Lucy nodded, looking somewhat like a kicked dog, and began to leave the room. Realizing that Frances wasn’t moving, she took the woman by the arm and practically yanked her from the room. Devereux stood there, waiting until she was sure they had gone, before moving to the wood and fabric screen that partially covered the privy and moving it to the open chamber door. Even if anyone entered the enormous chamber beyond, the screen provided some privacy.
With a heavy sigh, she looked around the small chamber as if gathering her thoughts. She noticed that the ladies had set out a sponge, a bar of white soap, a glass phial with some kind of oil in it, and a scraper. They all sat upon a small table next to the tub. There was also a robe of some fashion, white and fine, strewnacross a chair by the vanity. Throwing off her shoes, she pulled off her hose, pantalets and shift before plunging into the tub.
It was clean, hot and glorious. Devereux sighed with contentment as she went to work with the white bar of soap that smelled strongly of hyacinth. She washed her hair with it, twice, before moving to soap up her body. The tub was so big that she could move easily in it, submerging her head as she scrubbed every inch of flesh. Soon, the chamber was filled with the scent of flowers and it was into this lovely sanctuary that Davyss entered.
He had brought up her trunks, depositing them against the wall in the master’s chamber. Lady Lucy had told him, somewhat sadly, that his wife had not required any help with her bath, so he had come up personally to see if she was in any manner of distress. She seemed to be such a sensitive woman that he found that he worried for her moods and mental state constantly during this time of change. He didn’t want to see her upset, not even for a minute.
After setting the trunks down, Davyss removed his gloves, his plate armor, his hauberk and mail coat, and laid them carefully on the frame in the corner so any moisture would dry out. His squire would collect them later to clean them. In his breeches, sweaty tunic and massive knee-high boots, he went to the screen blocking the door and knocked on it.
“Lady de Winter?” he called softly. “May I enter?”
He could hear splashing before she answered. “Of course, my lord,” she replied, sounding rather breathless. “Please come in.”
He slid around the screen without moving it, his hazel eyes riveted to the figure in the enormous tub. As he approached, he could see that she was covering her chest with a piece of linen she had yanked off the side of the tub. He suppressed the urge to laugh at her but he couldn’t keep the grin from his face. He stood over the tub with his fists on his hips as if inspecting the entire activity.
“Well?” he said with mock sternness. “I hear you wish to bathe alone. Does that mean I cannot participate, either?”
She gazed up at him with the linen pulled up around her neck, unsure how to answer. “I… well, I suppose so. You are my husband, after all.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I know who I am,” he removed his fists from his hips and crouched next to the bath. “But you chased off Lucy and Frances. They are most distressed. They think you do not like them.”
She looked genuinely concerned. “I did not mean to distress them,” she struggled for the correct words. “I am simply unused to bathing with help, much less with the help of women I do not even know. I am more comfortable alone, ’tis all. Please tell them not to be distressed. It was not my intention to upset them.”
He smiled faintly. “I am sure they know that but I will remind them,” his smile faded as his gaze trailed to the linen covering her chest, the soapy water. “I told you that they would be your ladies-in-waiting. You will have to get to know them sooner or later.”
“I will. But right now, I would simply like to bathe without the assistance of strangers.”
His eyes lingered on the peaked nipples showing through the linen. “May I help you bathe? You know me, after all.”
The sheer tone in his voice made her blush to the roots of her hair; she may have been fairly naïve but she had heard that tone before, before he made love to her. “I am finished bathing, my lord,” she said, avoiding his eyes.
He leaned forward and took her in his arms, pulling her wet body up against his damp and dirty tunic. She shrieked.
“You are sweaty and filthy,” she pushed against him. “Now I will have to bathe again.”
He laughed softly, released her, and yanked off his tunic. The gleam in his eye was strong. “Exactly.”
The tub was big enough for two; before Devereux could protest, Davyss pulled off his boots and breeches and plopped his enormous bulk into the tub. Water sloshed all over the floor and Devereux yelped as a tidal wave engulfed her. As she wiped the water from her eyes, there was a white bar of soap thrust in her face.
“Here,” Davyss said. “You may wash me so I am not so offensive.”
She blinked the water from her eyes and hesitantly accepted the soap. “But it smells of flowers,” she cocked an eyebrow at him. “You are going to smell like a woman.”
“Would you rather me smell of horses?”
“Nay.”
“Then wash me.”
After a few moments of reluctance, she did as he asked. Davyss closed his eyes as she crept forward in the tub, planted herself between his massive legs, and began to soap him. She started with his dark hair, rubbing soap into it and creating white froth with her fingers as she worked it in. As Davyss sat there, still as stone, he could tell she was very hesitant. Her fingers were unsure, as she had never done this sort of thing before, and he could tell she was somewhat embarrassed and uncertain. But at least she was willing to try. He felt a good deal of confidence in that, confident that their new beginning was working. After the bumps of the past day, he sincerely hoped so.
He lifted his head, eyes still closed, as she soaped his face and neck. The more she worked, the more sure her fingers became. By the time she reached his hairy chest, she was soaping him quite vigorously. He grunted when she came to his belly, twitching, and she abruptly stopped and looked at him.
“What is wrong?” she asked, concerned. “Did I hurt you?”
He grunted again and shook his head, his eyes still closed. “Nay.”
She eyed him as she went back to work, watching him twitch again as she soaped his ribs. She paused, he stopped twitching. Then she started again, stronger than before, and watched him shudder uncomfortably. It took her a moment to realize that he was very ticklish. She stared at him, the mere notion that the most powerful knight in the realm was ticklish overwhelmed her thoughts. She fought off a grin, then laughter, as realization dawned. Suddenly, she dug both hands into his ribs and tickled mercilessly. Davyss groaned and grabbed her by both wrists in his iron grip.
