by McCall, Mary
“Bernon, you are in the wrong bath,” Barwolf called to him from the edge where he had entered.
“The water is warm,” he called back. Then he swam toward her.
“The temperature stays the same all year long. Would you please come over to the middle pond?”
Bernon stood up a few feet from her. “This one is perfect. Take off the sheet and come in for a swim.”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, thank you. I have already bathed. I will wait and when you are ready—”
“Come. ‘Twill help you relax,” he said, moving to the ledge.
She shook her head and took a step back.
“I insist.”
“Can I talk you out of this?” she asked in a resigned tone.
“I do not usually issue orders twice,” he said in a mild tone. Sometime on the morrow, he was going to have a talk with her about questioning his orders.
Barwolf took a hesitant step over to the pool and sat on the edge, keeping wary eyes fixed upon the water. Her fingers nearly pulled out her hair, then a convulsive swallow rippled through her throat. She lowered her feet onto the ledge, turned around with the speed of a squirrel, and held onto the side of the pool with both hands.
Bernon shook his head and waded over behind her. “You do not have to be afraid of me, cheri.”
Bernon removed the drape of the sheet from her shoulder then unwrapped her and tossed the sheet aside. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest, clearing her feet from the ledge and freeing her hands from the edge. From the strength of her grip, he wondered if she had left skin behind. He began swimming backward into the deeper water. Why in perdition he expected her to float along on top of him, he wasn’t sure. She never had done anything he expected and persisted with that flaw.
Barwolf turned and clutched with frantic hands at his water-slick flesh. “Bernon, do not let go of—”
He stood in the chest-high water and fished out his sputtering bride. She flung herself at him and locked her arms around his neck, gasping for breath.
“Why did you not tell me you cannot swim?” he asked, rubbing comforting stokes down her back.
Her breathing slowed, and she turned surprised eyes on him. “You told me not to tell you anymore of my flaws. I tried to get you to move to the short-person’s bath.”
“You have a peculiar way of choosing which orders you will follow.” He waded back to the shallow waters with her in his arms. “From now on, if I give you an order that you know will put you in danger, I expect you to tell me before you follow it.”
“But I was not in danger,” she muttered against his ear.
Bernon rolled his eyes and sat her on the edge of the pool. “And what do you call getting into deep water when you cannot swim?”
“Normally I would call it foolish, but you were here and I knew you wouldn’t let me drown,” she said, wiping the excess water off her face with her hands.
He studied her nervous gestures, not showing surprise or relief over her absolute trust being so casually verbalized.
She noticed his stare and glanced away, wrapping her arms over her breasts. “Are you disappointed with me, Bernon?”
“Most people do not know how to swim. I assumed you knew because of these baths. I will teach you.”
“I did not mean that. I do not look like the statues and my grandfather told me that is what perfect people look like. You are more perfect than they are. I’m not.” She ended in a shamed whisper.
“Ma petite, look at me.” He took both her hands in his and waited for her to raise her gaze. “Do you remember what we both said in your dream after your cloths came off?”
“I said my bosoms are too big and my waist is too small,” she said in a tiny voice.
“And what did I say?”
A flush stole over her cheeks and she lowered her gaze to his neck. “You told me they were just right and then you touched them.”
“There is something you should know.” He nudged her chin back up and let a tender smile tilt one corner of his mouth. “’Twas no dream.”
Eleven
Barwolf’s eyes grew huge. “You mean you really sucked on my bosom and touched me dow...” Her eyes filled with dread then tears. She jerked her hands from his grasp and lowered her burning cheeks to her palms. “I threw up in front of you!”
“You had too much to drink. ‘Tis nothing to cry over,” he said in a gentle tone, lightly caressing her shoulder.
“You do not understand.” She shook her head and sniffed. “I cannot remember most of that night. I have worried that I did something that displeased you and I did.”
Bernon cupped her cheeks and raised her gaze to his. “I am not displeased. I learned some important things about yourself that night. You are conscientious about your duties. You have mastered the dagger. You are jealous of other women who flirt with me. You are a virgin. You like magic. And my body likes yours as much as yours likes mine.”
She swallowed and stared at him. “That must have been some night for me not to remember most of it.”
“Do not worry so. You remembered the best part. Let’s move over to the short-person’s bath and see to mine. Then I’m going to change the end of your dream.” Bernon climbed out of the pool and pulled Barwolf to her feet.
She glanced at the statue, shook her head, and padded over to the next bath where she had left a basket of supplies and an urn on the floor. She picked up a linen cloth and chunk of soap, then faced him as a pink blush spread over her entire body. “I need you to stay on the ledge, please.”
“Are you embarrassed?”
“I am trying not to be. Cora said ‘tis all right for a wife not to wear clothes in front of her husband, but I’m not used to having anyone see me naked. I am hoping giving you a bath will take my mind off it.”
“I like that you are honest with me and tell me how you feel.” Bernon lowered into the bath, sat on the ledge, and leaned forward. “Scrub hard. I am wearing most of the dirt between Londontown and Strangclyf.”
Barwolf sat on the edge of the pool behind him with her feet dangling in the water. She wet the cloth and lathered it, then began scrubbing his back and shoulders. “Women take their own baths, but men need help. Why is that, do you suppose?”
Bernon smiled. Only his innocent bride would ask such a question. “Men do not need help. They just enjoy having women scrub their backs.”
“Why?”
“Magic.”
“Oh.” She trailed her fingers through the slick suds over a scar running diagonally from his right shoulder blade to his left flank. “’Twas a mighty wound you survived.”
He sucked in his breath and tensed as her touch sizzled through his flesh. “’Twas not so mighty.”
“Aye, it was. ‘Tis another reason I feel safe with you. God surely smiles upon you to give you such strength and valor.” She set down her cloth, lifted the urn, and filled it with water. “Can you tilt your head back for me, please?”
He complied and she poured water over his hair, then lathered the strands. She ran a finger over his jaw then continued scrubbing his scalp. “You have several days of whiskers. Do you want me to shave you?”
She had to be jesting! He would have to be daft to let a hand with her nervous tremors near him with a blade. “Have you ever shaved anyone before?”
“Nay, but my dagger is very sharp.”
Sharp enough to slit his throat no doubt. “Why don’t we wait until you’re more rested and not so jittery?”
“I have plenty of energy.” Her hands stopped moving in his hair. “Do you still think I would try to kill you?”
“Nay.”
“Then you trust me?” she asked with a hopeful lilt.
Aye flashed through his mind, shocking him that she had won his trust so easily. “Do you want to shave me for some reason in particular?”
“I like looking at your face. ‘Tis too fine a sight to keep covered.”
He must be goin
g daft. He was about to prove true valor just to make his woman happy. “If you truly feel you will not be unsteady from nervousness or fatigue, then you may shave me. Finish my hair and wash my face first.”
“Close your eyes.” As his eyelids lowered, she soaped up his face then rinsed his entire head with water from the urn. Setting aside the urn, she began toweling his face dry.
“Now you need to lather up my lower face and upper lip,” he said through the linen.
“But I just rinsed there.” She lowered the cloth and frowned.
“’Twill soften my whiskers and make them easier to shave.” He opened one eye and peered at her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She nodded and lathered up his lower face. “I will be right back.”
Barwolf ran behind the screen at the far end of the chamber and returned carrying the pearl-handled dagger. Sitting on the edge of the pool beside him, she scrunched her face in thought. “This seems an awkward angle, Bernon. Do you suppose ‘twould be all right if I get in the water with you?”
“I suppose I want you as comfortable as possible while you wield that blade.”
“Does that mean I can?”
Bernon released a long martyred sigh. “Aye.”
She slipped into the water and moved around in front of him. “Lean forward please, so I can reach you.”
“Come kneel astride my lap.” He grabbed her arms and pulled her toward him. “You will be steadier.”
She straddled his thighs, balanced a hand on his shoulder, and smiled. “This is better. Now I can reach you without being awkward.”
“Move the blade in the direction the hair grows,” he instructed, steeling himself for the hundreds of nicks he expected to suffer.
Barwolf leaned close, gnawing on the inside of her cheek as she carefully shaved away his beard. Her meticulous exactness soon eased his fears, then all he could think about was how tight and hot her small core was going to feel when he slid inside her. Her breasts rubbed against his chest and he felt her nipples harden. She gasped and looked in his eyes, swallowing hard.
“Are you too shaky to finish?” he asked gruffly.
“I have only your upper lip left,” she replied in a wavering voice.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I can finish as long as my bosom does not touch you again.” She scraped away the rest of his whiskers and breathed a sigh of relief. Then she set the blade on the floor behind him and cupped his cheeks. “There now. I can see you again. Do you suppose I can bathe your chest and arms from here? ‘Twill be easier to reach.”
“Aye.” He wasn’t going to last through much more of her tending.
As she reached for the soap and cloth, Bernon sat up straighter and her breasts collided with his chest. She gasped and rubbed her hands over her taut nipples.
“Do they feel tight?” he asked, strongly tempted to replace her rubbing hand with his mouth.
She nodded. “And hot. I cannot help it, Bernon. Maybe I should hurry and finish your bath before my body gets more feverish.” She soaped up the rag and rubbed his chest and arms, studying the contours. She outlined every muscle and trailed every scar with her fingers behind the cloth. As her hands slid across his flesh, his shaft stiffened and moved between her legs. She raised apprehensive eyes to his. “Are you going to do magic now?”
Damnation! She looked terrified, and where in perdition was his self-control? “Give me the cloth,” he said in a voice more harsh than he intended. “I’ll finish my bath.”
She began wringing the rag between her hands. “Did I do something that displeased you?”
“Nay,” he said, prying the cloth from her. “You pleased me just fine. Have a seat on the ledge beside me.”
She sat on the ledge with a good two feet between them and began inching farther and farther away. Bernon made short work of his bath then reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her onto his lap. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the other end of the ledge…but it didn’t help,” she said, letting her eyes fall on everything but him.
God’s teeth, she sounded distraught. “Help what?”
“My body not feel so feverish and achy,” she murmured. “’Tis getting uncomfortable.”
“I want your body burning for mine,” he said huskily. “I’m on fire for you already.”
She swallowed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Are you going to kiss me and rub my bottom now?”
“Aye, and I want you kneeling astride me when I do.” He took her by the waist and repositioned her straddling his lap.
She splayed her hands against his chest and stared at his chin. “This was making me feel tight and achy before.”
“I want you tight and achy. ‘Twill help you enjoy the magic.” His hands kneaded her soft derriere and moved her closer so his arousal nestled between her legs. She closed her eyes and scrunched her face as her body trembled and her hands braced against him. She felt like a board so rigid was her spine. “Relax, cheri. Lean against me and tell me what you are feeling.”
She leaned against him and hid her face in his neck. “I am tight in my bosoms and achy between my legs and fluttery in my stomach and nervous and embarrassed and scared.”
He smiled, gloating over her litany of feelings. “You didn’t relax.”
“I’m sorry, Bernon. I am trying, but I’m too nervous.”
“Do you want me to stop rubbing your bottom?”
She shook her head against his throat and her curls tickled his chin. “I like you rubbing my bottom. I want you to put your wand back down. ‘Tis making me ache worse.”
“Your ache will not go away until I poke you with it.”
“I didn’t know. Will you tell me what to do?”
“Tilt your head back, so I can kiss you.”
Barwolf raised her face and he brushed his lips over hers in a gentle caress. She instinctively moved her arms around him, sliding her hands into his wet hair and rubbing her breasts against his chest, answering his call. She slanted her mouth and flicked her tongue over his lower lip. “Mmm, you still taste spicy and delicious.”
Encouraged by her eager response, he gripped the back of her head in one big palm and thrust his tongue into her mouth. She tasted better than he remembered—all hot and honey-sweet. She rubbed against his shaft and he grasped her hips, stilling the evocative movement. Then he drank the moan she spilled into his mouth, savoring the plea of her budding desires.
He growled encouragement as his mouth left hers, nipping and licking her jaw, chin, neck, and shoulder. He arched her backward over his arm and suckled the pulse point at the base of her neck, memorizing her feel and further stirring her ardor. She started making erotic whimpers that sent fire blazing through his veins. Moving his mouth lower, he covered one breast and teased her with wet lips and suction while massaging her other breast with his callused palm.
Her breathing mounted to passionate pants. “Bernon, I need to move. I feel like I am on fire between my legs and I want you to rub me like you did before.”
“Not yet. Do not move,” he ordered then repositioned his mouth and sucked her other breast while his roving hand caressed down her side, along her thigh, and back to her buttock. He let his fingers graze along her crease without dipping into the sensitive folds.
An erotic quaver rippled through her body and she clawed at his shoulders. “Bernon, I cannot stand this. I ache so bad that if I do not move, I’ll explode.”
He released her nipple, nipped the rosy flesh then blew on her tight nub, exciting a gasp from her. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders. Good God, she was hot, pliant, and so incredibly delicious. Sucking her pebbled peak back into his mouth, he moved his fingers and rubbed the tender flesh at the center of her desire.
She moaned and her hands moved to his scalp, holding his head to her breast. “Oh, Bernon, I like this a lot.”
Bernon was close to exploding himself. He pulsated with a need to thrust into he
r, and honest to God, he wouldn’t last much longer. She bucked against his hand, caressing the length of his shaft. Water lapped and splashed against his chest furthering the tantalization. He released her breast and hissed in a deep breath as he leaned his forehead against the valley between her breasts, fighting for control.
How in perdition did anyone find the patience to take a virgin? ‘Twas easier to battle angry Saxons with no weapon outnumbered six to one. Hell, he had to have her now. He slid one long finger into her sheath, feeling her stretch around him.
She went rigid and pushed on his shoulders. “Nay, Bernon, you’re hurting me.”
“Relax, cheri. ‘Twill make it easier for you.” Twining his other fingers in her hair, he seized her mouth with a savage intensity. He plunged his tongue in and out of her mouth, using the same rhythm his finger used in her sheath. The stroking drove him wild as the tempo commanded the reawakening of her desire for him. He moved his thumb to her precious nub, re-exciting her passion. She whimpered in surrender as her body stretched and adapted to his invasion. Her hands tentatively massaged his shoulders then her caresses grew bolder. She dueled with his tongue, and her pelvis jutted forward into his hand.
She was tiny and tight, but he would erupt if he didn’t take her now. He didn’t want to hurt her, but wasn’t the first time always difficult? He removed his finger, and she whimpered into his mouth as she lost the erotic caress. He adjusted her position so the tip of his shaft was at her opening, then he began pushing inside her, slow and steady.
She jerked her mouth from his and pushed at his chest. “Nay, Bernon.”
“’Twill be painful because you’re so small and ‘tis your first time. I cannot change that, but your body will grow used to my size if you relax.” She closed her eyes on a groan, clenched her jaw, and leaned her forehead against his chest. He moved farther inside her until he felt hot tears scalding his flesh. Damnation! “Look at me, ma petite.”