A faint rap sounds on his bedchamber door. He glances up from his pipe and sees Aura still wearing the dirty, torn gown from the Farewell Feast.
“I am eager for a warm bath.” She peers away, and even in the warm glow from his hearth, he can see her cheeks grow pink. “I do not understand your bathtub, nor why there are only four washrooms in your castle.”
He leans back, inhaling the sweet pipe smoke with a twinkle of amusement in his cold gaze. “How many should there be, Princess?”
“Blackwood has one per bedroom and a spare.”
He nods. “Blackwood was an old inn.” Her discomfort over this should not bring him such joy.
“Are there… is it true…do you not possess formal plumbing?”
Gods, she is so damn precious.
He strides out of his chamber, closing and locking the door behind them. He ushers her to the washroom further down the corridor. Already, she has every candle lit, a towel ready, and what looks to be dried flower petals in a bowl.
Where did she find all of this?
“See,” she points to the clawfoot tub as if it has offended her, “there are no knobs. How am I to run water into my bath?”
He puffs on his pipe to hide his smirk. “Well, Princess, our knobs look slightly different than Treland.” He grabs a bucket from the ground and hands it to her. “The well is out front. Since it’s dark, I shall accompany you.”
Her jaw drops as she stares into the depths of the bucket, as if it might hold mysterious answers. “How do you lack running water in this era?”
He smiles widely and cups her cheek. “Would you like a bath or not?”
With a toss of her curls, she struts into the corridor and steps outside to the well. He follows her through her process, immensely enjoying her tiny huffs of frustration. He finally takes pity on her when she nearly floods the hearth in her bedroom attempting to lift the hot cauldron from the hook. Instead, he fills the tub with the scalding water.
Once the tub fills, he leans against the doorframe.
“I wouldn’t think you’d be here for the show, Jarl Calder.” She removes her boots and stockings. “For I believe you said, ‘I could never be with someone like you.’” With her gaze trained on him, she unlaces the corset of her gown.
I would risk everything for you. But, for the sake of your life, you must believe I can never care for you.
“I’ll never say no to a show if you offer one.”
She drops the laces of her corset, the bodice drooping low between her breasts. Grinning, she takes measured steps toward him. Suddenly, her face falls, and she points down the hallway.
“Gods!”
Calder nearly jumps, looking around the area, when he hears the washroom door slam shut, followed by the sound of a lock.
Calder slams open the double wooden doors to his longhouse. The Iss Drengr is both annoyed and relieved that these men responded so hastily to his summoning.
Gunni perches atop the table closest to the raised dais and Calder’s throne. His oldest friend shifts at his appearance, busying himself carving runes into the wood with his nail.
“Gentlemen!” His voice booms to the rafters. “Thank you for gathering on such short notice.”
Every bloody person who laid a finger on Aura stares at him as if they are ravenous hounds salivating at a scrap of meat. He pauses, noting their rapt attention.
“Retire to the bedchamber, lads. A lovely little gift is tied up in a pretty bow, waiting for you.” He offers a cruel smirk.
The temperature in the room plummets.
No seat remains filled as they scramble to the private suite serving as Gunni’s home.
Calder may be Jarl, but he learned from Sigvid that he isn’t required to reside in the longhouse.
“My gorgeous slave, whom you all appreciated on the dock, awaits you.”
