That evening,two maids appeared at Eleanor’s chamber door, lugging a wooden tub and buckets of steaming water.
Beth stepped aside to let them in, rubbing her tired arms. Since moving into Eleanor’s room, she and Baldwin’s sister had spent several late nights tucked by the fire, spinning stories about their lives, one full of errant knights and chafing rules, the other of strange machines and freedoms Eleanor had only half believed.
The older of the maids set down her burden with a sigh of relief. “Bath for you, mistress. Milord said you’d want one before the royal visit.”
Eleanor was off somewhere practicing with her daggers in the yard, leaving Beth to entertain herself.
As the maids poured steaming water into the small wooden tub and dropped in a bundle of dried herbs that filled the air with lavender and mint, Beth’s heart squeezed with longing. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine steam swirling in her own tiny bathroom at home, the hiss of pipes, the familiar promise of clean.
“We’ll return within the hour, mistress,” the blond serving girl promised, bobbing a curtsy. “The water turns cold quick.”
When they’d gone, Beth eyed the bath. It barely looked large enough to sit in, but after days scouring garden beds and learning swordplay with Eleanor, it seemed like heaven.
As she stripped off her kirtle, the door pushed open with a clatter.
“Beth!” Eleanor marched in, brimming with restless energy. She froze, eyes darting from Beth in her shift to the steaming bath. “Ah, you’ve already begun.”
She tried not to look embarrassed, clutching her dress to her chest. “Your brother had the bath sent up.”
“He can be thoughtful.” Eleanor glanced at the tub. “I do bathe, of course, but not so oft as you, I suspect.” She arched a brow, teasing. “You’ve taken, what, three since you arrived? Saints, at this rate we will have to gather more firewood.”
Beth laughed. “In my time, most people bathe every day. Sometimes twice if they’ve been to the gym. You have no idea how much I miss hot showers.” Her tone turned dreamy. “Endless hot water, as much as you want, pouring from the ceiling. You turn a lever and torrents of clean water come down. Sometimes I’d stand under it for way too long, just letting the steam surround me, scrubbing away every trace of the day.”
“Every day? And so much water to spare? How does your skin not wilt?” Eleanor frowned.
“It’s glorious. I miss it almost more than coffee.” There was a screen set up in front of the tub, so while they talked, she’d undressed and climbed in the tub, sitting with her knees up. She quickly washed, not wanting the water to get cold.
Eleanor’s voice sounded equal parts disbelief and envy, as she said, “’Tis a luxury when we have more than one bath a fortnight.” She came around the screen, handing her something wrapped in cloth.
“For you. Rose soap from France. Baldwin brought it back for me last summer. There’s still plenty left.”
The sweet, delicate fragrance wafted up to her nose as she unfolded the package, breath catching. “Thank you. It smells so good.”
“And... wait.” Eleanor produced a ribbon of deep blue silk. “Wear this in your hair when you see the royal party. They’ll know you’re one of us.” She held it out with a small, almost shy smile.
That simple kindness nearly undid her. “I … thank you. Truly.”
Eleanor only shrugged. “I’ll put it with your dress.” Then her expression turned mischievous. “Try not to use up all the hot water. Cook will howl if she can’t boil her eggs at dinner.”
She paused at the door, glancing toward the wardrobe. “I had three gowns made for you. See if any please you for the feast.”
“You’ve been so nice to me.” Her voice caught.
Eleanor grinned as she turned to go. “A blessing on your bathing rituals.”
When she’d gone, Beth leaned her head back, ignoring the fact that her knees had to bend uncomfortably to fit. The water was heavenly, and the soap, a total luxury in this time, created a rich lather that smelled of summer gardens.
For the first time since arriving in this uncertain time, she felt almost normal. Almost at home.
The feeling didn’t last.
The next morning,she found Baldwin on the battlements, staring out over the lake. The wind blew through his hair, and his profile against the bright sky made her heart do that annoying little skip it had developed whenever she saw him.
He wore a sword at his hip, even here, the metal glinting in the sunlight. His tunic today was a rich burgundy heavily embroidered that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. Beth approached quietly, not wanting to disturb his thoughts, but he turned as if sensing her presence.
“You should not be up here,” he said, but there was no real rebuke in his tone. “The steps are treacherous.”
The stone beneath her palms was warm from the welcome sunshine. She leaned her elbows atop the weathered parapet, the scent of moss-and-rose climbing past her wool overdress. The blue-green fabric itched a little at her collarbone, but the linen shift underneath softened the worst of it. She’d pulled her hair into a messy braid, though wisps had already escaped to plaster against her temple in the breeze off the lake.
