Adrienne Basso (10 page)

The truth was, their outright rejection made her feel inadequate. She meant them no harm. She had not come here to disrupt their lives or cause them any difficulties. How could they not understand it? She was merely trying to survive, a powerless woman in a world run by men. One would think she would receive support and empathy from the sisterhood, instead of censure.

Well, today she was not going to turn away and allow herself to be treated like an unwanted stray dog. By all that was holy, she was going to work no matter what anyone said. Just let them try and stop her.

“I shall help to spin the wool,” Fiona announced as she joined the circle of women gathered together in the great hall.

Swinging around, Judith stared at her with an open mouth. “There is no need fer it,” the older woman proclaimed.

Judith was the unofficial leader and the most outspoken of the women. Handsome, middle-aged, with streaks of gray in her dark hair, she ruled the gaggle of female servants with an iron fist.

“Aye, we need no help,” Maggie chimed in, and the others nodded in agreement.

“Oh, but you shall have it nonetheless,” Fiona announced, refusing to be turned away.

The women did not look happy with the dictate. But Fiona wasn’t doing this to gain their acceptance or approval. She needed something to occupy her time, else her wayward thoughts would drive her to despair.

She took a seat and gathered her materials. Poking the dense ball of wool with her forefinger, Fiona searched until she found a strand. She felt every female eye in the great hall trained diligently on her as the spindle began to slowly spin and the weight on the end began to pull the wool thin. Fiona’s fingers stiffened as she manipulated and twisted the fiber into a thread, straining to create an even string.

“Dinnae be making it too thin,” Judith warned in an agitated tone. “Or else it will snap the minute we put it on the loom.”

“I know,” Fiona answered tersely, wanting very much to add that she hardly needed any instructions, since she, like nearly every woman in the world, had been making thread since she was a young girl.

Trying to prove her worth to these thorny Scotswomen was a losing venture, Fiona decided. She assumed they objected to her English heritage, but lately she wondered if they also resented her rank.

From what she could tell, the Scots were not all that impressed by titles—though treated with respect, the earl was hardly fawned over by his retainers, or his servants.

Suddenly, the earl’s booming voice cut through the cackling female conversation.
He’s returned!
Fiona’s hands faltered and she nearly dropped the spindle. Now, wouldn’t that reaction give these crows a fine morsel to gossip over?

By the time the earl reached the end of the hall, she had mercifully regained her composure. Her greeting was no more enthusiastic than that of the other women. Still, Fiona felt horribly exposed, certain he was aware of how excited she was to see him again, how relieved she felt that he was safe.

“Have there been any difficulties while I’ve been gone?” he asked.

“No,” Fiona lied, admitting she would have bitten her tongue till it bled before complaining to him about the petty insults of these women.

“Good. Very good.”

He looked right, then left, then gazed up at the rafters. If Fiona didn’t know better, she would have sworn he was looking for a way to escape. The earl moved to the fireplace and motioned for Fiona to follow.

He removed his leather gloves and she found herself staring at his hands, remembering the feel of his fingers against her heated flesh. The faint smell of leather and horses clung to his skin. Fiona inhaled. It was odd—Henry, too, had smelled of horses and dirt and leather, but it was very different.

Why?

“Since I heard no cheering from the bailey, I assume that Gilroy managed to elude capture?” she asked, trying to turn the conversation away from these heightened emotions.

“Aye.”

The terse answer reminded Fiona that it was probably unwise to highlight the earl’s failure. Men could be ridiculously prideful over these matters, but honestly who did they think they were fooling? Clearly, Gilroy had not been found. Were they all supposed to pretend that he had, in order to spare the earl’s feelings?

“Will you try again?”

“When we have a solid lead. There’s no use putting good men’s lives at risk without just cause.”

The earl’s comment erased Fiona’s earlier impression—he had been concerned about the fate of his men, an opinion that had him rise considerably in her estimation.

Embarrassed by her waspish tongue, Fiona sought to make amends. “Are you hungry?”

“Aye, thirsty, too.”

“We’ve got everything ready, milord,” Judith called out. “Come, eat and restore yer strength.”

Ignoring his usual place on the dais, Gavin took a seat on one of the trestle tables, beside his soldiers. Judith and the other women sprang into action, bringing out platters of food for the returning men, filling their goblets with hard cider and ale and pressing them each for details of their quest.

Feeling out of place, Fiona melted into the background. She picked up the ball of wool, but it was impossible to concentrate on spinning thread with the earl so near.

The men were speaking in low tones, making it difficult to follow the conversation. At best, she caught only small bits here and there that made little sense. Distracted, she glanced about the great hall and noticed one of the squires with a wooden yoke on his shoulders. Dangling on a rope from each end were two heavy-looking wooden buckets.

“What are you doing?” Fiona asked, when the boy passed near.

“Bringing hot water to the earl’s chamber for his bath,” the squire replied, his face straining with exertion.

A bath. Of course. After he’s eaten, the earl will want to remove the grime from his skin. Well, here was some way she could make herself useful. She had helped to bathe many a visiting knight and lord when running her own household and knew precisely what needed to be done.

Preparations were well in hand when she arrived at the earl’s bedchamber. A high-sided wooden tub had been set near the fireplace, where a small fire was burning to keep away the chill. The leather shutters had been pulled tightly closed, to ward off a draft and prevent the earl from falling ill, though Fiona had long doubted the validity of that precaution.

Fiona carefully draped the padded linen cloth inside the tub, then brought it up over one edge. At her nod, the squire dumped the steaming hot water inside. It barely covered the bottom. It took five additional trips for the water to reach a substantial level. By then, the squire was red-faced and breathing hard.

Fiona organized the rising buckets, then took the soap pot and towels from the beleaguered squire. He gave her a grateful smile and hurried away. Fiona rolled up her sleeves, wishing she had an apron to cover the front of her gown. She only owned a few garments and this was by far the best of her clothing.

“I wasn’t sure where ye had gone.”

Fiona’s heart gave a silly jump at the sound of the earl’s deep voice. “I’m here to assist you with your bath,” she explained.

Fiona heard the audible breath he drew. Anxious, she waited to see if the earl would voice any objections. When none were forthcoming, Fiona stepped forward. She reached for the edge of his tunic, intending to lift it over his head. He stiffened, his muscles going rigid, his chest barely moving as he breathed.

“Would you prefer to have your squire attend you, my lord?” Fiona asked.

“Gavin,” he grunted.

“Pardon?”

“Ye’re to address me by my name. We agreed.”

“Of course. I’m sorry. Gavin.” She added the last deliberately, trying to show her obedience. His winsome grin told her he wasn’t believing it for a minute.

Unperturbed, Fiona continued with her duties. He went very still as she began to unlace the leather ties of his chausses. Fiona pulled them apart and Gavin flinched.

Confused, Fiona raised her head. “Are you certain you do not wish me to call for your squire?”

“Nay. I want ye.”

A warm hand cupped her chin. There was raw strength in that grip, but it was tempered by hard control. Fiona wondered what would happen if that control ever snapped; then decided she’d rather not find out.

The tread of footsteps sounded in the hall. Fiona looked over Gavin’s shoulder toward the open doorway. The earl’s squire stood there hesitantly, peering at them with wide, curious eyes.

“I brought ye more hot water,” he said uncertainly.

“Pour it in the tub,” Gavin instructed, his eyes still locked on Fiona’s. “Then leave.”

Unused to such intimacies, especially in front of strangers, Fiona shook her head and broke his grasp. The chamber grew heavy with the sound of pouring water. Fiona busied herself near the fire, turning abruptly when she heard the unmistakable splash of water.

He’s climbed into the tub, she thought, unable to decide if she felt relieved or disappointed.
More disappointed, I fear, having missed the opportunity to see him in all his naked glory.

Fiona took a deep, steadying breath that nearly lodged in her throat when she turned to face him.

Gavin was indeed in the tub, resting his head and shoulders against the cloth she had laid there for that very purpose. His left arm dangled over the side, the right rested on the wooden edge. Mesmerized, Fiona stared at his bare, tanned forearms and large, strong hands.

For the past few days she had secretly listened to the men and women of the castle spin yarns about his prowess. How he could ride faster and longer than any of his men. How he could pierce the smallest target on the first attempt. How he could wield a sword with the power of ten men.

Seeing his physical strength with her own eyes, she no longer doubted the truth of those claims.

Flustered, Fiona turned to reach for the pot of soap. Oil of eucalyptus melded with the spicy scent of lavender as she lathered the washing cloth. Intending to start with his back, she began moving behind him. Quick as lightning, his hand shot out, grasping her wrist.

“Nay, Fiona, dinnae hide yerself,” Gavin drawled. “Stay where I can see ye. If yer going to wash me like a wee lad, then I’m going to enjoy the view.”

She forced herself to obey without protest. She was his mistress and needed to do what he commanded. Though in this instance, ’twas hardly a battle of conscience to do as he asked.

As she came closer, Fiona saw the whirl of hair on his chest and the dark line that trailed from his navel downward, disappearing into the water. A twist of excitement ran through her loins. A normal reaction, she decided. He was magnificent. She’d have to be made of stone not to feel something when she gazed upon his masculine beauty.

He leaned forward so she could reach his shoulders, then lifted his head to stare into her eyes. She could clearly see the hungry desire shimmering in the blue depths. Unexpected pleasure flashed through her. Fiona swallowed, feeling the heat rising over her body.

She pressed the cloth to his shoulders and rubbed vigorously, trying to regain her equilibrium as she hurried to finish washing him. She had already decided she was not going to scrub any parts of him that lay beneath the water. He was perfectly capable of doing that on his own.

The room grew quiet, save for the sound of the cloth rubbing his flesh and the occasional splash of water. Gavin reached out and trailed the tip of his finger lightly across her throat and up to her chin. Fiona froze. The cloth slipped from her fingers, fell into the water and floated aimlessly in the tub.

“Are ye finished with me, darlin’?”

She blinked, the sound of his silky voice breaking her trance. Fiona pulled away, swirled two fingers in the soap pot and began washing his hair. Lifting the pail, she poured the warm water over the earl’s head, rinsing away the suds, admiring the clean gleam of the dark tresses. His hair was wet and curling, resting on his shoulders.

“Shall I get my scissors so I can trim your hair?”

He opened one eye and stared lazily up at her. “I learned long ago, ’tis never a wise idea to expose yer throat to a female with sharp instruments.”

Fiona placed the empty bucket on the floor. “Don’t you trust me?”

He shrugged his shoulders, causing a wave of the water to lap over the side and spill onto the floor. Reacting quickly, Fiona kicked his tunic out of the way, so it wouldn’t get wet. Presenting her back to him, she knelt on all fours and mopped the spill with one of the towels.

“Are you staring at me?” she asked, feeling the prickly sensation of being watched.

“I cannae help myself. ’Tis a bonnie view yer treating me to, lass.”

Fiona’s smile bubbled into a giggle. A bath was not sexual in nature. At least none that she’d ever taken. Yet somehow Gavin was able to make mopping a wet floor an erotic experience.

She turned her head and raised an eyebrow at him. He looked at her from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, examining her figure in a slow, measured way, causing her to look away in embarrassment.

“Join me, lass,” he said in a silky voice.

“There’s no room,” Fiona whispered, scandalized.

“Of course there’s room,” he admonished.

“Where would I sit?”

“On my lap, where else?”

Merciful heavens!
A flush of heat shuddered through Fiona’s body at the very idea. Gavin continued staring at her with a mesmerizing gleam in the depths of his blue eyes, causing an odd weakness in her knees.

Then he flashed a grin that was pure boyish mischief.
He’s flirting with me.

The realization momentarily robbed her of speech. No one had ever done that before. It was not part of Henry’s nature to be playful with her. He’d been kind, sweet, and even indulgent at times, but never once lighthearted. ’Twas somewhat astonishing to discover that she rather liked it.