Rowena closed her eyes briefly in regret that she would not be granted a reprieve from that after all. She heard one of the daughters giggle, then a stern admonishment from the lady tutor, and felt herself blushing. Everyone there would have had to be blind not to notice how Warrick’s attention returned to her throughout the meal. And anytime a lord singled out one of his female servants for his notice, she was almost guaranteed to end up in his bed—or so they would all think. That was not the rule in her case, for she had already suffered that unpleasant experience. But they did not know that she was being punished, rather than favored.
She left the hall quickly, just to get away from those cold silver eyes. She found Mary in the kitchen having dinner with her husband, and was reminded that she had not eaten yet herself. But when was she supposed to have time to eat, with all the duties that had been given to her? Obviously not today—but then, today was an exception, with three days’ cleaning to do, and she had started late—and he could not want a batheverynight.
Mary merely explained how Rowena was to see to her present chore herself, while she continued to stuff succulent pieces of roasted partridge in her mouth, and Rowena’s belly rumbled in complaint at being allowed only the scent of food. She learned she was not expected to carry in the large tub that was stored in the small antechamber outside the solar, where Warrick’s squires slept, for in the summer he bathed in there. Nor did she have to lug in the many buckets of water, and was shown which menservants had that duty so she would be able to command them herself next time. She was told where to find the bath cloths and soap that were only for the lord’s use. She was warned the lord liked his bath very warm, but not very hot, and that the temperature would be her responsibility, and was worth a slap if she got it wrong. Another worry she could have done without but should have expected, for most knights reacted violently to the smallest discomfort, and woe betide whoever was closest to them when they did.
It was maddening to have to cross the length of that hall again just to reach the solar. But Warrick seemed not to notice her this time. And although she glanced at him every few steps she took, to comply with his unreasonable order to watch him always, she could not be expected to stare at him as she walked and not run into something. Could she?
She assumed not, for she was not called to account for watching her own step, and once in the antechamber outside the solar—she came face-to-face with Celia.
She knew exactly who the young woman was by her vivid beauty, and by the pure hatred blazing from her green eyes. She wore both her bliaut and her chemise cut low to show off her ample breasts, and her wild mane of copper curls gave her an untamed sensuality that any man would find challenging. The yellowing teeth were barely noticeable, but the overwhelming scent of roses was almost gagging. The woman was obviously under the mistaken impression, as were a great many nobles, that sweet perfumes could mask uncleanliness.
Celia did not mince words, but went right to the attack. “I know ye—you were in the dungeon. What did you do to get out of that punishment and be so favored? Did you spread your legs for him? Did you get on your knees and—”
“Take your filthy mouth and get out, Celia!”
Green eyes flared incredulously. “Ye—you dare speak so to me? Me?!”
Just what Rowena needed, a fight over a man she despised. It was almost laughable. And to be thought favored? To be envied her hateful duties? God’s mercy, what next? But the arrogant attitude of the woman was annoying, reminding Rowena of what Mary Blouet had said of her. Celia had obviously let her position as the lord’s favorite go to her head, giving her a haughty condescension that was inappropriate in a servant. And shewasjust a servant, no matter that she was trying to better her speech so as not to sound like one.But so are you—for now, Rowena reminded herself.So what right do you have to take exception at another servant’s audacity?
That realization, unfortunately, did not keep the sarcasm from her tone when she answered. “I believe I can speak to you as I please, Celia. Am I not the one presentlyfavored?”
That got her a slap that was wholly unanticipated, and a vicious rejoinder. “Not for long, bitch. Remember that when he gets tired of yer pale, skinny body, for I will be making ye sorry then that ye thought to take my place.”
Rowena was too stunned to say a word as Celia flounced out the door. She had never been slapped before, never in her life, and ’twas definitely not pleasant. But she supposed that was one other thing she would have to get used to here, for what recourse did she have, particularly if the abuse came from Mistress Blouet, who had the care and discipline of her, or Warrick himself? But from another servant? Nay, she did not have to take that—only from that particular servant, she still had no recourse. She could just imagine Warrick’s reaction if she tried to slap his “favorite” back. And Celiaknewthat. ’Twas why she got away with her appalling behavior.
The menservants began arriving with the water. Rowena went to fetch the bath cloths and soap from the appropriate chest in the solar. But she brought an extra washing cloth to dip in the cold water and place on her cheek. It relieved some of the heat, and the red mark was partially faded by the time Warrick sauntered in.
He looked first at the tub with steam slowly rising from it. It had taken every bucket of hot water to warm all the cold that had been dumped in when she was not watching, leaving her only cold water to rinse him with. She had been about to order more hot when he arrived, but his presence put the thought right out of her mind, especially when his eyes glanced at her and narrowed on her cheek.
He came right to her then and lifted her chin. “Who hit you?” he demanded.
“No one.”
“You lie, wench. What did you do to cause Mistress Blouet displeasure with you already?”
Why did he immediately assumeshehad to be at fault? She ought to tell him the truth, except the slap was no more than she deserved for slipping down to Celia’s level. But she knew full well he would do naught if he knew ’twas his precious Celia, and for some reason that hurt more than the slap had.
So she lied, and found it quite satisfying to do so in this particular instance. “I merely tripped, because I could not watch my step in the hall for being ordered to watch you.” And he had not been observing her to know better.
His scowl, for once, did not frighten her. “Stupid, wench. Must you be taught common sense along with your duties?”
“If I am allowed to watch where I walk when you are present, you must tell me so. I do not wish to disobey you.”
“Do you not?” he growled at her meek answer and let go of her. “Then we will see just how well you wish to obey. Undress me.”
She had expected that, but color still flooded into her face, so both cheeks were now equally red. And he just stood there towering over her with his hands relaxed at his sides. He was not going to help at all. She hated this, hated getting anywhere near him, but he knew that. Thiswasjust another part of his revenge, after all, treating her no better than a serf—nay, more like his personal slave.
She made quick work of disrobing him, not even trying to conceal her resentment. That humorless smile she hated came to his lips, so she avoided looking at his face. But that left only his body to look at—which she had never found fault with and still did not.
He did not even bend down so she could remove his tunic, forcing her to get closer to him to shove it up his chest and shoulders, then pull upward instead of down. She gasped as her breasts accidentally brushed against his chest, then gasped again as her nipples immediately tingled into hardness. She yanked so hard then that she fell back several steps when the tunic finally came off in her hands.
He laughed at her glowering expression—at least she hoped that was all he laughed at. He could not know the reaction her body had just had to his, could he? And how could that happen at all when she despised him? It made no sense to her.
She did not want to approach him again. There were his chausses and boots yet to be got rid of, but she could not do it, not that. Her breasts were tingling again with just the thought. God’s mercy, what was wrong with her?
He waited patiently, but when she made no move toward him, he said, “Finish.” She slowly shook her head, watching as one of his brows rose in question. “You would prefer to be chained to my bed again?”
She leaped forward, nearly colliding with him in her rush. She heard his laugh and gritted her teeth. So he would hold that over her head now, too, would he? He was utterly despicable, beyond—
