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But his brother was too young to offer the advice Haydn needed. He may look like a man, and swing a sword like a man, but just three years earlier his brother had still been fostering with their Uncle Neill.

“Her father advises the same king who threatened to strip our parents of Kenshire,” he reminded him, a refrain that had run through his mind over and over again. When he caught himself watching her. Admiring her. Wanting her.

“You did not marry her father.”

“Pardon me, Lord Waryn.” The steward had returned. “Lady Phillipa is there,” he pointed toward the end of the hall, “I will have a meal sent to you after your bath.”

He’d never wanted a hot bath more. “Thank you, Master John.”

The man nodded.“Your wife said there was no need for a chambermaid despite that none seem to be traveling with you.”

His fault. But the thought that Phillipa wanted privacy wasn’t one he’d disagree with. “I will attend to her. Again, our sincerest thank you for your hospitality. If there is anything I can do for you in return, please do let me know.”

The steward hesitated. “I do not wish to burden my lord. . .”

“You’ve been most gracious hosting us without notice. Please, you are no burden.”

Holt looked at him as if to say Mother would be proud of his manners. Which, of course, she would. Nothing pleased her more than when one of her children displayed the grace she said was a hallmark of the Caiser name. Haydn would have loved to meet his grandfather. He’d heard so many tales of the man.

“If you would speak to me briefly in the morn, I do have a boon to ask of you. After you break your fast, perhaps?”

“Of course,” Haydn assured him. “If you will excuse me—”

“Pardon, my lord, for keeping you. Come, Sir Holt. You will wish to dry off and take a meal. I have just the servant to assist you.”

His brother’s coy smile had Haydn shaking his head. If Mother would be pleased by their manners, she’d not take kindly to the activities his brother would no doubt be engaged in this eve. If he did not foster a child out of wedlock before he wed, their mother often said, she would thank the Blessed Mary for it.

“Enjoy your evening,” Holt said much too cheerily. But as he sauntered away with their gracious host, Haydn found himself scurrying to the end of the hall. To his wife. He needed to ask her some difficult questions, ones he likely did not want the answer to. But when he opened the door and spied her already in the tub Master John must have had prepared when he saw them coming, Haydn changed his mind about the discussion he needed to have with Phillipa.

First—he closed the door with a thud—he needed a bath.

Chapter Eighteen

“Surely you do not mean to join me?”

It seemed, however, her husband intended just that. Her father had never let her or her sister join a hunt. Plenty of other women did so, but not them. So she’d never had the occasion to know what it was like to stalk an animal. But she could very much guess it may have looked like Haydn coming toward her now. With each step, another piece of his clothing fell to the floor.

“It is a large enough tub for four people,” he said, continuing to disrobe.

“I was surprised by its size. It must have taken many servants to fill.” Phillipa lowered herself deeper into the water, still shy despite their wedding night. “Did you know the king had taps of hot and cold water installed at Westminster for his baths?”

Her husband chose that moment to remove the last of his clothing. With the fire and candles placed all throughout the large bedchamber, she could see him easily. This time, more prepared than before, Phillipa could also appreciate that every man surely did not look like him.

“You must spend many hours in the training yard,” she blurted, watching as the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulged as he used them to prop himself into the tub. “You are so very. . . naked,” she added, getting one last look before he submerged himself.

Sitting across from her, Haydn extended his legs so they straddled hers. Phillipa repositioned her feet and then, when one touched him in the groin accidently, she attempted to quickly move it away. But he was too quick. Capturing it as he grabbed the herb-scented sponge left on the side of the tub, her husband began to wash her.

Phillipa had been assisted in the tub many times by servants, but this was something different entirely. His movements were slow and sensual. Deliberate, as his fingers “slipped” from the sponge to brush against her skin.

“You dismissed the maid,” he asked. “Why?”

Without her own lady’s maid, Phillipa should have kept the woman for the duration of her bath. But she hadn’t and her husband knew why.

“I. . .”

“Say it, Phillipa.”

“Would you have me say every thought that pops into my head?”