on her leg. Her wound had almost healed.
Scrubbed clean, she tipped her head back, closing her eyes, her thoughts wandering. She ought to climb out now and let Bruin have a bath before the water cooled too much. But a few more moments wouldn’t hurt, would they? She spread her palms out, flattening them across the water, scooping aside the rose petals, lifting them to her nose. The scent was heady, strong, reminding her of long, hot summer days. Summers with her family, when she was young and naïve, innocent to the uglier ways of the world. How could she have ever known what was going to happen? That she would lose her family and her fortune by the time she had seen twenty winters?
Hunching forward, she gripped her ankles, burying her face into her wet knees. The hot water cocooned her, made her feel safe; she was in no hurry to leave, despite Bruin waiting. Her heart gave a small, lopsided flip. What was he doing? Was he just lying there, listening to the slop and churn of the water as she bathed? Or had he fallen asleep? She peered hard at the crowded stitches in the tapestry screen, frowning, almost as if she suspected him to have crept up to spy on her through the gaps in the fabric.
‘Bruin?’ she called out tentatively.
‘Hmmm?’ His voice was a low comforting rumble, percolating through her like liquid silk.
Eva sank back into the water with relief. His voice was far enough away to reassure her that he had remained on the bed. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘Were you asleep?’ she ventured.
‘Not really.’
The mattress rustled as he moved. ‘You are on the bed, aren’t you?’ she asked hurriedly.
‘Yes,’ he replied, his answer languid and drawn out. ‘Although I wouldn’t mind having a bath some time today.’
Eva stared in dismay at the soap scum floating on the water around her. How could she have done such a thing? Even the rose petals had sunk down, faded shreds at the bottom. It was inconceivable, embarrassing, that he should have to climb into this water after she had made such a mess of it. ‘Er... I think—I think you might have to send for some more water.’
‘Why, have you drunk it all?’
Laughter bubbled within her, but she suppressed it, shaking her head ruefully. ‘No, but the soap’s made a mess and there’s no rose petals left. The water looks awful.’
‘Is that all you’re worried about?’ He laughed. ‘That I’ll be upset about a bit of soap scum and a few missing rose petals? Do you think I’m bothered about things like that?’
‘Well, yes,’ she said, skirting her hand across the water. ‘It looked so nice, so inviting when I got in...’
‘Eva, I’m a soldier. We often don’t bathe for weeks and then it’s often only a muddy puddle. Just climb out and let me have a bath, will you?’
Standing up abruptly, Eva stepped out of the tub, sweeping a large linen towel around her shoulders. Water sluiced down her bare limbs, pooling on the wooden floorboards. The cool air puckered her skin, chilling her flesh. She shivered.
‘Are you ready?’ Bruin’s voice boomed behind the screen.
‘No!’ she squeaked. ‘Go away!’
‘Let me move your clothes over to the bed and then you can dress while I have a bath,’ he suggested.
‘Bruin, I haven’t got anything on!’ Eva protested as he moved around the screen. She staggered back, almost knocking into the iron candelabra. Her mind hazed, shimmered breathlessly. Bruin wore only his braies: snug woollen leggings riding low on his hips, close-fitting around the bunched muscles of his legs. He had removed his surcoat, the chainmail hauberk and his shirt. His chest was bare, honed, massive plates of flat pectoral muscle rising up from the strong indent of his sternum. His skin held a polished sleekness, silk over stone. A line of bronze-coloured hair ran from his navel, downwards. Her b
lood thickened and slowed, a numb weight bolting her to the floor, preventing movement. Her throat was dry, belly melting like liquid fire. Igniting.
‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.
‘I’m putting these on the bed for you,’ Bruin explained. Without glancing in her direction, he scooped up her discarded clothes. He disappeared behind the screen, his spine a long powerful rope, shoulder muscles rippling and flexing.
Sweat prickled her hair line; she raised a shaking hand to wipe it away. How could she have known a man could be so beautiful? She had to move away from him, create some distance between them. But her befuddled mind refused to help her, refused to arrange her thoughts into any sort of order. He returned, the wide expanse of toned flesh dancing provocatively before her eyes, tormenting her.
‘Eva!’ he barked at her. ‘What’s the matter with you? Will you not go and dress?’
The raven-coloured satin of her hair was plastered in wet coils across the pristine white towel, water dripping from the curling ends, scattering dark spots across the floorboards. A droplet of water quivered like a diamond on her earlobe, before spinning down to track across the pearly expanse of her neck. It disappeared beneath the towel that she held in a firm, taut grip across her body.
Her naked body. Damp skin smelling of roses.
Nay, he could not think of that.
‘Come on,’ Bruin said briskly. ‘Anyone would think you hadn’t seen a man’s bare chest before!’
At his jesting words, Eva flushed, a sudden flood of vivid colour suffusing her cheeks. Ducking her head, she made to move past him, jostling his arm. He caught her by the shoulder, pressing the flat of his hand to the fine bones beneath the towel.
‘You haven’t, have you?’ he said. Surprise laced his words.
‘What do you think?’ She glared at him stonily, her eyes sparking fire, brilliant orbs of turquoise. Her voice rose shrilly. ‘What kind of woman do you take me for?’
The Warrior's Damsel in Distress Page 13