by McCall, Mary
Ten
Before Bernon could work up a good anger, he heard a click and a scrape, turned toward the hearth, and saw the wall open. Barwolf rushed into the chamber, draped toga-style in a white bath sheet. Her short curls clung in shimmering damp ringlets about her face. The faint scent of lavender mixed with roses wafted toward him, tantalizing his senses. She looked like a little Athena—fresh from the sea.
She halted in the center of the room. After casting contrite eyes at him, she bowed her head and clasped her hands in front of her. “I apologize, Bernon. I was in the midst of my bath when I realized I have been so busy taking care of the children and Jerold and things that I have neglected my most important duty. I am not used to having a husband, and I forgot I was supposed to take care of you first. If you will come with me, I will see to your bath as I should have when we arrived.”
Was she still looking for more work? And God’s teeth, he wished she would look him in the eyes. “’Tis late. I rinsed at the well earlier. There is no need to bother. You need to rest.”
“’Tis no trouble and the bath is ready for you. I’ll not sleep well, knowing I neglected this duty.” She raked her fingers through her wet curls.
Bernon frowned at her trembling. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Nay.” She peeked up at him from beneath long golden lashes, and a pink tinge crept across her cheeks. “’Tis just...I have never bathed a man before and I am nervous. My father kept me hidden away and servants performed the task. If you prefer someone with experience, I can get Ardith.”
Crossing the room with an easy stride to catch her notice but not her fear, he nudged up her chin and held her gaze. “That will not be necessary. I am sure you will do well.”
Barwolf sucked in a deep breath. “Your nearness is a bit overwhelming to me. Will you still kiss me if I mess up?”
“I will have to,” he said in a husky tone that tingled down to her toes.
She gulped and pressed a hand over her belly. “You will?”
Honestly, he had to suppress a laugh. A strange mixture of desire and confusion battled in her eyes. “Aye.” He grinned down at her flushed face. “My body is liking yours a lot.”
Sparkles sprang into her eyes and her dimple appeared. “I think maybe mine is liking yours too.”
He caressed his index finger along her jaw. “Where is the bath?”
“In the ruins,” she said in a tight small voice then swallowed hard.
Bernon raised a brow in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
She nodded. “’Tis my favorite chamber. I sleep there most of the time. You may want a torch. I have lit the chamber, but the stairs are steep and the ceiling is low. You will have to crouch along the way.”
Bernon grabbed a torch from a wall sconce and gestured toward the wall with his free hand. “Lead the way.”
Taking hold of his outstretched hand, she pulled him inside the wall opening and crowded against him on the narrow landing. “Here is the lever. Grandfather said ‘tis best to always close the openings so no one can wander inside and get lost.”
She pushed the release, closing the wall, then turned and lost her balance. Bernon caught her and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to his side. They started downward and Bernon found himself hunched over for most of the descent.
“These stairs lead directly into the bath, bypassing the labyrinth,” she said, settling a hand on top of his at her waist. “I think ‘twas planned that way. When you have time to spend a day with me, I will show you the secret of the maze.”
“So the secret has a secret.” He chuckled, liking the way she held onto him, patted him, touched him. Every encounter with her was a unique experience.
“I never thought of it that way, but I guess it does. I have to confess to you that I broke one of the rules.”
He couldn’t imagine her ever going against an order for fear of punishment. “What are you talking about?”
“There is a rule that only a Lord Strangclyf may disclose the secret to someone who is not going to be the next lord. Lady Stranfclyfs are only keepers of the secret.” Barwolf halted and raked her fingers through her short locks.
He nudged her chin up and spoke gently, so she would know she hadn’t angered him. “And you told someone other than me?”
“Genius knows, but he will never tell. I always bring the children to the ruins during the winter months. ‘Tis warmer than the shed, you see. If anything ever happened to me, I didn’t want them trapped. There is also a maze entrance into the shed, so they could escape if they were ever in danger.”
“Then you were wise to tell him. Does anyone know he has this knowledge?”
“Only the children, Ardith and Betia, and Aurick.” Her eyes turned sheepish. “I was clumsy and fell down these steps last fall. I couldn’t walk. Ardith said she was frantic until Genius found me the next day and brought Aurick to help me. Aurick doesn’t know the secret though.”
“How did you fall down the stairs?” he asked, wanting to discover the cause of her danger and keep her talking. He would eliminate the threat later. Right now her voice was soothing away the day’s tension, helping him relax.
“I was cleaning my father’s chamber and one of his men came in and tried to bother me. I was so relieved I got away from him that I was not careful and slipped.” She waved a hand over the stairs. “You can see how steep the steps are.”
“Who was the man who bothered you? I will see he does not come near you again.” He would ensure it by killing the scoundrel.
“His name was Gremian, but he will not bother me again. He was here, so Hadwyn killed him.”
“This Gremian is not dead.” Better for her to know now, so the lecher couldn’t surprise her and cause her unnecessary fear.
Panic dimmed her eyes. “You are certain?” She raked her fingers through her hair and looked away. “Of course you are or you would not have said so.”
“Let’s move on.” He resumed their descent.
“I do not understand,” she said, clinging to his arm. “Why would Hadwyn spare him?”
“Do you trust me to protect you?” He tightened his one-armed embrace.
“I do trust you,” she said with a shaky nod.
“Then let me worry about Gremian.”
“All right. The bath is through here.” They stepped onto a small landing. Barwolf reached for a stone, opened its face, and pushed a lever. The wall opened and Barwolf led Bernon into a dimly lit chamber then turned back and closed the wall.
“Good God Almighty!”
Barwolf turned around and grinned like a prankish imp. “’Tis great, is it not?”
“’Tis a decadent wonder,” he said in a choked voice.
The huge room boasted of a large marble tile pond filled from a gushing waterfall. The currents moved through two successively smaller pools and emptied into a hole in the far wall. Stone benches big enough for a grown man to lie upon surrounded the water’s edge, spaced ten feet apart. Alternating between every other bench stood either a Corinthian column or a marble statue of half-dressed or nude men and women—some frozen in blatantly carnal poses for all eternity. A few cabinets and a chest of more recent design were scattered throughout the chamber, and a screen partitioned off an area at the far end of the room. The coffered ceiling depicted more erotic scenes in each recessed panel. How could his little bride be such an innocent?
“If you will come over here,” she said, turning away, “then we can see to your bath.”
He followed her over to a bench, padded with a long cushion and draped with a bath sheet, near the middle pool. She faced him and cleared her throat, refusing to meet his gaze. “I suppose you want your clothes off for this?”
His lips quirked at her shyness. “Do you bathe with yours on?”
She shook her head.
Her expressive little face couldn’t decide whether ‘twas scared, nervous, or shocked. “Then I suppose I do.”
She froze and sucked in a breath
while staring at his chest. Then she jerked her gaze back to his. “Do what?”
Ah, so she had settled on nervous. “Want my clothes off.”
“I suppose I should start taking them off then.” She reached a shaky hand toward his leather braiel and fumbled with the clasp, encountering much difficulty from her tremors. When she finally managed to loosen the fastening, she sighed and set the belt aside. “There now,” she mumbled. “That was not so bad, was it? I think I will get the boots next.”
She placed a palm against his abdomen, intent on pushing him onto the bench. Her brows knitted into a frown and she started pressing against his belly with both hands.
Bernon shook his head trying to figure out his reaction. “What are you doing?”
“Feeling you.” She kept pushing against his solid flesh.
He sighed. So they were going to play this scene again. “Why?”
“You are hard.” She shook her head over the fact. “I dreamed about this too.”
“I am supposed to be hard.” Bernon struggled to keep the laughter from his voice.
“That is what you said in my dream.” She looked at him amazed then crinkled her nose and shrugged. “Well, sit down so I can pull off your boots.”
Bernon sat on the bench and held out a leg. Barwolf unfastened the garter just below his knee then grunted while tugging on the tight fitting leather boot. Intent upon her struggle, she wasn’t prepared when the boot came off and she landed on her dainty derriere. “There now,” she said as she stood up and placed his boot near his belt. “I suppose I can manage the other one.”
“Are you sure?” He wouldn’t laugh. She was so serious that ‘twould probably hurt her feelings and he didn’t want to see her hurt or unhappy when he was about to introduce her to magic.
“I am sure.” She repeated her previous tugging war and rubbed her sore backside as she stood up.
Hell, he didn’t want his playground bruised. “Did you hurt yourself?”
She looked at him and a fine blush streaked her cheeks. “Maybe I am a mite sore. You can fix that later after we finish your bath.”
He raised a curious brow. She could come out with some of the daftest notions. “And how am I supposed to do that?”
“Are you not going to kiss me like before?” she asked, looking at him wide-eyed.
Honest to God, what did she think kissing had to do with her derriere? “And if I do, how is that going to fix your tender derriere?”
“When you kiss me, you are supposed to rub my bottom, are you not?” She sounded as if she was afraid he might say nay.
“Do you want me to?” His voice took on a husky timbre.
Barwolf abruptly paused and stared at him with a strange mixture of curiosity and desire battling in her expression. “I...I ah...I forgot the question. My body is liking yours again just because I thought about you kissing me.”
He smiled. “Never mind the question. You just answered it.”
“I suppose I should take off your tunic next.” She swallowed hard and lowered her eyes to his chest.
Bernon sighed. ‘Twould be quicker if he ripped his clothes off, but that would probably scare her. This was going to be a long night. “I suppose you’re right.”
She grabbed the hem of his tunic, and he raised his arms, assisting her as she pulled the garment over his head. She folded the tunic and placed it aside then turned back toward him and gasped. A shocked expression crossed her face.
“What is the matter?” he asked, trying to keep concern from his tone. He didn’t want her getting more nervous.
“You kept it,” she said in a dazed voice. “I did not think you had.”
Bernon glanced down at the long fat braid of gold draped over his shoulder and across his chest sash style. Though it bore the dirt of war, her hair had retained its silky texture and kept him company throughout the invasion and subsequent battles. He removed the braid with care and held it toward her. “Be gentle with this, ma belle. ‘Tis the most generous token I ever received and I place high value on it.”
“Why?” she asked in a shaky voice, not looking at him as she accepted the braid.
“Because the one who gave it to me considered it her best feature. By parting with this piece of herself, she let me know that she feels no need to attract other men and considers herself totally mine.”
“Do you believe her?”
Her voice sounded thick with emotion and he noticed a sheen in her eyes. He cupped her chin and cast her a tender smile. “Is there a reason I should not?”
“Nay.” She gulped, trying to avert her gaze. “But her father said you would never trust her and you would be angry over the gift.”
“Her father was wrong.”
Happiness lit her eyes, making them sparkle like sun-struck jewels. “Then I suppose I should set the braid aside and remove your undertunic.”
Barwolf placed the braid on top of the tunic then removed his undertunic. She clutched the garment against her chest and stared at him slack-jawed.
God’s bones, ‘twould be morn before she got him undressed at this rate. “What is wrong now?”
Barwolf glanced at one of the statues then back at Bernon. “You have more hair than I expected.” She reached out and ran her fingers over the hair on his chest. She settled her other hand over her middle and gulped. Her palm grazed over a nipple, then she looked back at the statue and drew her brows together perplexed. “Why do you suppose he doesn’t have any?”
“Any what?” She could be hard to follow most any time, but ‘twas near impossible when her innocent caress had him throbbing with anticipation.
“Nipples. You have some, but he does not. I expected you to look like him, but you don’t. You have more hair and nipples and bigger muscles.” She raised curious eyes. “Are you different anywhere else?”
Bernon glanced at the ridiculously small phallus on the statue and issued an arrogant snort. His bride was in for a surprise. He stood up and grinned down at her. “There is one way for you to find out.”
“Then I suppose I should take off your braies, should I not?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Her fingers eagerly loosed the strings at his waist, and she began pushing down his breeches. When the material was bunched around his knees, she hesitated and ran a feathery stroke down the back of his thigh. Then she swallowed and shook her head. “You have powerful muscles in your legs.”
“Do you mind?” he asked, stepping out of his braies and standing before her in only his chausses.
“Nay.” She picked up the breeches, turned away without looking at him, and neatly folded the garment. After placing the braies on top of the growing pile, she turned around and stared at him in wonder. She slid her gaze with a slow, intense fascination from his muscled neck to his toes. Then she gulped.
Bernon raised a brow at her bold stare. Drool should pour from the corner of her mouth any moment. No one had ever given him such a hungry look in his life. He felt his loin tense from her natural desire. “Dare I suppose you will remove my chausses next?”
“’Tis my plan,” she said, staring at the garment.
Had he ever wanted another woman this much? He might die if he didn’t have her soon. “Are you waiting on something?”
“Nay. I was just thinking, but I am done now.” She slipped her hands in the waist of his chausses and began tugging the garment down.
He sucked in a breath in anticipation of freedom. “What were you thinking?”
“That you are not—” She broke off as his manhood sprang free. “Oh. My. Lord.” She stared at his unveiled masculinity and her jaw went slack. “You are not like I expected at all.”
She reached out and caressed down the length of his hot flesh with a slow light stroke, all the while gazing with awe.
Bernon dragged in a ragged breath then groaned as he hardened from her delicate touch.
Her eyes grew huge along with his flesh, and she jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”
“But you groaned.” She wrung her hands, unable to take her gaze off his groin.
God’s bones, her stare was as arousing as her touch. “’Twas from the pleasure your touch gave me.”
“You mean I did something that pleased you?” she asked, sounding amazed.
“Aye, very much.”
“But you...you are swollen and red now,” she said, pointing at his erection and taking a step backward.
He took a step toward her. “And hard.”
“And you like this?” she asked in blatant disbelief.
God help him, she still hadn’t figured it out. “’Tis part of having magic. Your touch just raised my wand.”
“You mean that is what you are going to poke me with!” All color receded from her complexion and she raised frantic eyes to his.
He nodded.
“Where?” she asked, stepping backward and bumping into a statue.
Damn, he had to get rid of her panic, but anything he said could only make it worse. “Do you trust me?”
Barwolf raked her fingers through her curls and looked at the floor. “I suppose maybe Cora left out a few things.”
“I will be glad to instruct you on what she left out as soon as we finish my bath.” If I can last that long.
A fiery hue swept up Barwolf’s chest through her neck and up to her hairline. “If you will get in the water, then I will get soap and be right there.”
Thank the Almighty her color came back—with vigor. She skittered past him around the far side of the bench and walked over to a small chest near the wall. He was near to bursting with need and she appeared ready to bolt. Bernon watched her nervous progress and sighed. This was going to be a trial of endurance.
He walked over to the large pool, sat on the edge, and lowered his feet into the water, finding the temperature pleasantly warm. He eased down. His feet touched bottom, but his toes hung off. He realized a ledge provided a bench along the wall of the pool. Testing the depth of the lower level, he stood and the water reached just above his waist. As he waded toward the center of the pool, he noticed the floor was built on an incline, and he swam to the far end.