Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1)

by Cassidy Cayman

  Fay smoothed the sweaty strands of hair off Anne’s brow, hating to leave her alone and concerned about the reference to that elusive past illness. Fortunately, Marjorie came in with an old man who smelled reassuringly of herbs, so she hurried off to find out what getting a bath for Sir Tristan involved. All the rules of this time were going to make her eyes pop out. If someone was offended because a certain person didn’t order a tub of water brought into their room, she wasn’t going to last long before she offended someone.

  Well, Anne took it seriously, so she would try to as well. Finally, she found Batty running along a hallway.

  “Oh, goodness, I’ve been looking for you,” Batty said, skidding to a stop in front of her. “Marjorie said you’re to see to Sir Tristan’s bath in Lady Anne’s place?”

  News definitely traveled fast in this castle. “Yes, but I don’t know where he is, or who to—”

  “Everything’s ready, he’s only waiting on you.” Batty took her hand and dragged her in the direction she’d come running, then nodded at a closed door. She hid a smile behind her hand, her big eyes full of mischief. “Go on,” she said. “I want to hear everything afterwards.”

  With that, she took off again, leaving Fay to wonder if she ever walked at a normal pace and also what had made her become such a giggly schoolgirl all of a sudden. She knocked once, then twice, then pressed her ear against the thick door, wishing she knew if she should enter or wait to be called. Batty had said he’d been waiting, so when she didn’t hear anything, she pushed the door open and stepped in, bobbing a curtsey and keeping her eyes averted, positive she couldn’t be any more proper.

  “It’s about time,” he thundered.

  She heard a sloshing sound and looked up to see him standing in his tub, up to his knees in steaming hot water, completely and totally naked. “Holy God,” she said, averting her eyes again. But her eyes refused to be averted and made their way back up his powerful thighs, blinking furiously until they made it to his rippling stomach, muscular, bulging chest, broad shoulders—“Holy God,” she said again.

  That was twice she’d shamed Anne, but the words had just torn from her lips. How could he be so covered in muscle? Her brain begged her to look away so she could form coherent thoughts again. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a naked man before. She’d just never seen such a naked man before. And damn it, if she didn’t like what she saw.

  Rude, she reminded herself. He thought she was an idiot.

  He looked surprised to see her. If she was honest with herself, he looked downright horrified that it was her. But she’d already been through so much, she let herself believe he was only surprised. He finally eased himself fully into the tub, pulling his knees up to his chest so he’d mostly fit in it. At least the parts that were most distracting her were now covered.

  Bobbing another curtsey, she saw that he seemed to be in the bath, so assumed her duties as acting lady of the house were done. She started to edge slowly out of the room.

  “You can start with my back,” he said, his eyes closed and his head tipping forward. “I must admit I’m looking forward to this. It’s been ages since I’ve had a bath.”

  She heard him fine, but didn’t understand. Had he just asked her to start with his back? As in, move closer to him and place her hands on his body? Her fingers itched to do it, but she was absolutely certain he couldn’t mean it. The lady of the house was supposed to do this? Her mother—no, Anne’s mother, Sir Walter’s wife, was supposed to do this? And in lieu of that, the eldest daughter was supposed to take over? What kind of pervert era had she landed herself in?

  He cracked open those eyes that were so blue she could see their vivid hue from where she stood and turned to look at her. She remembered standing at the gates, wondering what color they would be, and then finding out at dinner. When she’d made a fool of herself. It seemed so long ago. A questioning look made the hard lines of his face soften for a second.

  “There are no married women to do this duty?” he asked.

  She honestly didn’t know, and wondered if Anne had gotten it wrong somehow and she wasn’t supposed to be here. As she continued to look at his rippling body, now steamy and dripping with moisture, she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t think a bulldozer could have moved her out of the room at that moment, she was so mesmerized by him.

  “Er, my—my mother passed away some time ago,” she said, not knowing exactly how long ago or if her explanation made any sense.

  “You are not Lady Anne,” he said. He didn’t sound outraged or offended, and like the idiot he must think her to be, she curtseyed again. It was her go-to for times of unease. “You’re the younger one, aren’t you? Fay? Like the wee folk.”

  Her stomach plummeted to hear him say that. Her aunt and uncle had always said that about her name, even though they knew full well it was a family name from her mother’s side. But they’d always said she was of the Fae and that the wee folk would come back for her one day. It had half-scared her and half-delighted her, thinking she might be a changeling child.

  “My sister is ill,” she said, managing to get a bit closer to him.

  “Yes, I saw. I hope she will recover.”

  “Of course she will,” Fay snapped.

  “Recover quickly is what I should have said. My apologies.” He leaned his head back and looked at her with a slight smile at the corners of his lips. “I really am sorely fatigued from the journey.”

  That snapped her back to her duties. She’d lather up his back and maybe wash his hair. It was already so pretty while coated in road grime and probably blood, she imagined it would be truly glorious when clean.

  Don’t get distracted by his hair, she told herself. Grabbing the rough block of soap, she dunked it in the tub, trying not to look at what lay beneath the water. Fortunately, he was so filthy, the water was already opaque. She should have been relieved, not disappointed.

  After rinsing away the first suds from his shoulders, she saw that the dried and caked on blood there was from a deep, jagged gash. “You’re hurt!” she exclaimed. She’d reopened the wound and now it seeped fresh blood down his arm. “Let me call for someone to help you. I think that will need stitches.”

  “My squire can do it,” he grunted. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

  She couldn’t help lean closer to the nasty wound, wondering how he got it. “What was the battle over?” she asked.

  “What is any battle ever over?” he said, sounding more annoyed than ever.

  She sighed, wishing he was easier to converse with. Anything to distract her from his muscles. “I guess land?” She carefully rubbed the soap on his shoulders and arms, really needing the distraction at that moment. He had so many muscles. She recalled he was there because he’d just come into land ownership himself, or whatever odd arrangement he had with the king and Sir Walter. “Dernier Keep? Is that the name of your property?”

  He swiveled his head to give her a dour look and she grimaced, sure she was supposed to be well acquainted with the name of the place. For all she knew, she’d been there before. She wanted to cover by asking more about the battle but it was clear by the set of his mouth that he wasn’t going to explain anything else to her. She rinsed the soap away, trying to keep the dirty water off his wound.

  It was then she noticed he was riddled with scars. A long, pale one down the length of his left bicep, several short, raised ones here and there on his back. A truly alarming one at the base of his neck, extending down across his collarbone. Without thinking, she ran her fingers along that one, giving herself a shiver of terror when goosebumps popped out on his arms from her gentle touch. Seeing his reaction gave her a reaction, deep in her core. She wanted to touch him more, but yanked her hand away, staring at the scar until her vision blurred.

  “Did someone try to cut off your head?” She wanted to die, realizing she’d, once again, spoken her inane thoughts out loud. But how could she be blamed? It was all so much.

  “Yes,�
�� he answered. “I’d love it if you washed my hair. I’ve grown itchy the last few days.”

  It was way too much. How could she survive in a time that was so violent? Where someone could be so matter-of-fact about almost having his head removed from his body? Her uncle had always tried to tell her of the fierce battles of this time, but she’d only been interested in the pointy hats and unicorns. Seeing the product of some of those battles right there in front of her slammed the reality of it home.

  Sir Tristan grunted again, this time tinged with impatience and she mentally shook herself. There was a bleeding man in front of her. She’d do the same as if she were confronted with such a thing back in her own time. She almost laughed at that. In her own time, she’d never be faced with a bleeding man. If she were, she’d call emergency and let the professionals deal with it.

  Now she found a stack of neatly folded linen towels and wrapped one around his shoulder as best she could, then rubbed the soap into his scalp.

  “Does it sting?” she asked as she massaged the greasy soap around, trying to work up a fresh lather. It was going to take a few passes to get all the grime off him. Not that she minded. The more she touched him, the less she wanted to stop. “The soap getting in the wound? I can wrap it more.”

  “It stung a bit when the sword sliced it,” he said. “The soap doesn’t bother it near as much.”

  She gripped two handfuls of his hair and counted to ten so she wouldn’t tear them out. Could the man answer a question without sounding like a jerk? She leaned around and saw he had a relaxed smile on his face. His eyes were closed so she wasn’t distracted by the piercing blue and the harsh lines of fatigue he’d had at supper were mostly faded. Perhaps he was only good-naturedly teasing her. Maybe that was what he’d been doing at supper as well.

  Didn’t boys tease when they liked you? Yes, she was reaching, but she couldn’t help her fierce attraction to this man and she’d feel better about herself if it wasn’t just an animal, physical attraction. She needed to fall in love, after all, and it had to be real. Not just a one-nighter because he was so hot. She slowly loosened her grip on his hair and resumed her massage.

  He sighed, long and low, sending a jolt through her. No, she didn’t mind that sound at all. She began to devise ways to make him do it again. Being careful of his wound, she kneaded the base of his neck.

  “Oh, that’s lovely,” he said, his relaxed smile growing wider. “I’ll start drooling in a second if you’re not careful.”

  She liked the idea of making him drool. Working her hands down his chest made her have to swallow hard a few times. She’d never given much thought to what massaging such a muscular man would feel like, but she found she liked it. She liked it a lot. After a bit, her back began to ache from leaning over and she wanted to keep rubbing him, for herself if nothing else. So she scooted closer and knelt down beside the big tub.

  Her heart sped up as she reached into the murky water. For the soap, only for the soap. The blocky bar slithered from her grasp and she chased it around under the water, bumping into his thigh with her fingertips. Her chin practically rested on his unharmed shoulder and finding it rather hard work washing this big man, she gave up and let it settle there for a moment.

  He turned his face, meeting her eye. He was so close she could have kissed away the drop of water that clung to his bottom lip. She gave up fruitlessly searching for the soap and let her fingers rest against his leg. The bristly hairs tickled her palm as she let it rest there and his gaze lowered to her mouth, then flickered back up. Was it a challenge she saw there? She wanted to accept if it was.

  She closed her eyes and, with a sigh, smoothed her palm upward along the broad length of his thigh. Both their breaths hitched. Before she knew exactly what had happened, she was in the tub with him. There’d barely been enough room for him and gray water sloshed over the side, splashing against the floor as noisily as if it had been a tidal wave.

  He spared a glance at the door, then gripped the sodden fabric of her gown, pulling her close now that he’d dragged her into the tub with him. She couldn’t breathe and didn’t care. If this was how this crazy dream ended, then even if she never woke up, it would have been the best one of her life. Except for the fact that she still had all her clothes on, which made her cry out with frustration. She laid her hands on his arms, mesmerized by the corded muscles as he held on to her so tightly.

  “What is this, Lady Fay?” he asked, lips so close to hers she felt his breath as he spoke. So close, but not close enough, damn it.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I fell into the water, it seems.”

  She was too close to really make out what flashed across his blue, blue eyes, but it looked suspiciously like dismay. God, she’d said something idiotic again, though she’d been trying to be coquettish and alluring. She should have told him she wanted him or kissed him. She really wanted to kiss him. She’d never been an expert in seduction in her own time. She’d certainly never given a total stranger a bath, nor taken such liberties with anyone. She’d never wanted anyone as much as she wanted Sir Tristan at that moment. A deep wash of embarrassment made her come very close to realizing she was in a dirty bathtub with her father’s guest of honor, about to bring scandal down on her house. No, not reality. Not now.

  “Yes, it seems you did,” he said huskily and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  He entwined his fingers in her braids with one hand and slid the other one sinuously down her back, settling her agonizingly close to his hard, so very hard and huge body. His lips pressed against hers as if his life depended on kissing her. At that moment, she thought her life did depend on it, she wanted him so much. All thoughts of destroying her new family’s good name were gone, sloshed out with more bathwater as he pulled her ever closer to his rock hard chest.

  His tongue dashed out, stroking her lip and causing a pure flood of sensation to course straight downward. There was no sense in being cautious now or trying to convince him she had any propriety, so she ground against him, aching to be rid of her waterlogged gown. Between that and the fact that his hands were turning her body to jelly, if he hadn’t been holding on to her, she would have melted beneath what was left of his bath by now.

  “I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he gasped, working her skirts up her legs. “If this is a scheme, I suppose I am caught.”

  “Not a scheme,” she breathed, letting her head tip back as he kissed along the side of her throat. “I’ve never done anything like this before. You’re just so … damn … hot.”

  She blushed at her brazen words, then frowned to realize he was no longer kissing her. She opened her eyes and saw him staring at her as if she were something foul. Which was saying something, considering what they were sitting in.

  “Of course you’ve never done something like this before,” he said accusatorily and, embarrassingly, tinged with disbelief. He stood up, hauling her with him. Stepping out of the tub, he shoved her away.

  She stood there dripping, beginning to shiver now that his warm body wasn’t pressed against her anymore. He reached for one of the linen towels and she stupidly expected him to hand it to her, but he only wrapped it around himself. He strode to the door and flung it open. She caught sight of Batty hovering around in the hall and the shivers came hard and fast, more from humiliation than cold, though it was plenty cold. The air around Sir Tristan was positively frigid as he stood waiting for her to leave.

  “Thank you for your service, Lady Fay. I’m done with you now.”

  The words felt like a slap and she hurried past him, not daring to look at him for fear she would burst into tears. She wasn’t sure what had gone wrong. Her insides swirled with a mixture of hurt feelings and confusion that quickly turned to rage at what he’d just said. How dare he?

  She turned to give him a piece of her mind, honored guest be damned, but he’d already slammed the door. It was difficult for her to remember that this time was different. What she’d taken to be an insta
nt attraction between two adults, he’d apparently seen as her acting like a whore. Her legs almost gave out as she pieced it together. She wanted to pound on his door and scream until he opened it so she could break his nose again for him. Batty’s astonished gaping stopped her from making a bad scene even worse.

  This was all her fault. Yes, she was stressed from being thrust into an unimaginably weird situation and, yes, the damn man was preternaturally attractive. She’d given in to her base urges and, for those few moments he’d reciprocated, it had been wonderful. Beyond wonderful. She didn’t know if she was more upset about his insults or that she wasn’t still making out with him. She bit back a sob as she followed Batty to her chamber, more than ready to be done with this day.

  “What happened in there?” Batty finally asked.

  Fay looked at the book, still resting on the desk, then at the bed. Her bed. How she wanted to fall asleep and wake up to find this was all a dream. “Nothing,” she sighed. Batty looked at her, unblinking, until she caved and blurted, “I made a huge mess of things. I’m positive I brought shame to everyone who lives here.”

  “Certainly not everyone,” she said, clearly trying not to laugh. “How terrible could it have been?”

  Fay shivered in her wet clothes. “After I was done, er, assisting Sir Tristan, I fell into the bath water.”

  “So you were a bit clumsy.” Batty shrugged. “It could happen to anyone.”

  “And I didn’t exactly get out right away.”

  Batty’s big eyes widened. “Were you hurt? Sir Tristan didn’t help you out?”

  Fay released a pent up noise, a guttural groan that perfectly described her tumultuous feelings. “He was in there with me.” Silence greeted that confession. Fay could tell Batty was going to short circuit from curiosity but was too polite to continue asking questions. Or too gobsmacked at the calamity Fay had gotten herself into. Her confession continued spewing out of her. “He kissed me. Or I kissed him. I’m still confused about that part.”