“Actually washed them?” she asked. “Rather than just poncing about in the water like a five year old?”
Nalyx glanced over at the women splashing about in the fountain and chuckled, the tension easing out of his shoulders. “Indeed.” Then he turned his attention back to the armour. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“My father taught me. I had three brothers,” she added, at his sceptical look. “And in our case, we came by our wealth through hard work and diligence, rather than luck or skulduggery. I wanted to learn what my brothers knew. And my father saw no harm in teaching me.”
“He sounds like he was a wise man.”
Gantalla smiled, and they stood there, staring at each other for a moment. But as she looked at him, in daylight now, rather than the dim light of the lanterns last night, more details about his appearance caught her attention.
“Would you like me to help you have a bath?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could think better of the idea. She was supposed to be leaving town and heading for Palashran, not finding new excuses to stay.
“What? Why would…?”
“You have a bit of blood in your hair,” she said, indicating her own hair, at the point where a streak of dull blue stained his scalp. And now that she thought about it, there was more dirt on him, on his neck, and trailing up his arm where he’d pushed the sleeve of his shirt up.
“Ah, fuck,” Nalyx said, noticing the dirt for the first time. “I was in the hospital all day yesterday. The nurses cleaned up the worst of it, but… Yeah, a bath would be great.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Last night…”
“You passed out almost as soon as we made it back to the room,” she said, anticipating his next question. “I slept on the floor.”
“Why? I mean, why didn’t you sleep in the bed?” he asked, when she looked vaguely affronted by his first question.
“It seemed presumptuous.”
He was looking at her strangely “So when you say you want to give me a bath…?”
“I want to help you wash the blood and dirt off.”
“Are you married?” he asked suddenly.
“No.” She offered no further explanation.
After a moment, he shrugged, though he seemed a little baffled by her reply. “Fair enough. But yes, I would definitely appreciate help with a bath. I’m not supposed to get my bandages wet,” he said, holding up his hands.
“Then I’d advise staying away from the fountain,” she said with a wry smile.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nalyx followed Gantalla across the courtyard towards the bathhouse, feeling a touch baffled about her behaviour. That she was going out of her way to be helpful wasn’t entirely a surprise – that was what the serving women were here for, after all – but the lack of flirting and her apparent disinterest in any more carnal activities was strange, along with the fact that she not only knew how to clean armour, but had gone to the effort to do so. Cleaning armour was one of the least enjoyable activities of being a warrior, and no serving woman he’d known had ever bothered in the past. So what did she actually hope to achieve with any of this, if not to persuade him to sleep with her? Not that he would have needed much persuading, but still.
As they passed the gaggle of women at the fountain, one of them called out to him, and he turned to see Liatra giving him a hungry stare. “Hey there, Nalyx,” she said, jutting one hip out and pressing her chest forward. “I missed you last night. You sure you don’t want to come andplay?”
“You’ll have to excuse us, ladies,” Gantalla replied before he could, sounding smug about it. “We’re just on our way to have a bath.” She looped her arm through his – his uninjured left arm, being careful not to jostle his bandaged hand – and tugged him away.
Nalyx followed her easily, grinning. But a moment later, his puzzlement was back. She’d made it clear she only wanted to help him get clean, but at the same time, that little exchange with the other serving women had been noticeably possessive. So did she like him or not? And last night – okay, so he’d passed out drunk, which was likely not an entirely appealing display – but she’d apparently decided to stay in his room, but not in his bed. Plenty of women would have happily slept in the bed, not only because it was more comfortable, but because they would have hoped that when he’d woken up, he could have been persuaded to have a little morning fun.
He was entirely unsure how to read her, and it was making him feel off balance.
Inside the bathhouse, Gantalla disappeared into the storage room to find soap and a handful of towels. When she returned, she set them on a nearby step, then turned to look critically at the wide tubs. “We’re going to have to keep your shoulder dry,” she said, almost to herself, then abruptly left again. But before he could spend too long wondering where she’d gone, she was back again, a short wooden stool in her hands. She lowered it into one of the tubs, setting it beside the wall. “How’s that? Good enough?”
“Should be fine,” he said. “But I think I have the same problem I had last night.” He held up his bandaged hands. “I’m not quite sure how to get my pants off.”
“Here, let me help…” Once again, there was nothing flirtatious in her manner, and for once, he was glad, as she carefully helped him remove his shirt, sliding his left arm out of it, then slipping it over his head, before being even more gentle about sliding it off his right arm. His shoulder was still aching, and the last thing he needed was to rip open the stitches thanks to a woman’s attempts to get overly amorous. Then, without any preamble, Gantalla undid his belt and the buttons on his pants, and slid them down his legs.
He’d managed to shove his feet into his boots this morning, but hadn’t been able to lace them, so she knelt down and tugged them off, before helping him step out of his pants. A heated comment was on the tip of his tongue, as he noticed that her head was now level with his groin… but before he could say anything, she stood up again, taking his arm in her hand.
“Careful as you step in,” she said, leading him to the edge of the tub. “You don’t want to slip and fall in.”
Feeling miffed all over again, he stepped carefully into the tub. But the instant he was thigh-deep in the warm water, all thoughts of flirtation disappeared as an entirely different physical pleasure engulfed him. Heat seeped into his aching muscles, and he sat down on the stool, groaning as the water rose to his waist. Gods, that felt good.
