The Lost Lady

by Amelia Brown

  She felt more than saw him lean closer and before his intent could be made reality she retreated to the end of the tub. He looked startled for a moment, but his gaze became hooded as he watched her fight for composure. The mantra in her head was no help; the words were jumbled and made no sense. “Cold yet ignite, rigid yet resentful.” That wasn’t right. “Gold met delight, timid yet neglectful.” She almost growled at him. How could the man do this to her?

  “Luveday.” His voice was too deep, too perfect and sinful and he knew exactly how to use it.

  It took her a moment to unclench her jaw and reply. “Yes, My Lord?” She asked only a little breathily. She yearned to yell at him, to tell him to stop playing games with her.

  “The women have gone, and I am in need of help.” He seemed amused by her discomfort and annoyance.

  “Help?” She asked exasperatedly.

  “With my bath?” He leaned forward to look at her earnestly.

  “With the bath?” She echoed dumbly.

  “I cannot reach to wash my back.” As he held out a soapy cloth, Luveday realized that he was indeed dirty from the day’s activities.

  Squaring her shoulders, she took the cloth from his outstretched hand and moved behind him. She began at his nape and traveled down his spine. Her strokes were smooth and even, the pressure consistent and in every way as practical and detached as she could make them. A soft moan escaped him, and Luveday thought she might die. She continued the task until she had cleaned the dirt from his shoulders and back.

  As she moved to return the cloth to him, he grabbed her wrist pulling her to him. Soon she found herself at his side and face to face with him. “My hair.” She couldn’t help looking at the mop of sable brown hair in his head. “Wash my hair.” She must have looked as if she might bolt for he threw her a challenging look before settling against the back of the tub. “The water is behind you. The soap is in that bowl.” She looked, and sure enough, a bucket of water stood warming by the fire, and a small bowl of soap sat on the raised hearth.

  Luveday retrieved both and began to wash his hair, a process she had seen done on more than one occasion. She poured a cup of water over his crown as he leaned his head back, his arms gripping the edges of the tub. She took a bit of the powdery soap in one hand, a small amount of water in the other and began to lather his hair. The tresses were thick and smooth and slid through her fingers with ease. It took her a moment to realize that she was no longer lathering but massaging his scalp in circular motions that made his head rest heavy in her hands. The line of his throat was fully exposed to her, and she had the sudden thought that she had never seen anything so beautiful in her entire life.

  Shaking from her thoughts, she took the bucket and slowly poured the contents over his scalp washing the suds away. She took clean linen and dried his hair. Luveday stepped away to lay the cloth over a chair to dry and found him watching her through heavy-lidded eyes when she turned back. He didn’t say more, only held out the washcloth to her.

  What possessed her to take it she would never know but take it she did. Luveday knew he watched her as she worked, but she didn’t falter. Though she tried to tell herself that this was like bathing a child or cleaning the wounded, she could not lie to herself for long. This was nothing like that, and though she wanted to, she didn’t linger. Whatever game he was playing with her this night, Luveday was determined to prove to herself that she could do this. Methodically, she bathed his right arm from hand to wrist to shoulder. She moved across his chest, moving under his arms and over his ribs. She moved down one hip to the right leg, which he lifted only a little to give her better access. She rounded the foot of the tub and started up his left leg, left hip, left ribs, left arm until she had cleaned everything she could reach. Face to face she held the cloth between them willing him to take it back, but he just looked at her. Both were breathing heavy which Luveday only noticed as their breaths mingled in the small space between them. Shaking the cloth in her hand, she looked into his eyes, but Iain refused to take it.

  “You’re not done yet.” His voice was deep and little more than a breath between them. “You missed a spot.”

  Luveday looked at him. There was only one place on his body she had not touched, one place she had refused to look at or acknowledge during this heated encounter. Luveday wanted to swear, throw the washcloth in his face and leave, but the look in his eyes said he expected her to do just that. She paused for a moment, eyes narrowing as she gazed at him. Had he done all this to prove to her or to himself just how deeply he could affect her? Were all the small ways he singled her out, the brief touches, the intimate moments not enough? Did he have to prove that she wanted him? Male ego was not beyond Iain, but she had thought that such childish tactics were, so what then was all this?

  With steely eyes and a careful movement, Luveday released the cloth and it sank beneath the water exactly over his groin. She moved as if to rise but moved only halfway to her feet. Instead she leaned over the edge of the tub and followed the cloth’s descend with her hand. Iain had been unprepared for that action as well as the moment when her fingers closed lightly around his staff. His whole body jerked in response, his eyes closing involuntarily before opening to stare hard at her. Luveday cleaned the part of him she could not bring herself to look at, instead, she stared at the muscles in his jaw as a tic seemed to develop on the right side. She was as efficient at this as the rest of her task. And all too soon she let go.

  Iain moved to grab her, but she anticipated it and moved to evade his grasp. He surged out of the water sloshing suds over the edge of the tub. He looked incredulous, ready to pounce and damned hungry. Luveday flung open the door, Coll stood stunned as he folded extra blankets for his bed, Henna, Cassandra, Ellie, Agnes and Lady Emmalyn crowded the far door. Luveday got the impression that the women had been pumping the boy for information about what he could hear beyond his master’s door and was not sure if she should berate them or applauded the success of their scheming. Instead, she addressed them in a voice too loud for the small space. “Kind women, please help Lord Iain. He is in need of drying off, lest he start to smell like a wet dog.” She pushed past the women who gasped and chuckled in turns.

  Behind her, a furious voice boomed out of the solar. Her name rang through the hall below like a clap of thunder. Luveday smiled as she slammed her door shut with a satisfying crack.

  Chapter 13

  With stammering lips and insufficient sound, I strive

  and struggle to deliver right the music of my nature.

  ~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  Luveday found other things to focus on, most importantly, the growing affections of Gregori and Elysant. The two had been nearly inseparable since the knight had returned for the campaign in the north. The budding romance was the delight of the castle, and when Gregori finally asked there was not a soul who stood against.

  Gregori rose from his chair beside Iain, Ellie sat a few seats down; the knight met the eyes of Iain, then Lady Emmalyn, Luveday and finally his intended target. The hall went quiet, and all eyes turned to the high table. They saw him swallow and take a breath before hoisting his goblet in a salute to his lord, but his eyes didn’t leave Ellie who looked on in admiration tinted with dismay. “Good health and long Life to Lord De Lane and Lander’s Keep.” Goblets raised as the crowd echoed back the well wishes, ‘To De Lane.’ “It is an honor to serve beside such a man,” Iain growled at this show of affection and nodded to signal that he felt the same for his brother in arms. “I would be a great honor if you would give me the hand of Elysant of Lander’s Keep,” There was a sudden roar of approval from the tables as men shouted and banged their cups and cutlery in manly encouragement. Gregori continued, but only those at the high table could hear him over the ding, “and bless our union.”

  Iain rose to his feet as silence fell. He raised his drink and clapped an arm around his best knight and friend. “You may have the girl and the blessing, Friend. May heaven smile down on you
and yours as you have brought prosperity and some joy to Lander’s Keep.”

  Cheers and congratulations filled the room. Ellie knocked over her chair in her haste to reach her love. The girl, small as she was launched herself into the arm and was caught by the knight who kissed her long and hard. Cat calls were quelled by a stern look from the ladies at the high table even though it took a bit for the two lovebirds to remember where they were. Both returned to their seats and dinner progressed without much ado.

  For days Ellie floated around the keep in a daze, the girl was practically useless, but no one reprimanded her. Luveday was overjoyed for her friend, yet alone at night, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness and perhaps even jealousy. So here was Ellie’s happily ever after which seemed to contrast so sharply with what lay between Iain and herself.

  Luveday was happy for the distraction as preparations for their ceremony began. Since spring had yet to make an appearance, Luveday had the idea of crafting flowers from other items. This wasn’t entirely new to her since she had done something similar for her sister Annalisa’s wedding several years ago. Luveday’s mother had wrangled together a group of women who when they put their mind to it, had fashioned a lovely country wedding for the frugal and creative bride. Luckily for Ellie, Luveday had an excellent memory and some creative ideas to turn twigs and odds-n-ends into decorations that would mirror the girl’s cheerful personality.

  So, the women found themselves sequestered in the sewing gallery one mild afternoon. Henna and Paige looked through the numerous baskets, buckets, and bins, picking up down pieces of this or that. Everyone knew that Luveday had been collecting items for over a week, but while they also knew these things were for the upcoming wedding, they could not help but wonder at the strange things she studiously gathered. There were twigs of varying thicknesses and lengths, wood shavings, dried seed pods, washed bird feathers, bits of string and some sort of paste that smelled strange that Luveday referred to as glue. Luveday had made a special trip to the Abbey to see Father Quinn and came back with the recipe they used to make paper from flax and wood pulp.

  “I know this doesn’t look like much,” Luveday smiled to herself at their doubtful glances as the women continued to peruse the items, “but trust me. I think this will work wonderfully.”

  Only Ellie was excited to begin, so much so that the girl fairly vibrated in her seat. “What do we do first, Luveday?”

  The women finally settled into their usual seats with the newcomers taking up positions around the long room. Luveday positioned herself in the middle, the basket of examples she had crafted the day before at her elbow. “It is a rather complicated process, but once you are familiar with the gist of it, making flowers is quite easy.”

  “How do we get flowers out of this mess?” Henna looked at a tangle of undyed linen and string and wondered if the lady hadn’t lost her mind.

  Luveday laughed at the seamstress’s scorn. “Some imagination is needed, Henna. Something I know you have in abundance, or you would not be able to take thread and cloth and make such lovely garments.” The girl preened at her praise, not really knowing what this imagination thing was, but liking it already. “I have some flowers that I finished,” She passed around the basket. Women marveled and awed at the designs, they did look like proper flowers. “Right now, they are their natural color, but Warin and Archer said that they can mix up some whitewash and we will paint them all white. Maybe add a bit of dye in the mix to get some pretty pinks and greens.” The sudden impact nearly took Luveday to the floor as Ellie threw herself at her friend in a fierce hug. Luveday just hugged the girl back for a few moments until her friend released her and found her seat again.

  Emmalyn took that moment to join them, Agnes in tow. “What are you up to in here?”

  Henna answered from her corner, “We are making flowers from bits and bobbles.” She stated, but her attention was soon diverted as the basket had finally reached her. “My, aren’t these clever.” She said to no one in particular.

  Luveday beamed at Emmalyn, who returned the girl’s enthusiasm. The older lady took her spot, Agnes beside her. “Well then, let us get to work.”

  By late afternoon they had over a dozen of six different varieties of flowers still in their natural hues, but the women were now on board with the lady’s thinking, and many looked forward to gathering the supplies and a few items for themselves.

  As the days passed the sewing gallery looked more like a strange greenhouse than the dark room it had always been. The women were often found chatting and making flowers during their free time. The men stayed clear of the room, told that when the time for their help was needed, they would be informed. Lady Christabel often stuck her head in or stayed for a few minutes under some pretext of asking one of the other ladies a question, but Luveday could clearly see that the girl was curious and interested in what was going on. Unfortunately, the whipping incident had not changed the young lady in the least, and even Luveday could not stand her for any length of time. The women’s happy chatter would suddenly cease as soon as one spotted the lonely girl. Luveday could find no more empathy for her. Christabel was the only one to blame for her frosty reception.

  There was only one other person that troubled Luveday’s life and that was Lord Iain himself. The man was waging war against her senses; there was no other way to look at it. Since her moment of insanity during his bath, she had tried to regain the emotional distance between them, but he would not have it. Every look they exchanged seemed to have deeper meaning, undercurrents, and riptides. She was drowning, and he was pulling her deeper. He would appear out of nowhere at moments when she was alone: in the wool shed, in the weaving room, in the Lady’s garden, as she walked through the village. Nowhere was she safe from him. It was not that he threatened her or forced her to remain in his company. No, the man was polite, attentive, charming to a fault and Luveday could barely hold onto her composure and remain practical even when he wasn’t focusing his attention on her. With desperation, she hung onto her sense of self-preservation, but it was slipping through her fingers with dangerous consequences.

  “Ah, Lady Luveday.” Speak of the devil, and he shall appear, she thought. Luveday turned around in the corridor that led to the sewing room. The place was empty as dinner preparations were underway, Luveday herself would have been downstairs, but one of the children had brought a basket of odds and ends to add to their flower making supplies, and she had decided to drop it off herself. “How go the wedding plans?” Iain asked though he had shown little interest thus far.

  “Very well, My Lord. The women have done wonders, and we will have lovely decorations for the chapel.” Luveday was truly pleased, and the feeling colored her expression. She looked at him with rosy cheeks and a soft smile not knowing the effect they had on him. “If you will excuse me,” she turned away but was caught by a hand at her elbow. Startled by his sudden nearness, she looked up at him as they stood silent for several heartbeats.

  “Luveday.” His voice was urgent, and without warning she found herself embraced in Iain’s arms. A soft sigh left her as his lips descended to hers, blocking out any protests that her inner voice tried to raise.

  She was lost, and she knew it. He demanded her surrender wiping clear her resolve and leaving her a mass of quivering nerves and turbulent emotions. They separated, both breathing hard with heavy-lidded gazes.

  The sound of footsteps drawing closer cut through their sensual haze bringing them crashing back to reality. Luveday backed away slowly while Iain looked as if he would protest, but if he took a step closer, she would have no choice but to flee from him. After a half-dozen steps, she turned and continued down the hall to hear Fuller and Benedict engage De Lane in their ongoing debate.

  She could only catch her breath once she was safely on the other side of the heavy door to the sewing room. Leaning against the solid surface for support, it took her several minutes before the feel of his lips began to fade, and several minutes more to rememb
er why she was headed there in the first place.

  Their next encounter happened in the shade of the castle wall, despite the lingering touches of winter, the day had turned warm. Luveday had taken the opportunity to move outside and chose a sheltered spot for the painting of the roses. Several makeshift tables and ladders dotted the area between the curtain wall and the shorter wall of the Lady’s garden. The whitewashing was going well, the ladders were used as drying racks as dozens upon dozens of faux-flowers dried in the mid-day sun. Only a small section of the wall remained in shadow, and that was where Luveday had taken refuge after hours of working in the sun.

  Footsteps approached but Luveday didn’t open her eyes just yet, she was taking a break from painting and dipping the flowers, and a break from reality. Her mind was far from here, home and trying to conjure up the once familiar faces of her family. She could almost see the image of Annalisa at her wedding. Mark stood at her sister’s side with her parents on one side and Luveday on the other posing for photos. It was one of the happiest days in recent memory, and Luveday wondered exactly when she had stopped thinking of the world she left behind and started to think of a future here. It would be a future without Iain, she was coming to realize that her time at Lander’s Keep might be shorter than even she imagined.

  A hand brushed a stray hair behind her ear, but she didn’t need to open her eyes to recognize the heat and smell coming off of Iain. The man was pure temptation and unused to denying himself what he wanted. Luveday had to be the responsible one between the two of them, and for the first time in her life, she hated it. His hand caressed her jaw and slid to play with the delicate chain of her necklace, rubbing the spot where the column of her neck met her shoulder. Iain looked his fill while Luveday centered her roiling emotions and prepared to open her eyes. She already knew what she would find and wasn’t disappointed.