by Julia Latham
“Why are you doing this?” he asked on a groan of appreciation.
“Since you wanted a bath, my lord, you should have one.”
She spoke in even, almost impassive tones, and he opened his eyes to watch her. She held his arm aloft while working the soap down his skin, her eyes downcast as she seemed to concentrate.
And washing took so very much concentration, he thought, holding back a grin.
“And since you saw fit to abandon me with those women,” she continued casually, “to tease me in front of the maidservants, I thought it only right that you be paid back in kind.”
“This is hardly a terrible punishment,” he said, inhaling as she moved her ministrations from his other arm to his chest. Her strokes were slow and gentle, circling, moving ever lower down his torso.
He opened his eyes again to find her watching him.
Wearing a faint smile, she said, “Please sit up so I can work on your back.”
Disappointed, aroused, he did as she asked, bracing his arms on the tub, head lowered. He anticipated each stroke of the cloth, appreciated her deft teasing as the cloth dipped once or twice below the water line. Then she used the sopping cloth to soak his hair, before lathering in the soap. He’d never imagined that massaging his scalp could be so sensual.
“Sit back please, so I may bathe your legs.”
Leaning back against the tub, he watched her from beneath half-closed eyelids, wondering if he’d ever felt so good without being inside a woman’s body. He wanted to be inside this woman’s body, and hoped that these games they played might eventually lead him there.
She lathered his feet, then worked her way up one lower leg, and then the other. His breathing grew uneven, and it took more and more effort to appear relaxed. Soap clouded the water now, so she couldn’t see what she was doing to him, but if she continued, she’d discover it.
Would she continue?
Slowly, carefully, she soaped her cloth again, and then bent over to begin on his thighs, going back and forth between them until she reached the water line not far from his groin.
She glanced up at him, her long hair half covering her face, her dark eyes watching him. “Should I continue?”
He stared at her, realizing that she would totally bathe him, but still didn’t intend to make love to him.
“This is a cruel way to punish me, my little duckling,” he said in a husky voice.
And then she smiled, a slow, seductive smile. She knew what she did to him, just how to arouse him. Somehow he would find a way to show her that bedding him would be a great adventure.
He reached over the edge of the tub, picked up a bucket—and tossed some of the warm water at her before dumping the rest over his soapy head. She gasped, hands splayed, wet hair clinging to her cheeks. Then he dragged her into the tub. She shrieked with laughter, before covering her mouth, eyes wide with shock.
“I think our masquerade calls for laughter in the bedchamber,” he said, holding on to her while she squirmed and giggled and only made herself wetter.
Juliana could barely breathe, her face plastered into his wet chest as she worked desperately to subdue her laughter. He tried to dip her head under water, and she eluded him, twisting his arm in just the right way to make him release her.
“Nice trick,” he said. “I wonder who taught you?”
When she didn’t answer, he tried to dip her again, and at last she was forced to say, “You did.”
Her gown and smock soaked up more and more water, clumped in wet heaps all over his lower body, thankfully keeping her from feeling his arousal. She knew she would have washed between his legs if he’d have dared her—she could weather the storm of temptation far better than he could. And she would have stopped after that, leaving him to suffer.
She didn’t like to think that she enjoyed the thought of him suffering a bit too much. It wasn’t his fault she was so attracted to him.
“I must get out,” she finally said, propped up on his chest.
When she didn’t, he said, “What is stopping you?”
“My garments are very heavy.”
“Then let me take them off you.”
She gave him a mock frown. “You would gladly accept such suffering?”
His grin was lazy. “Hopefully not for long.”
At last she dragged herself out, her soaked skirts still trailing across him. Together they tried to squeeze out the excess into the tub, and she kept stealing glances at his face. She’d never imagined that he would be able to find amusement so easily, that she could enjoy his company. He’d returned to the League so angry about the past, but he’d never allowed that anger to take over his life, to make him bitter.
There was a sharp knock on the door, with the subtle cadence of a Bladesman, deliberately alerting them.
Their gazes met, hers alarmed, his calm.
“We’re in character,” he reminded her.
“Nay, we were not.” But she nodded and went to the door.
She paused until she heard him leave the bath, waited, then glanced behind her. He’d wrapped a towel around his waist, and she well understood why he paid particular attention to the folds at the front.
She opened the door and stood back, wanting to sink into the floor as all five Bladesmen entered.
Paul used his fingers to comb the wet hair from his face. “You did not see any maidservants lingering in the corridor, did you?”
Joseph, grinning, shook his head. “And why should we?”
Juliana strove to remain impassive, interested, unaffected. But old Roger hid a smirk behind twinkling eyes, Michael gave Paul a suspicious look, and Timothy exuded worry. Theobald merely went to the window and looked out as if this did not concern him.
Paul gave a heavy sigh. “The maids were trying to bathe me.”
Joseph choked on laughter.
“We rid ourselves of them, but they were listening in. We put on a show.”
“How difficult that must have been,” Theobald mused from his place at the window.
Juliana’s eyes widened. She didn’t know if he was teasing or speaking the truth. She couldn’t read too much into any of their reactions, told herself there was nothing she could do, that her part as a concubine naturally opened her up to speculation by her fellow Bladesmen.
But she felt ill inside at this blow to her dignity, to her place among them. And she hated herself for feeling this way.
She would not be so insecure.
Timothy sat down at the table. “Let us report on our findings.”
Their discussion on the layout of the castle and wards was matter-of-fact, expected. Juliana gradually relaxed, except for the occasional chill that shook her. But it was a warm summer day; a little dampness would not hurt her. Paul paced as he reported for the two of them, wearing just the towel, and though she wanted to avoid even looking at him, she didn’t.
When he reached the point in his narrative where she remained with the ladies in the sewing chamber, Timothy turned to look at her.
She related what she’d heard of the various guests, then with faint irony mentioned the gossip about Paul’s brother.
“We Hilliards are famous,” Paul said dryly.
“But at least you’re lucky enough not to be infamous for stealing women, unlike your brother,” Timothy answered with disapproval.
To Juliana’s surprise, he was looking at Michael as he said this. Paul seemed to realize the same thing. Michael remained impassive, but she could see a flush on his pale redhead complexion.
“Michael, were you with my brother when he kidnapped his future wife to use against her father?” Paul demanded, his voice soft but firm.
Michael glanced at Timothy, then answered almost belligerently, “Aye.”
Joseph, Roger, and Theobald all turned to stare. It was not League custom to discuss the missions of others. But then Juliana knew that Adam’s only mission had been a personal one of vengeance.
“He and Robert were acting alone,” P
aul said. “Why would you go with them?”
“Because I am a knight of Keswick,” Michael said with pride, “as was my father before me. I would never allow my lord to travel on so dangerous and important a journey without me.”
In the tense silence, Juliana watched Paul. She knew his regret—that he hadn’t helped his brothers avenge their parents. Yet here was another man who’d had the privilege of doing so, and he looked down upon Paul.
“You are my brother’s knight?” Paul asked slowly. “And a Bladesman. Why do I not remember you?”
“I came to the League just after you’d left. It gave me great satisfaction to find your honorable brother and aid him.”
“My honorable brother,” Paul repeated, eyes narrowed. “But I am not like my brother, am I.”
It wasn’t spoken as a question, but Michael’s stiff shoulders and tight mouth said he agreed.
Juliana thought Theobald and Joseph looked as if they’d have to step between a fight. To Timothy’s credit, he still seemed relaxed, though grave.
Soberly, Paul said to Michael, “I envy you the privilege of riding at his side.”
Michael blinked, his belligerence fading. “But you left your brothers; you left the League.”
“I would not have done so had I known the name of the murderer. But I cannot change the past. And I still would have eventually left the League.”
Michael studied him in confusion, but said nothing.
Timothy slapped his hands against his thighs as he rose, breaking the spell. “‘Tis time to prepare for supper. Mistress Juliana, I will send for a fresh bath for you.”
She didn’t like to be singled out. “I can just use—”
“She accepts,” Paul said.
To her surprise and consternation, Timothy winked at her.
“‘Tis my duty as manservant,” Michael said. “Allow me to send for the bath, Sir Timothy.”
The Bladesmen all filed out, and before Paul could even loosen much of her damp lacing, a line of servants came, with empty buckets to haul away the cold dirty water, and then heated water that steamed as they poured it.
Juliana dipped her fingers in, closed her eyes, and sighed.
As Paul continued with the lacing at her back, he said, “You care too much what the Bladesmen think about how we conduct ourselves.”
“I do not.” But she knew she was angry with him—nay, angry with herself. “I know that success is the truest measure of my work.”
“Good of you to convince yourself.”
She tried to face him, but he held her in place.
“Hold still. This requires extreme concentration.”
She bit her lip, upset that even a small amount of amusement could surface after this last tense hour.
“I can feel you shivering,” he said.
“I am not.”
“I should have insisted that you be allowed to change before we had our discussion.”
“You are only saying that because you were wearing just a scrap of cloth.”
“That did not bother me.”
She looked over her shoulder and met his gaze. “And the state of my garments did not bother me. I do not wish to be treated differently, Paul. Understand that.”
“Oh, I understand you well,” he said softly.
She pressed her lips into a flat line of disapproval. He gave a last tug, the laces sagged, and she gladly stepped away from him.
“Get dressed behind the screen,” she ordered. “I will be finished bathing before you’re done.”
“Is it not a woman’s prerogative to enjoy a long bath?”
“I do not need such things. Now go.”
He chuckled even as he took several garments out of the coffer and disappeared behind the changing screen. “Michael unpacked our things,” he called. “I am certain he did not enjoy it.”
She muttered an agreement, but she was focused on hurrying as she disrobed. The wet garments landed in a heap on the floor, and then she was in the bathing tub, almost shuddering as the heat warmed her muscles and bones.
“Do you need assistance?” he called.
She ignored him, washing hurriedly. Her hair was more difficult to manage. She didn’t want to waste the bucket of rinsing water simply wetting her hair, so she awkwardly dipped her head where she could, and used the wet cloth, as she’d done for Paul.
“Your hair must be difficult.”
“If you are spying on me, that will lead to a challenge,” she said firmly.
“I would not dream of something so underhanded.” He paused. “Nay, I would dream about it, but never would I do it.”
She poured the last bucket of water over her head, hiding her laughter.
Chapter 12
Throughout supper, Juliana felt eyes regarding her—regarding both of them. It was important for people to speculate about Paul, of course. And he played Sir Paul the Dissolute as a charming man with grandiose gestures, poorly hiding a weak intellect. It would be amusing were it not so serious. They were waiting for the next contact from traitors against the Crown, men so desperate they would invent a lost, living prince.
But something else was bothering her, and she’d learned never to ignore her instincts. Gooseflesh rose along her arms, even as she finished eating the first course of lampreys spiced with ginger and cinnamon. There were hundreds of people in the hall; it was so crowded that she rubbed elbows with Paul and the man on the other side of her. Yet, still she felt that something was wrong.
It wasn’t until she was eating from the cheese selection at the end of the meal that her gaze met that of a man two tables away from her. He was staring intently at her.
And then she recognized him, and her stomach did a little twist of both gladness and dismay. He was Alexander Clowes, a young man who’d fostered with her family throughout his childhood. He’d been her dearest friend, her staunchest defender—and now he thought her a strumpet, for she could see at once that he recognized her.
She didn’t alert Paul; perhaps she was wrong.
The guests rose at last from the tables, and the servants began to dismantle them. Musicians warmed up in their gallery overlooking the hall.
And still Alex watched her—if it was Alex, of course.
His hair was as dark as Juliana’s. Though his eyes must still be the green of forest leaves, his body had changed, maturing into a man of average height but with impressive shoulders. He’d always taken his training seriously, and she’d admired that about him, watching him on the tiltyard when her father had forbidden her own training.
Now Alex watched her openly, for any man could.
“I am going to leave you,” Paul suddenly murmured into her ear.
She almost jumped in surprise.
“Fear not. No one shall aim a dagger at my heart in front of all these people.”
“But where—”
“I go to join the men surrounding Kilborn. Concu bines are not permitted. Can you occupy yourself?”
She nodded, feeling distracted, and Paul’s attention sharpened on her for a moment, but he said nothing. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek—focusing her attention back on him.
“Ah, a reaction,” he murmured, his lips still touching her. “You soothe my battered pride.” He chuckled, squeezed her hand, and left her.
It seemed only a moment had passed before Alex moved toward her with purpose. She was used to remaining calm in even the most dangerous of situations, and that skill did not desert her now. She would deal with whatever happened, bear his scorn with the grace of a longtime concubine. Drawing her character around her like a cloak, she smiled serenely at Alex when he came to a stop.
To her surprise, he bowed to her, even as she saw Theobald moving closer, hand on the dagger sheathed in his belt. Alex saw him, too, and hesitated, looking from one to the other. She shook her head at Theobald, and with a nod, he retreated.
Alex was waiting patiently. “Mistress Juliana,” he said, as if trying the name on his
tongue. “The others called you that, but I already knew.”
“Aye, as I knew you, Alex. Or is it Sir Alexander now?”
He was a younger son, not in line for his father’s title.
He grinned. “It is, but I do not wish you to call me that.”
She began to relax. Though playing a proud concubine, she’d once been a gentlewoman. The character she was portraying should be embarrassed to be seen in such humbling circumstances by someone from long ago.
She was not fooling herself—she was embarrassed to have Alex think she’d not been able to provide for herself, had had to depend on a man’s money and protection.
But it could not be helped. The mission was more important than her pride; it meant a peaceful future for the kingdom.
Alex was staring down at her as if bemused. “I had not imagined that you could grow lovelier.”
Playing her part, she glanced as if to be certain Paul wasn’t watching. And he wasn’t; he was listening intently to the other men, looking a bit confused.
And then she smiled softly at Alex. “You are too kind.”
“Where have you been?” he asked. “When I heard about your father, I came as soon as I could, but by the time I arrived, your mother had already died and you had disappeared. Juliana, I am so sorry.”
He whispered the last words with such sympathy that for the first time in years, she felt her eyes sting with tears. Mortified at her lack of control, she blinked them away.
“You are kind, Alex, but I could not stay where I was no longer welcome.”
“But your steward said they would have cared for you.”
“I know—and they would have offended the king and risked their own livelihoods. I couldn’t allow them to do that.”
“Always thinking of others,” he said, shaking his head.
She didn’t know what to say, didn’t think of herself like that.
Now it was his turn to glance at Paul, before saying, “We were told you’d gone to a nunnery.”
She felt her face flame—she couldn’t help it. But she met his gaze evenly. “And now you know the truth.”
He stared at her, then looked down, his smile wry. “Part of me is relieved, if you must know.”