by Nancy Morse
Fabric rustled, and she couldn’t help glancing at Tavis again. Her heart jolted, for he’d removed all but his snug-fitting hose. Oh, mercy, what a magnificent chest. She’d never seen such an enticing display of muscles, or such a flat belly.
He straightened from throwing his garments on the ground and caught her staring. He grinned, and a blush heated her face. Before she could look away, he crooked a finger. “Come join me. I can fetch more water.”
Whenever he and water were involved, matters ended badly for her. Besides, ladies did not splash in the bailey with half-naked lords, regardless of the circumstances…or how much they secretly wanted to. “Regretfully, I cannot,” she said.
“Because I am the one who asked?” His words held a hint of disappointment.
Not only because you asked. “Even if I wanted to cool off in that manner, I could never remove my garments as you have done.”
“Ah. I understand. Well-bred ladies do not do such things.”
“Indeed they do not.” Inwardly, she groaned. Now she sounded as prim as her childhood tutor had been.
“Since you have made up your mind, I will press you no further. The water feels bloody good, though.” He reached for another filled bucket. His impressive muscles rippled and stretched beneath his skin. A wicked part of her longed to stay and watch more water stream down his body.
“Helena.”
“A-aye?” He’d picked up the bucket, but hadn’t poured it yet.
“You worked very hard this night. Your father will be proud of you.”
She smiled. “I was most grateful for your help.”
Tavis’s mouth curved into that roguish grin again. How was it possible that just by grinning at her, he could make her giddy?
She was overtired. That must be the reason. She’d feel differently about him once she’d slept.
“When you are done with the water,” she said, “please come to the great hall. I have ordered food and drink to be readied for all who worked through the night. The castle healer will tend to any burns or other injuries you might have.”
“Kind offers. Thank you.”
Her pulse fluttered, but she forced the words out before she could change her mind: “The servants will also prepare you a hot bath. I am sure we can find you fresh garments as well, if you do not have any spares. A guest chamber is ready in case you want to sleep.”
He whistled. “Tending to all of my needs? Are you trying to tempt me, Helena?”
His tone softened as he said her name; it warmed with an earthiness that sent an unexpected thrill chasing through her. He was tempting her, just with his voice.
Before she could think of a suitable reply, Tavis lifted the bucket. He shut his eyes, tilted back his head as the water, gleaming in the torch light, trailed down over his brow and streamed over the angular planes of his face.
She spun on her heel and hurried to the keep.
Chapter Five
Sitting at the lord’s table on the stone dais in the great hall, Helena smothered a yawn and ate another mouthful of cooked oats, fresh blackberries, and milk. At the oak trestle tables lined up in rows in the vast room, weary servants chattered and ate, their voices and occasional laughter creating a steady hum of sound.
At the table nearest the dais, Delfina wrapped linen bandages around a young woman’s blistered hands, while offering pots of salves and ointments to servants who had burns and other injuries. Thankfully no one had been badly hurt.
Helena’s eyes still burned from the fire’s relentless heat, and her clothes and hair reeked of smoke. She was so bone weary, she vowed if she closed her eyes, she’d fall sound asleep—and then would collapse face first in her porridge bowl. That would be rather humiliating, especially with Tavis seated beside her. He’d donned his garments again, but his hair was wet, and she couldn’t clear the image of him standing half-undressed in the bailey from her mind.
How shameful that her sire was ill in the solar, and all she could think about was Tavis’s glorious body.
Downing another mouthful of oats, Helena resolved to push through until she could go to her bedchamber. Regardless of how she felt about Tavis, she had a responsibility to her sire to ensure the Galloway lord’s visit went smoothly. She’d treat Tavis with the courtesy she’d extend to any well-respected nobleman visiting Kellenham. ’Twas the least she could do, after all of his help with the fire, even though she might privately wish he’d hand over the sword her father was expecting, get back on his horse, and ride away.
He’d almost finished his porridge. Merry sat to his left, telling him how Dandelion had slept beside her and comforted her through the night. The little girl had wanted to set the cage in front of her on the table so she could watch Dandelion during the meal, but her father had told her nay, and to keep the cage on the floor.
“—was so hungry this morning, he ate lots of chicken,” Merry said, her eyes enormous. “He gobbled the bits down and meowed at me to say he wanted more.”
“Mayhap Dandelion is a growing kitten”—Tavis tapped Merry’s nose—“just as you are a growing girl.”
Tavis returned his daughter’s smile, but he looked as exhausted as Helena felt, with dark circles under his eyes. His face bore smudges of grime that hadn’t rinsed away despite his drenching in the bailey. Once he’d finished eating, Helena would order his bath and show him to the guest chamber Sylva had given him and Merry, so he could get some sleep. “—and Sylva promised the cook would set aside more chicken scraps for Dandelion. Is that not kind of her?”
Tavis chuckled. “He is going to become a pudgy kitten.”
“Father!” Merry grinned.
“If he eats too much, he might not be able to run as fast as he can now.”
The child appeared concerned and then shook her head. “He is a clever kitten. I am certain he will be all right.”
“I am sure he will, too,” Tavis said, winking at Helena. A heady tingle trailed through her as she smiled back.
“Dandelion is my best friend. Friends look after one another, right, Father?”
“They do indeed,” he murmured.
Helena stirred what was left of her porridge while fighting a tug on her conscience, for she sensed his words also encompassed what had happened between them years ago.
Helena finished her fare while Tavis and Merry talked about the child’s night spent in the guest chamber, where Sylva had watched over her and brought her warm milk when she’d had trouble sleeping. Tavis was a wonderful father. He listened to Merry, respected her opinions, and talked to her as if she were an equal—just as Helena’s sire had done with her when she was young.
Admiration and regret tangled up inside Helena. She didn’t want to like Tavis—not after her terrifying ordeal years ago—and yet, ’twas difficult to cling to her resentment. In him she saw elements of the hot-headed young man she remembered, but he was different, too—physically stronger, more controlled in his movements, and also more reserved. Mayhap that was because he’d become a husband and father. She wondered about the woman he’d married, who must be waiting for him to return to Galloway.
A touch on her arm drew Helena’s gaze to Merry, now standing beside her chair. Her gaze earnest, the child asked, “Would you like to see Dandelion?”
“I would.” Helena wiped her mouth on a linen napkin and then scooted her chair to the right so the little girl could move in closer to set the cage on the floor. Helena had seen plenty of kittens before, but didn’t want to hurt the child’s feelings by refusing. Glancing up, Helena caught Tavis’s gaze, warmed by amusement and also gratitude.
Merry’s small fingers worked the latch on the cage. “My kitten is a boy.”
“Dandelion is a very nice name,” Helena said.
“He can be a bit grumpy and stubborn sometimes,” Merry said, opening the door, “just like Da. ’Tis how I know Dandelion is a male.”
Helena giggled; she simply couldn’t help it. Tavis scow
led at her, but he truth be told, she saw mirth in his eyes, not disgruntlement.
“Da also checked, and said Dandelion has little ballocks. Right, Da?”
Tavis made a strangled choking sound and grabbed for his goblet of wine. His face reddened.
Pressing her hand to her mouth, Helena tried not to burst out laughing.
The little girl reached in and drew out the long-haired, orange and white kitten. Judging by his size, he could be no more than seven or eight weeks old. Merry cradled him in her hands and held him out to Helena. Looking up at her with wide blue eyes, Dandelion mewled, showing tiny white teeth.
“He is beautiful,” Helena said, running her hand down his back. “I love his coloring.”
Beaming, Merry leaned against Helena’s leg so she could lift the feline closer to Helena’s face. “Can you see his pink mouth? He looks like he is smiling.”
“I believe he is. He knows he is lucky to have you looking after him.”
“I hope he will like his new home in Galloway,” Merry said. “There are other cats there. He will find a wife, and they will have babies and will be a family.”
Helena’s heart constricted. What precious words. She studied the child’s tousled hair and solemn face and longed to slide her arm around the little girl. Yet, she barely knew Merry, and she had no experience as a parent. Tavis might not want to encourage affection between her and Merry when he was only at Kellenham for a short visit.
Helena glanced up at him. His expression betrayed anguish, before he pushed aside his porridge bowl. “Merry, we should take Dandelion outside so he can run and play for a while.”
“Aye, Da.”
“Sylva is sitting at that table on the right. Why do you not go and ask her to help you fetch the harness you made for him?”
Tavis watched as Merry bounded off the dais and went to speak to the maidservant. Sylva nodded, rose and, taking Merry’s hand, walked with her to the wooden stairs that led up to the chambers on the castle’s upper level.
“Merry is a sweet child,” Helena said, watching them as well.
“She got her looks from her English mother.” The familiar pain of loss gathered within him.
“Father told me that you had married. ’Twas a while ago, if I recall correctly.”
“Indeed ’twas.”
“Did you wed after you went to train in London?”
Astonishment trailed through him, for he hadn’t expected her to have remembered their first conversation. “I did go to London. I honed my fighting skills and earned a post as a personal guard to a high-ranking official of the King’s court. I enjoyed exploring London, but ’tis a dangerous, filthy, and crowded city.”
“It sounds as though you missed Galloway.”
“I did. There is a wild beauty to Scotland, a sense of freedom…” He shrugged. “I visited whenever I could, but my duties kept me busy in London.”
“And then you met Elyse,” Helena said.
He nodded, the agony within him deepening. “We were introduced at a Michaelmas feast held at her father’s keep in Northumbria. I was visiting my parents for a couple of sennights and decided to attend the celebration with them. Elyse and I got along well enough, and soon, she and I were formally betrothed. I left London and we moved to Galloway, to manage a small fortress at the northern corner of my father’s lands. Elyse and I were married almost seven years before she died.”
“I am sorry.” Genuine remorse shone in Helena’s eyes.
He drank a large mouthful of wine, the piquant red searing his throat as he swallowed. He hated the torment of remembering, and yet, for some reason, he needed Helena to know what had taken place. “Eighteen months ago, Elyse was with child—our son—when she started suffering great pain. The healer told her to stay abed, and she did, but…’twas not enough.” Memories of Elyse’s agonized screams, her anguished weeping, the metallic scent of blood-soaked sheets, accosted him, as if he were back at her bedside, holding her hand while tears streamed down his face. “She perished first. When he was finally born, our son…was dead too.”
“I cannot imagine enduring such loss,” Helena whispered.
Tavis wiped away a droplet of wine sliding down the side of his goblet. He had grieved for Elyse, as was right, since she’d been his wife and she’d given him Merry. He adored his little girl; she made his life richer in so many remarkable ways. Yet, he’d never experienced an intense, instinctive attraction to Elyse; not like he had with Helena.
For years, he’d thought he’d imagined the passion he’d felt for her. Meeting her again, though, had proven that it was undeniably real. Hellfire, it taunted him just sitting next to her. ’Twould do him no good to desire Helena, though, for he’d ruined his chances of wooing her long ago.
And yet, she was living with her father—not married and overseeing a household for her lord husband while raising their children. Such a situation was unusual for a lady of her age and noble rank.
“What about you?” he asked. “Did you wed?”
She toyed with the edge of her cloth napkin on the table. “Four years ago, I was betrothed. I had been engaged once before, but the young knight I was to wed became ill with a wasting sickness and died. My second fiancé was thirty years older than I, but he was kind, quick-witted, and vowed we would have a prosperous marriage.”
Tavis hadn’t heard of her betrothals before now. Jealousy gnawed at him, that another man had come so close to winning her. Yet, she’d said she was betrothed; that could only mean the second engagement hadn’t lasted either.
He resisted the urge to ask what had happened; instead, he forced himself to wait patiently for her to continue.
“Two days before we were due to wed,” she finally said, “he went to Carlisle to pick up my wedding ring; weeks ago, he’d taken me to the most expensive shop so I could choose the design I wanted. While returning to their horses, he and his guards were attacked by thieves. I was told he fought back, but they hit him about the head, rendering him unconscious, and stabbed him twice.”
“God’s blood,” Tavis muttered.
“His men rushed him to a surgeon, who stitched the wounds, but believed the best treatment for the head injury was to wait for it to heal. I journeyed to Carlisle, stayed with my younger sister who lives with her husband and sons on the outskirts of the city, and visited my fiancé every day. I talked to him, read from the surgeon’s collection of books, washed his face and hands.” She sighed, a sound laden with sadness. “He never woke. He died ten days later.”
Tavis squeezed her arm. How he yearned to embrace her, but he sensed she would not tolerate such forwardness from him when they were in the crowded hall.
Her green eyes glistening, Helena met his gaze. A kind of mutual understanding sizzled between them. The noise in the hall suddenly faded, until all that he sensed—all that he wanted—was her.
His gaze dropped to her lips, slightly parted. Her full mouth, the color of wild strawberries, was perfect for kissing. His heartbeat drummed in his chest. He longed to press his lips to hers, to taste her, to tempt her…
Through the haze of need, he heard Merry’s cheerful voice. He tore his gaze away from Helena, to see his daughter approaching with Sylva.
Merry held up the cloth harness. “I found it, Da. Will you come on the walk with me and Dandelion?”
Helena carefully shut the door to the solar. She’d decided to look in on her sire, only to find him asleep. His brow had felt awfully warm, but Delfina had told Helena that she’d be returning to the solar soon to give him more potions and broth, so he was being well cared for.
Yawning, Helena headed for her chamber down the passageway. She stepped inside the quiet room, still not used to its barrenness; she’d sold the carved oak wardrobe and Persian silk rug last week to help pay off her father’s debt, so all that remained were the bedside tables, the bed, and the painted linen chest that had belonged to her mother.
With a tired sigh
, Helena leaned back against the closed door and shut her eyes. So much had happened in less than one day. Did she dare allow herself to rest, or were more perils unraveling that she would have to overcome?
As she opened her eyes, water glinted across the chamber. A round wooden tub waited near the hearth. The bath looked so inviting, tears filled her eyes. She crossed to the tub, shedding her garments and leaving them in heaps on the floor. While Helena normally had a maidservant help her undress and bathe, after last night’s frantic pace, she was happy to have a few moments alone.
She sank into the warm water, glad to see that extra buckets had been left for her to rinse her hair once she’d washed it. Taking hold of the round cake of lavender and almond oil soap, she lathered it into a creamy foam and scrubbed herself from face to toes, and then washed her hair. What bliss, to banish the grime and soothe her strained muscles.
As she bathed, she couldn’t help thinking about Tavis. Had he returned from his walk with Merry, and now was sinking into the tub the servants had readied in the guest chamber? Was he savoring the soak as much as she was? How easily she imagined him running the frothy soap over his torso, and bubbles gathering on his wet skin—
Shaking her head, she abruptly stood up in the tub. Water running down her body, she dried off and slipped on a clean chemise taken from her linen chest. Lulled by the soothing sounds of the fire, she could no longer fight her fatigue, and she curled up on her side in her bed.
As her eyelids closed, she saw Tavis silhouetted against the burning stable and throwing water on the flames; Tavis looking at her intensely, as if what she said was important and necessary; Tavis tilting up his head as water tumbled down into his face…
A knock on her door startled her awake. She pushed up on one elbow, for she’d only just lain down…and yet, the fire in the hearth was no more than embers.
