it. The purpose, after all, was to get the man clean, was it not? She dipped a small cloth into the little vat and conscientiously applied the soap in ever-extending circles beyond his shoulders and over the rugged ripples of his chest. The rumbling purr smoothed to contented breathing.
He leaned forward. Melisande applied the soapy rag to his back and the fascinating curve of his spine, now a ridge, now indented, as he flexed his body beneath the water. Impulsively she let a finger trace downward along that enticing valley.
She flinched at his sharp breath. She was no fool. She knew what that meant. That she was asking for trouble.
With a sigh, she reached for the dipper, to ladle clean water over his scalp. He leaned back his head for the water to pour through his hair, and the black hair glistened in the amber firelight.
He stood abruptly, with water running downward in rivulets, capturing all the black curls on his chest into undulating waves. Melisande whirled away, her mind already brimming with what her eyes had seen. She forced her gaze to the fire. His chest again rumbled with his humor as her face flared into raging red.
"The soap, Edyt."
"Aye." Edyt swung her arm around behind her and felt the weight of the soap pot leave her hand.
Like a cat which had misjudged its leap and pretended it hadn't, she focused a fervent interest on the flames, stirred the coals, threw on another fagot, all the while listening warily to the splashing and swishing behind her. At least he chose to wash the rest of his body himself.
Yet, she might have liked that too. Aye, to run soapy hands over those strong muscles–
A noisy surge and splash distracted her once again from her attention to the fire's embers. She turned, and instantly regretted it, for his fiery gaze transfixed her.
There he stood before her, utterly naked. Holy Mother! Was this the man she was expected to marry, all lean and muscled, black hair and skin glowing pink from the steamy water? Hard muscles to sweep her into his arms, carry her away whether she willed to go or not. Strong hands to pull her close, caress places she didn't want touched. And the other–
Melisande swallowed hard and broke the charm, lowered her gaze. But not far enough. Instantly she recognized her mistake and returned to the somewhat safer view of his face.
In his black eyes, she saw blatant, pure lust, as naked as the man himself. A man caught suddenly and unexpectedly in the rush of desire. She wanted to flee. Dared not.
With sudden, overwhelming clarity, Melisande understood she had been terribly wrong. All Normans were not alike, after all.
CHAPTER 5
Nay.
Alain forced himself to turn away. However he might want her, and he realized with a jolt like lightning that he did, he must be more responsible than that. He had pledged himself to fair treatment for all those of the hall, and what his mind and body were considering for her was anything but fair. It could ruin her. Destroy her. And he had grown to like the girl, melancholy though she was.
He had not thought of her in that way before this moment. It had come to him like a blow, when he had seen something akin to it in her own eyes. That made the attraction doubly dangerous. Not to him, but to her.
It would not do. Then in place of taking her into his arms, he reached for the soft linen cloth she had placed on the wooden bench, relieved that he did not have to take it directly from her. He made great work of the toweling off, even more of dressing, meaning to make the point clear to her that she could be safe with him. He had to make it equally as clear to himself.
Clothed at last, and relieved that his body had chosen to take the hint, he turned again to face her. In her hands she held the folded purple mantle as she walked toward the bath house's low door.
"Edyt. Where do you go with that?"
"I thought to take it to the fuller, lord. It needs to be cleaned."
"Does it? It does not seem dirty to me."
"It is the
He leaned forward. Melisande applied the soapy rag to his back and the fascinating curve of his spine, now a ridge, now indented, as he flexed his body beneath the water. Impulsively she let a finger trace downward along that enticing valley.
She flinched at his sharp breath. She was no fool. She knew what that meant. That she was asking for trouble.
With a sigh, she reached for the dipper, to ladle clean water over his scalp. He leaned back his head for the water to pour through his hair, and the black hair glistened in the amber firelight.
He stood abruptly, with water running downward in rivulets, capturing all the black curls on his chest into undulating waves. Melisande whirled away, her mind already brimming with what her eyes had seen. She forced her gaze to the fire. His chest again rumbled with his humor as her face flared into raging red.
"The soap, Edyt."
"Aye." Edyt swung her arm around behind her and felt the weight of the soap pot leave her hand.
Like a cat which had misjudged its leap and pretended it hadn't, she focused a fervent interest on the flames, stirred the coals, threw on another fagot, all the while listening warily to the splashing and swishing behind her. At least he chose to wash the rest of his body himself.
Yet, she might have liked that too. Aye, to run soapy hands over those strong muscles–
A noisy surge and splash distracted her once again from her attention to the fire's embers. She turned, and instantly regretted it, for his fiery gaze transfixed her.
There he stood before her, utterly naked. Holy Mother! Was this the man she was expected to marry, all lean and muscled, black hair and skin glowing pink from the steamy water? Hard muscles to sweep her into his arms, carry her away whether she willed to go or not. Strong hands to pull her close, caress places she didn't want touched. And the other–
Melisande swallowed hard and broke the charm, lowered her gaze. But not far enough. Instantly she recognized her mistake and returned to the somewhat safer view of his face.
In his black eyes, she saw blatant, pure lust, as naked as the man himself. A man caught suddenly and unexpectedly in the rush of desire. She wanted to flee. Dared not.
With sudden, overwhelming clarity, Melisande understood she had been terribly wrong. All Normans were not alike, after all.
CHAPTER 5
Nay.
Alain forced himself to turn away. However he might want her, and he realized with a jolt like lightning that he did, he must be more responsible than that. He had pledged himself to fair treatment for all those of the hall, and what his mind and body were considering for her was anything but fair. It could ruin her. Destroy her. And he had grown to like the girl, melancholy though she was.
He had not thought of her in that way before this moment. It had come to him like a blow, when he had seen something akin to it in her own eyes. That made the attraction doubly dangerous. Not to him, but to her.
It would not do. Then in place of taking her into his arms, he reached for the soft linen cloth she had placed on the wooden bench, relieved that he did not have to take it directly from her. He made great work of the toweling off, even more of dressing, meaning to make the point clear to her that she could be safe with him. He had to make it equally as clear to himself.
Clothed at last, and relieved that his body had chosen to take the hint, he turned again to face her. In her hands she held the folded purple mantle as she walked toward the bath house's low door.
"Edyt. Where do you go with that?"
"I thought to take it to the fuller, lord. It needs to be cleaned."
"Does it? It does not seem dirty to me."
"It is the
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