Daring Damsels

by Domning, Denise

  The steward groaned. “Not again, sweetum.” He waved a feeble hand. “Three times in one night—”

  “Winton.”

  The steward’s eyes flew open. “Milord?” He pushed the young woman aside, sat bolt upright on his pallet, then yanked at his creased tunic. “Lord Linford, you woke early.” He ran his hands over his balding head. “After your nuptials last eve, I did not think—”

  Fane bit back a rush of irritation. “Lady Linford wishes to bathe. Rouse the servants. Make sure she has all she needs.”

  Winton nodded profusely. The maidservant beside him stirred and shoved hair out of her eyes. As she turned sleepily to reach for Winton, her gaze met Fane’s.

  She scrambled to her knees. “Milord!” She winced, clutching her brow as though enduring a fierce headache.

  As the woman fumbled with her gaping bodice, Fane glanced across the hall. The first blush of dawn tinged the sky beyond the high, horn-covered windows.

  Today was his first day as a husband. His first day married to Rexana. He wouldn’t waste a single moment.

  Today, he would make her his.

  He turned away. “Winton, see that our guests break their fast and leave. I want the hall and bailey cleared by midday.”

  “I will see it done. Personally. First, I will arrange the lady’s bath.”

  “Good.” Fane took two steps, then spun back. He curled his fingers against a pressing surge of emotion. “Lady Rexana may do as she pleases in my household. She is to be shown all the courtesies and granted all the privileges due to her as my wife.” Fane held Winton’s gaze. “She is not, however, allowed to visit the dungeon.”

  “As you command, milord.”

  “If she wants to see her brother,” Fane muttered, “she must come to me.”

  Rexana was leaning out of the solar’s open window, peering up at the lightening sky, when a knock rattled the door.

  She jumped and fell back against the stone embrasure. Pressing a hand to her throat, she laughed at her skittishness. How foolish to startle. Fane wouldn’t return until after she’d bathed and dressed.

  She hurried across the chamber to open the doors. Three servants stood in the passage. A middle-aged woman with graying hair and arms as thick as trees stepped forward. Barely visible behind her, the other two maidservants looked scarcely older than girls. They clutched towels and stood with downcast eyes.

  “Me name is Tansy, milady.” The older woman tipped her head to the girls. “Nelda. Celeste. We were sent ta help ya with yer bath.”

  Rexana motioned them inside. Tansy plodded around behind the screen, pulled out the tub, and set it near the fire.

  She clicked her tongue. “’Is lordship skipped ’is bath this morn? ’Tis the first time since ’e came ta Tangston.”

  Rexana wet her lips. “I believe he will bathe later, when I am done.”

  Tansy grinned, revealing the gap between her front teeth. “Mayhap this day, ’e will ask me ta scrub ’is back again. Scarred or no, ’tis a fine bit o’ male flesh.”

  Annoyance skittered through Rexana. This woman bathed Fane? Touched his skin? How often?

  “I did not realize he had help with his daily bath.” She couldn’t school the tartness from her voice.

  Tansy’s wrinkled face flushed. “I do not wash ’im every day. Only when ’e asks me. ’Tis usually the morns when ’e’s tired. Did I tell ye I was in charge of ’elpin’ Tangston’s previous lord with his baths, afore the king sent ’im off to another keep?” Her bosom swelled with pride. “I do me job well. Sheriff Linford said.”

  Inwardly, Rexana groaned. She couldn’t brush aside an image of Fane sprawled in the tub, with Tansy’s soapy hands sliding over him. Jealously flared. How ridiculous. Mayhap the bath was not such a sound idea, after all.

  Another knock shook the doors. Tansy’s eyes brightened. “The water.” Her shoes slapped on the floorboards and she yanked open the doors. Boys staggered in with filled, steaming buckets. “Be quick now. We do not want ’er ladyship ta catch a chill, especially the day after the weddin.’ ’Is lordship wants ’er good and hale fer a few sennights, at least.” Tansy winked.

  The young girls glanced at the mussed bed, then smothered giggles behind their hands.

  Rexana’s eyes narrowed. Were the servants privy to information of which she was unaware? Why was she, the lady of the keep, not told? “Why the next few sennights?”

  Tansy smiled. “Why, ta get ye with child, milady.”

  Rexana gasped. “With child!”

  The boys, emptying their buckets into the tub, glanced up and scurried away. More young men appeared with water. As she stared at the water’s glinting surface, a tremor shot through her.

  Of course Fane wanted a child. An heir of noble blood. A son. He wanted to secure his claim to his lands and keep, as quickly as possible.

  Foolish, giddy joy unfurled within her at the thought of bearing a babe. She snuffed the thought. No wonder Fane was so determined to couple with her. She must work harder than ever to resist him, to ensure she didn’t receive his seed.

  She would never win an annulment if she carried his babe within her womb.

  Shuffled footsteps approached. Tansy patted her arm. In a motherly tone, she said, “Do not fret, milady. I pray I do not speak out o’ station, but there are many women at Tangston who ’ave birthed strong and ’ealthy sons. I meself ’ave lived through three ’usbands and eight squawlin’ babes. I will gladly ’elp ye with questions and the like.”

  Rexana drew a shaky breath. “I . . . ah . . . Thank you.”

  With a sharp cluck, Tansy sent the boys scampering into the corridor. She ordered Nelda to shut the doors, then caught Rexana’s hand. “Let us wash ye clean and ready ye for the day.”

  Protest bubbled in Rexana’s throat. The spicy tang of Fane’s soap surrounded the tub as though the essence had seeped into the wood, a reminder she was about to partake in one of his private rituals.

  Yet, as she approached the steaming water, need blossomed within her. She loved leisurely soaks. She always felt refreshed afterward, as though she’d revitalized her spirit. Since her parents’ deaths, there had been few moments to savor a bath.

  She allowed Tansy to whisk off the shift and help her into the tub.

  “No bruises,” Nelda whispered.

  “No marks at all,” Celeste said, sounding astonished.

  Rexana looked at the girls, who quickly lowered their gazes. Frowning, she sluiced water over her arms and throat. “Bruises? Marks? Whatever do you mean?”

  Tansy grunted and knelt beside the tub. When the girls didn’t answer, she snapped, “Tell ’er ladyship. What nonsense do ye chatter?”

  Nelda fingered a washcloth. Her cheeks stained pink. “His barbaric lust—”

  Rexana’s shock quickly transformed to sadness and regret. The maids had expected to see that Fane had mistreated her. She stared at the ends of her hair, dripping water like tears. How could these women think aught else? They knew only hurtful gossip. They didn’t know he had spared her virginity last eve, or of the gentleness he’d shown her through his kisses.

  Tansy’s palm slapped the water. “Ye ’ave upset ’er ladyship. Ye will get a whippin’, if ye are not careful.”

  Nelda’s shoulders shook. “I am sorry, but others said—”

  Tansy wagged the soap in the air as though it were part of her fleshy hand. “I ’ave known all kinds o’ men in me two score and four years. While the sheriff may look fierce, I vow ’e ’as a gallant ’eart.” Shaking her head, she plunged the soap into the tub. “Look at ’er ladyship. Does she not look ’ale? She ’ad color in ’er cheeks, until ye spoke so.”

  “Milady,” Nelda whispered, “I apologize.”

  The maidservant’s quivered words poked at Rexana. She might only be married to Fane for a brief while, until her brother was free, but she wouldn’t allow her relationship with Fane to be stained by rumor and falsehood.

  She raised her chin and held Nelda’s
gaze. “We will not speak of this matter any more. You will also tell the others—whoever they may be—that the sheriff has shown me only courtesy and respect. Do you understand?”

  “A-aye, milady.”

  Tansy snatched the washcloth from Nelda. As water sloshed over Rexana’s back, followed by the slightly abrasive cloth, she closed her eyes. Soap glided over her back. With a sigh, she leaned into Tansy’s skilled scrub.

  The familiar scent of lemon and spices enveloped Rexana. Coaxed. Tantalized.

  Tansy used Fane’s soap.

  Rexana’s belly tightened. She would smell him on her skin for the rest of the day. The clever woman branded her with his scent. Had Fane asked her to?

  She scooted out of reach. “There is no other soap?”

  “Only the coarse one the servants use. ’Tis not fit ta use on yer delicate skin.” Tansy’s brow creased with a puzzled frown. “Ye do not like this one, milady? ’Tis ’is lordship’s, and a fine quality.”

  Goose bumps prickled on Rexana’s skin. She tried to ignore the image of Fane sliding into the tub beside her. Of his tanned hand touching her damp skin. Of his mouth, lowering to hers for a kiss. “The scent is a man’s, not a lady’s.”

  Tansy’s eyes glowed with years of womanly wisdom. “Ye want a perfume ta entice ’is lordship? Next market day, I will send one o’ the girls ta buy ye some pretty smellin’ soaps. Mayhap gilly-flower or lavender?”

  “Aye,” Rexana said.

  “Very well, milady.” Her lips pursed, Tansy resumed scrubbing.

  Smothering a groan, Rexana closed her eyes, blocked the soap’s scent from her mind, and focused on finishing her bath as quickly as possible.

  Fane sensed the moment Rexana stepped into the bailey. Just as he relayed final orders to Kester, awareness thrummed through Fane’s body. His words vanished mid-sentence. He turned, slowly, to look toward the forebuilding.

  Rexana stood with one hand on the open door. The morning sunlight seemed to brighten, as though she were a precious jewel which caught its light. The breeze stirred her loose, damp hair and the hem of her cinnamon colored gown. Dogs barked across the bailey and, as she turned to glance in their direction, the sapphire on her finger glowed.

  Warmth rushed through him. Appreciation. Lust.

  Now, and forever, lovely Rexana would belong to him.

  Kester cleared his throat.

  Without looking back, Fane muttered, “You know what to do?”

  “Aye, milord. I will get the information you seek.”

  “Good. I await word of your findings,” Fane said. Today, in keeping with his pledge to Rexana, Kester and the men-at-arms would question the local tavern owners and cotters about Rudd.

  When the men returned, though, Fane expected the evidence to prove not that Rudd was guiltless, but that he was involved in the rebellion.

  As Rexana watched the dogs chasing a stick, she tucked hair behind her ear. Fane felt the gesture like a caress upon his skin. His gut tightened. Whatever his men found, he wouldn’t allow her brother’s actions to undermine her budding sexual interest or the rich, soul-deep love the marriage promised.

  He wouldn’t allow her untamed passions to wither like a thirsty flower.

  Fane headed toward her, gravel skidding under his boots. With each stride, his anticipation heightened. Rexana still hadn’t seen him. She now seemed to be assessing the bailey and its slate-roofed buildings and working servants. Her gaze shifted to the children splashing in a pool of muddy water by the well, and her mouth softened into a smile.

  As he approached, her gaze darted to him. She stiffened, as though she gathered up her fortitude like a battle shield.

  He pretended not to notice. “You look well, love. You enjoyed your bath?”

  She nodded. “Tansy will draw yours, when you are ready.”

  “I will bathe now. I do not wish to delay our departure.”

  Rexana turned more fully toward him. Sunlight played over her cheek and her lips’ rosy sweetness. “Where will we ride?”

  He smiled. “A special place.” A place where you and I can be alone. A place where I can woo you, and begin to sway your heart. A place where you will become mine.

  “While I bathe, will you go to the kitchens? The cook is waiting. He will show you the cooking area and storerooms, then will ask your favorite dishes so he may prepare them. He also has a package waiting for us.” Holding her gaze, Fane raised her fingers to his mouth to place a slow, wet kiss on her palm. “I will meet you at the stables.”

  She shuddered and withdrew her hand. “Very well.”

  Mischief pricked him. He wanted to see her eyes flash with spirit. To see her cheeks pinken with awareness. To prove she wasn’t immune to her desire.

  He trailed his fingers across her shoulder, was rewarded by her ragged intake of breath. “Before you go,” he murmured, “we must seal our arrangement. I shall kiss you.”

  A faint grin curved her lips. “I am out of kisses today.”

  Before he could draw her into his arms and prove her wrong, she spun away and headed across the bailey.

  He laughed. “We shall see,” he called after her.

  She flicked her hand at him, as though whatever tactics he tried, he wouldn’t be able to change her mind. As his laugher faded, he folded his arms over his chest. Leaned a shoulder against the forebuilding’s rough wall. Watched sunlight dance over her hair and her hips sway beneath the well-cut silk.

  Pleasure stirred within his soul. Knowingly or not, she had taunted him. Challenged him. Dared him to try to get another kiss.

  He intended to have it.

  And a whole lot more.

  Rexana fingered hair from her brow and looked out across the fields that stretched either side of the road like folds of sumptuous green silk. A stream glinted amongst the grass and wildflowers. Excitement quickened her pulse. What a glorious place. She itched to jump from the mare’s saddle and run to the sparkling water. To plunge her hands into the swollen pool caught between large rocks. To lie back in the cornflowers and daisies and feel the sun shine on her face.

  As though sensing her mood, Fane swiveled in his saddle to look back at her. “This place pleases you?”

  She nodded eagerly.

  He smiled. “I thought you would like it. We will stop at the stream.”

  As he turned to relay orders to the guards riding ahead and behind them, Rexana glanced back at the fields. His gaze had held a heat even bolder than the sun’s, a fire that had rippled through her like light on water. Would she ever become immune to his sinful looks?

  Birds twittered from the grove of aspen and birch ahead. The bright song called to her. Tugged at the wildness in her soul. The part of her that vowed she would never belong to Fane.

  She tightened her grip on her mare’s reins. “I will meet you at the stream,” she called.

  Fane looked over his shoulder. “Rexana?”

  She kicked her heels into her mount’s sides. The horse bolted, plunging into the sea of grasses, flowers, and floating dandelion spores. With a delighted laugh, Rexana bent against the horse’s damp neck and let the animal canter.

  Grasses swished against her ankles and the hem of her bliaut. Seed pods snapped. Yellow butterflies and honeybees whizzed into the air. Rudd’s brooch, pinned to her bliaut, thumped against her skin. With her palm, she pressed the brooch against her heart. She inhaled the scents of crushed grass and rich earth and sighed with pleasure.

  Filtering out the meadow sounds, she listened. She expected to hear Fane’s bellow. Anticipated the thunder of his destrier’s hooves as he pursued her. Yet, she heard only her own rasped breaths and the mare’s pounding hoofbeats. She shrugged off unexpected disappointment.

  With encouraging words and pats, she guided the horse to the stream bank. Drawing the sweat-lathered animal to a halt, she dismounted, then led it down to the water for a drink. The muddy shore was sprinkled with stones, worn as smooth as old coins. The horse walked into the shallows and drank.
Loosening her hold on the reins a fraction, Rexana stooped to pick up a pale pink rock. It glittered in the sun’s light, as though peppered with stars.

  Hoofbeats and a horse’s breathy snort came from behind her. She glanced at the field. Fane rode toward her. Alone. The guards, she noted with a quick glance, stood in the birch’s shade and watched the road.

  She braced herself against the fury she expected to see in Fane’s gaze. Yet, he regarded her with wry amusement. Before his mount even came to a complete halt, he kicked his leg over and slid from its back.

  He landed in the grass with effortless grace. The grace of a hardened warrior who had spent half of his life upon a horse, and who knew victory in battle. The grace of a man who believed himself in complete control of a situation.

  Fane caught his horse’s reins. As he led the destrier down to the stream, his boots crunched on the stones. The huge beast splashed into the water beside the mare, bent its head, and drank.

  “You ride like a meadow sprite,” Fane said, not looking at her. “I would be wise to remember that.”

  His hair, stirring in the breeze, lifted from his forehead in shiny strands. She resisted staring at his handsome profile. Resisted the glow of pleasure that his words sparked. “I ride as I please.” She dropped the pink stone into the mud, then wiped her hands on her skirt. “You are not angry that I rode off?”

  “Why would I be?” He looked at her. “My horse can easily outrun yours. I could have caught you, if I had wished.”

  The peculiar disappointment returned. “You had no wish to pursue me?”

  “You did not wish to be caught.” His voice lowered. “When you want me to capture you, little fig, I will.”

  His words shivered through her. She laughed, a harsh sound. “When will that be? Today? Tomorrow?”

  His smile became a sensual grin. “I do not know, love. Yet, I vow ’twill be soon. Your body, heart, and soul cry for our union. Aye?”

  Fie! How could he read her so clearly, as though she laid herself bare to his scrutiny? How did he spy upon her feelings?

  Her face burning, she turned her back to him and tugged on the mare’s reins. She led the animal out of the water and up to the grass where it began to graze.