“Aye, I thought it wafted up from you. What is it?”
“Something I was using to clean with.”
“’Tis rather foul. What was in it?”
“It might be best if you do not know.” She dragged herself out of his arms. “I know I should have bathed, but I could not. I am simply too weary. I will sleep on the far side of the bed.”
“That helps little,” he grumbled as he got out of bed.
She called him back but halfheartedly, then settled down to return to sleep. She knew she would feel bad in the morning about driving him from their bed, but at the moment she was too tired to care. Just as she was taking the last step into the recuperative oblivion of sleep, Thayer yanked the bedcovers off of her.
“What are you doing?” She tried to yank the covers back up, but he picked her up into his arms. “I want to sleep.”
“You are going to have a bath.”
“I should—I know—but I am too weary. I should likely fall asleep and drown myself.”
“Nay, there is little chance of that, for I intend to see to the chore myself.” He set her down next to the tub he had had brought in and filled.
Suddenly, she was awake enough to realize what was happening. “I smell that bad?”
“I fear you do, loving.” He laughed softly as he tugged her shift off.
Gytha was too tired to be embarrassed. Although she was still not quite comfortable when naked before him, her exhaustion subdued her usual modesty. Feeling as weak as some small, ailing child, she gave herself over completely to his care.
Thayer found the chore of bathing her a frustrating delight. It was a great pleasure to be allowed such freedom to look at her, to touch her. Yet, because of her weariness, he would not be able to ease the hunger such freedom stirred. At times he found the ease with which she could rouse his passion unsettling. For all its glory, it could only be called a weakness.
He watched as he moved his hand over her full breasts. Sighing, he decided she could produce that weakness in any man. It was hard for him to accept that he possessed such beauty. Each morning that he awoke to find her in his arms, he was surprised anew. That did little to ease the wariness that gripped him. He began to think he would never fully subdue it.
As he dried her off and slipped a clean shift on her, he had to smile. She was as good as blind drunk with weariness. Gently, he tucked her back into bed. Dousing the lights, he climbed in beside her, then tugged her into his arms.
“Ah, much better,” he murmured as he nuzzled her hair.
“I was that foul, was I?”
“Aye, you were. You are sweet of scent again.”
“Thank you, Thayer, and”—despite her state, she was aware of his arousal, of the need she was too tired to ease for him—“I am sorry. I am just too tired.”
He smiled crookedly. “You will be rested come the morn.”
“Well, aye, I will. So?”
“So, I can wait.”
“Oh.”
She fell asleep even as she laughed softly, surprising Thayer into an echoing laugh. However, he decided that she would not be allowed to exhaust herself so again. Not only his body’s needs prompted his decision. She risked her health. That was too precious a price to pay for cleanliness despite how good that cleanliness felt. Only half-jesting, he deemed his frustration too high a price as well. Closing his eyes, he reached out for sleep to deaden his unsatisfied needs.
Stretching langorously, Gytha watched her husband wash up. She decided that it was nice to wake to passion, to gently stroking hands and soft, heated kisses. The glow his lovemaking gave her could not even be dimmed by thinking of the work ahead.
“Now, Gytha,” Thayer sent her a stern look as he began to dress, “you are not to work so hard again.”
“Nay?”
“Nay. I understand the need to clean this sty. ’Tis clean now. What work remains need not be done as swiftly. Your good health is more important than any added comfort. S’truth, if you fall ill, you will only lose time.”
“Aye, you are right. I thought on that as I staggered to bed last night. T’was the filth. I could not bear it.”
