How to Train Your Knight: A Medieval Romance Novel (8 page)

He pursed his lips and frowned.

Had she spoken too boldly? His drying blood itched without mercy as she scratched and moved away. The clear, warm water beckoned. A bath was needed. But should she dare? Still standing behind him, she pulled off her tunic and laid her knives aside. Leaving her long undershirt on, she stepped down into the pool and ducked under the soothing water. “Ahh.”

He focused on her breasts, winced, and lifted onto his elbow. New blood seeped from her stitching. “Would you help me remove my shoes and leg wrappings?”

“Careful, you’ll pull out all my fine labor. Lay back. I’ll help you.” She could do this small kindness for him. All, but naked, she rushed to his aid. Modesty would need to step aside. After all, the man had almost died saving her sheep. Besides, if she didn’t, he’d just call Thomas. Then he, too, would have a full view of her form. That wouldn’t do at all.

With a stout heart, she stood in front of her new husband. His eyes widened, then slowly wandered up and down her body, but he said naught. He stretched out one foot toward her.

Lowering her eyes, she knelt down in front of him. Twice, she pressed her hands into the dung and blood to tug off a boot. Then she unwrapped his leggings and shyly reached up his thighs to untie his braies. Her hands caressed down his coarse, dark leg hair as she removed his knife sheaths.

He moaned with his eyes closed.

“Are you in pain?”

With a grim smile, he answered, “More than you know. Help me to sit at the edge of the pool.”

She moved his feet into the water and rinsed her hands. “Is that better?”

“Would you also help your husband with his inner shirt and lower him into the water?” His eyes turned black, hiding the hazel coloring and his lips were mere inches away from hers.

Unable to breathe or to break away from his stare, she unlaced his ruined shirt and pulled it off his body. “I, umm. I don’t know. The spring water would help you heal. I’d not want you to be fevered.”

His eyes closed and his brows furrowed when her hands met his naked torso. She stared in wonder at the lines of defined muscles on his chest.

“Ann.” Her name escaped his lips more like a prayer as he opened his eyes.

She felt something move between his legs and gasped. His rod stood fully at attention.

“M’lady?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Sir?” Ann continued to stare at the thing.

“You were married. Ye’ve seen sheep. This condition can’t cause you much confusion.”

“Yes, but . . . Well, no.” Her face was on fire.
Dear God, the knight was large
. “Please. I believe you can descend fully into the water now.” She fled to the far corner of the pool.

With a groan, he paled and tried to sit. “Damnation.”

Rushing back across the pool, she said, “I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you. Lean on my shoulder.” She shivered despite the warmth of the pool when his weight fell upon her and one hand slid over her breast. Even more so when his thick rod brushed against her navel.

“I’d kiss you, now, if you’d let me.” He held fast as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. His tongue licked water from her lower lip. “Did you not say you enjoyed the weaver’s kiss?”

“That was different.” The hand that had found her breast squeezed and she moved closer to get more. “Yes, but—”

“I think you talk too much.” He put his fingers over her lips, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. It started out like the one in the barn but moved into something more urgent, more needful. Her hands dug into his scalp and she kissed him back. Of their own accord, her legs locked around his waist when his rod rubbed between her thighs. She was climbing toward heaven, but had no idea what to do next.

Groaning, he clamped one large hand around her derriere and tugged her so close that she thought his body would swallow her whole. Suddenly, he stopped. His palm caressed her shameful back.

“Turn around,” he said softly and put her down.

“No. Please.” She tried to wrestle out of his grasp, but he won out and twisted her.

His coarse fingertips brushed over the crisscross of scars on her back. “Dear God. What is this?”

There was no point to continue in the struggle. “I’m so, so, sorry. I know the state of my back is wretched. It is repugnant and a great affront. I completely forgot myself. Forgive me.”

The Beast growled low and fierce and he let her go. “I recognize the scars of repeated whippings. By all that is holy, tell me who did this to you. Underhill?”

He didn’t want her. Who would? She wailed, jumped out of the pool, and grabbed his tunic like a blanket. Nearly naked, she flew past Thomas, past the ladies in the kitchen, and up the stairs. He shouted her name as she dashed out of sight. Out of breath, she slid the bedroom bar into place.

Snatches of conversation echoed from below so she put her ear to the revolving wall.

“Marcus, be sensible,” said Thomas.

Her husband grumbled something unintelligible.

“You’ve opened your wound. Sit down.”

At least The Beast wasn’t going to chase after her. She shivered, found a clean undertunic, and wrapped herself in her fur blanket. He was a nobleman and a great warrior. He’d probably bedded hundreds of women. Sultan’s daughters. Of course her deformities would shrink his pintle. What was she thinking? It was just that his touch was so gentle, and his lips so soft that she’d momentarily forgotten she was a monster.

She sobbed. All was lost. She’d allowed herself to hope that if she shared her body with him, they might find happiness. She was—

What was that?
Devil’s breath.
What was The Beast up to now? She pushed on the tunnel mechanism, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and snuck down the stairs so she could hear the goings on.

Marcus called out to Thomas from the bathhouse pool. “Damn it. Find Bart, and have him bring me a clean set of clothes. He should be knowledgeable enough by now to have some readiness for my needs. Where the hell is he?”

His man ducked his head inside. “She ran like she was chased by the devil himself. What spell has she suffered upon you, now?”

“Holy God, not you, too? The girl’s not a witch. She’s a woman who’s suffered much.” He cursed his own stupidity for remarking on her scars. If he hadn’t, by now, they’d be one.

He pointed to a group of townsmen in a queue at the lower bath. “How long have they been waiting?”

“Not long. It seems there is a regular schedule. It’s time for the unmarried men to bathe.”

“Send them in, for God’s sake. I’d not have them wait on me.” He tried to get up.

Thomas held him down by placing a hand on the top of his head. “Calm yourself. I’ve already explained you’re, but a mild-mannered man, but tall tales abound of how you splayed open Abernathy’s men.”

“Oh, for the love of all that’s holy.” His temper finally burst open and he shouted, “Whosoever is waiting, bloody well better get their derrieres into this bathhouse or I shall beat them to a bloody pulp and drag them in myself.”

“Well done. That should set the fear out of them.” Thomas smirked.

He whispered a foul curse and turned to the young men taking tentative steps into the baths. They’d begun to undress by the uppermost pool furthest from him. “No, by God, you shall bathe with me. By God here and by God now!” He splashed the water with his fist, causing his shoulder to throb and burn. He was so damn tired of his own people hiding from him.

The tallest and broadest of the men nodded, removed his clothes, and entered the pool. “They call me Peter the Smith.”

“Well done. I’m Sir Marcus Blackwell, now Lord of the manor.” He grinned and extended his good arm.

The blacksmith took it yet eyed the wounds warily. “They say you’ve wed the Lady Ann and would steal her lands.”

Marcus met his iron gaze and stern demeanor. “I’ve honestly wed her by the king’s command. We will work the land together as God intended, as man and wife. I shall protect what is mine.”

Apparently appeased, Peter slid more fully into the water. “There was a knight before thee, an evil man. He destroyed all the good she had done.”

“All knights are not woven from the same cloth. Wave the others over with some encouragement. I’d like to meet my wife’s villagers.”

Peter shifted, causing waves of water to splash over the sides. “Many are tradesmen, some freedmen, and others still tied to the land. There’s not one with noble blood amongst us.”

“It is still good to meet them, is it not? You wash my back and I shall wash yours?” He handed him a stiff brush. “Stay clear of my wound.”

“You would bathe with peasants and tradesmen?”

A picture of his peers torturing and raping young infidel girls flashed inside his mind’s eye. With a strong will, he vanquished them back to the devil. “The crusades are an eye-opener to the hearts of men and a leveler of souls.”

“You’re a strange nobleman.” Peter motioned the brush in the air to indicate to the others that they should move forward, then put the scratchy hairs to work.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Tell me, how long have you worked in the village?”

“Forever. My father and his father before him were blacksmiths. Of course, back then, only the lords could afford horses and armor. Even the plows for farming were leased with a heavy rent. But now, with the Lady Ann in charge, things are different. I’ve real coin in my pocket. As soon as I save a little more, I’ll be marrying her maid, Sally. She’s the light of my life, that she is. I’ll build us an extra room on my fine stone house for boys.” He paused a little embarrassed.

The last time Marcus had seen Sally, she’d been kissing his squire. He’d have to warn the boy to stay clear. He took the brush and scrubbed the broad back. “My men will have much need of your services. Your plans will move along even faster than anticipated, I have no doubt. Have you apprentices?”

“Not yet, but if I gets me sons, I will.” He beamed and made way for other men who had lined up to speak to the new Lord of the manor. Apparently, once it was known that one could live through a conversation with The Beast of Thornhill, curiosity overrode fear.

Brother James, the elder, joined the men in line and was next to enter the pool. He grabbed Marcus’ good arm and nodded for others to follow. “Sir Blackwell, meet Jacob, he’s our candle maker.”

Too shy to even look up, a barely-sixteen-year-old boy entered the pool.

“Were those your tallow candles in the great room?” He handed the boy the brush and turned.

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine work, lad. If you’d like, maybe we could find beeswax for special occasions, and to sell next time we’re at fair?”

He scrubbed harder. “Thou art not going to take my wares?”

“I plan to use them, as is normal. I’m not quite sure of your meaning?” Marcus turned to face the deep frown.

“Oh.”

“Maybe you should explain further.” He sighed, handed him the brush, and turned around. By the end of the day, no doubt, his back would be lacking skin.

“The last lord took everything. Said it was his due. There wasn’t anything the Lady Ann could say. We had none of our own coin after he came. We mostly was hungry. It were a long winter.”

The whole of the bathhouse went quiet. Apparently, this was the most serious issue on the minds of his town’s men. How in God’s name had she not only provided for her people, but allowed them to keep their own coin. Clearly, he needed to learn more before he lost their trust. He prayed for the right thing to say.

“Jacob, I’ve only just arrived. Know that I won’t steal what is yours and would ask that you do the same for me.”

The boy thought for some time and handed back the brush. “That sounds fair enough.”

The men mumbled amongst themselves and some of the tension drained out of the room. James nodded with an approving smile and motioned for the two weavers from the loom house to sit. They both nodded at him in recognition and eased into the water.

The first thin lad took the brush and said, “That was a fine jest you played on Lady Ann this morning.”

“I’m afraid the jest was more on me.” He shook his head and at the thought, wondering where his skittish wife had bolted.

The oldest laughed nervously. “I heard something about a kiss and a knife.”

He moaned. Small villages had large eyes. All would know by day’s end. “What’s your name, lad?”

“I’m John and that there is my brother, Timothy. We’re guildsmen.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Tradesmen? How did you manage that?”

“Our father is the miller, but we’re sons seven and eight. He has plenty of help making grain. He had no need of us. The Lady Ann paid for us to get a
real
trade. One which has coin and value.”

Timothy joined in. “But a miller is a tradesman. Ann said so.”

“Not like us, though,” John quipped.

“Not so. That’s not what Father says. He has coin, too.”

Marcus shook his head and waived the young men off while they continued to argue. What kind of serfs had use of their master’s mill and lands, and still had coin? His confusion was total. How did the land yield any wealth for the lord and taxes for the king? He’d be damned if owning land meant that he’d lose his hard-won fortune. Maybe she had hidden treasure after all. Hadn’t his father suggested that?

One by one, the rest of the unwed men of the town joined him in the large bath and introduced themselves. Most were under twenty. The older men, he was told more than once, had the advantage of a home, which attracted ladies into marriage. He grilled each on their trade and their training while an unseen fire roared and crackled somewhere out of sight.

It was supper time when he finally eased himself out of the water. Bart helped him dry and dress. His arm, which had felt so good buoyed in the therapeutic spring water, decided to throb incessantly once in the outside air.

He tried to put all the pieces of this odd town together. She wasn’t a witch, by God. Nay, she was a general and these were her troops. She’d taken a small town of peasants and serfs and raised them up to be tradesmen. She’d also made a small fortune in the process, yet had hardly a penny in her own coffer. It was quite remarkable. An odd twinge of something pained him, and it wasn’t his arm. Why didn’t she embrace
him
as well as she had her town?