What is lost will be found again.
She had also warned him that fate would bring a rare kind of warrior to breach his fortress. He’d sneered at that. His castle, even unfinished as yet, was impenetrable, the outer walls thick, high and well guarded. Still…perhaps he should post additional men in the forest around his property.
Thierry interrupted his thoughts. “I don’t know why you took the old crone’s predictions so to heart. I wager she says the same to everyone.”
“But this marriage will change my life. It is a new path. A wife marks the beginning of decrepitude. She’ll make demands on my time and attention. She’ll fill this castle with other women and sickly sweet smells.”
Thierry sighed. “So what shall I do with her now? Can’t very well leave her out in the yard on a night like this.”
“You can find a place to put her can’t you?” he snapped. “Until tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course, if you wish it.” Half turned away, Thierry paused. “She’s a fine looking wench.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”
“Dark blonde hair, delicate features, big brown doe-eyes and lovely…” Hands raised to cup the air, Thierry stopped just short of finishing his sentence. He grinned broadly. “Ripe as two plums about to fall before they’re plucked.”
Guy gave a small grunt of dour amusement and swigged the rest of his wine.
“Oh and the lady has requested a bath. It seems the dirt of her journey must be scraped off before she feels presentable for her new lord and master, although I couldn’t see anything wrong myself.” Thierry paused, grinning. “That’s what I came to tell you.”
“Hmm.” Guy was studying his empty cup, scratching his chin.
“About the bath. I’ll have it set up for her in the cookhouse shall I?”
“Hmm.”
Thierry nodded and hurried out, chuckling at his friend’s lack of interest.
Guy looked again at his found stone and slowly closed his fist around it.
* * * *
By the time Sybilia was done, the bathwater was cold, but Deorwynn threw an extra hunk of dry wood on the fire beside it and stepped into the vacated tub with a sigh of contentment. For once she would bathe without a grave-faced nun standing by to be sure she wasn’t tempted to touch herself under the water. Furthermore, tonight she would bathe naked, without the under-shift the convent girls were forced to wear. Another step on the path to freedom, she thought merrily, sinking down into the water.
Sybilia had gone grumpily to bed, insulted that her future husband had no time for her tonight. Relying on her “handmaiden” to empty the bathwater and fold up her clothes, she’d left the cookhouse with one sour warning. “Don’t wake me with your cold feet in my back when you come to bed. It seems we must share as they haven’t readied a proper lady’s chamber for me yet.”
For now Deorwynn was blissfully alone. The cookhouse was silent, warm and empty, the doors bolted, a guard posted outside. No one would interrupt her. A rare, precious treat indeed. Eyes closed, she hummed softly, lathering herself with the little cake of waxy herbal soap that Sybilia left behind. Now to conjure her dream lover, the fantasy she’d created to help stave off the boredom of life in the convent.
Slowly she slid her hands down her belly, arching her back with a deep sigh of delight.
* * * *
Guy Devaux put his eye to the peephole and couldn’t believe what he saw. His innocent, virginal bride touched herself intimately, her knees spread, eyes closed. Although her honey streaked hair was tied up out of the water, waving locks tumbled down to her shoulders, the ends dampened in the cloudy water, sticking to her pale skin. The song she hummed was no church music, but a popular country ballad with saucy words. He’d heard it sung before—usually by drunken peasants on feast days.
She worked her arm faster under the water. Larger waves now slapped the sides of the tub and over the edge, making puddles on the stone floor. Her tongue, pink and wet, slid over her lower lip as she let out a mewl of excitement, her cheeks glowing, another lock of hair slithering free from its loose binding.
When he came there to look at her, he expected nothing much, especially considering the peevish temper he was in. It was only out of duty that he came to see his bride, knowing Thierry expected him to make use of the side door and the convenient screen of drying hides. Should Guy not go to see his bride bathe, the other men might hear of it and think there was something amiss with him.
Expectations low, he first put his eye to the hole just as she lowered into the water. Of course, Thierry had told him she was a beauty, but he could have said that as a joke or even just to be polite. After all, Sybilia Senclere was merely a good political match for an upstart like Devaux; he didn’t expect their union to ignite any passionate fires.