William was forgotten, and neither heard his footsteps or knew when he looked
into the stall. He saw Ranulf kissing a serf girl, for only the serfs wore russet, and he left, chuckling to himself. He liked to know his guests were well entertained.
At the first touch of Ranulf’s lips, Lyonene thought all her senses had flown. She felt only his lips, his body next to hers, and she had never experienced anything that made her feel like this. She slanted her head to the side and put her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and closer to her. His arms tightened and she felt his strong, hard body pressed to her, every inch of her hungering for more of him.
His lips parted and she followed his example, moving her lips under his. She clung to him, meeting his demanding, searching mouth. Her heart beat wildly, thundering in her ears. She would never let go; she never wanted this moment to end.
Ranulf pushed her from him, his body aching at the sight of her closed eyes and moist, parted lips. “Go.” His voice was harsh.
She nodded and silently left the stall, her legs weak and trembling from the force of her emotion.
Melite watched her daughter enter the Great Hall. She studied the green eyes that stared vacantly about her. “Lyonene! I need you.”
Lyonene was glad to be recalled to the world. Her head spun with too many emotions and thoughts for her to be left alone.
“There are baths to be prepared for our guests, and you must help.” Each of the Black Guard was of noble birth and must be treated accordingly.
Lyonene looked up in surprise. Her father did not allow her to help bathe the guests. “I do not know what to do.”
“You must see that Meg and Gressy do as they are told and that there are soap and herbs for the water, that there are clean towels for each man. Of course you know what to do.”
One of the private chambers in the top of the donjon had been chosen for the bathing. Hot water was carried from the kitchen below and the great iron tub filled and refilled. Lyonene was very tired when, hours later, she saw Ranulf enter the bathing chamber. She knew her mother had left him, their most important guest, until last so that he would not need to rush, and that Lady Melite would reserve the honor of her help in bathing for Ranulf. She was so confused by this day, confused by this man who had entered her life on a great black horse and in these brief hours had taken over every emotion and thought she had.
Meg came to Lyonene and gave her a sly look. “You are to tell Lady Melite that Sir William needs her and she must come straight away.”
“I cannot… You must tell her, Meg.”
Meg looked at the chamber door in horror. “He is in there; I would be afeared.”
Lyonene narrowed her eyes at the girl and sent her scurrying. She knocked timidly on the door, opened it only a crack and began relaying her father’s message.
“Lyonene, are you daft! Come in and close the door, the heat will escape. Now tell me the message.”
Careful to avoid Ranulf’s eyes, eyes that she could feel burning into her back, she gave her message.
Melite hastily pulled her mantle across her shoulders. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I must see to my husband. My daughter will help you with your bath, but I warn you, you must have patience, for she is inept at the task. Now, Lyonene, do but remember your last experience and be careful not to get your surcoat and mantle wet. I will return in a moment, but hurry now, for the water grows cold.”
Alone, Lyonene could not turn to look at him. His voice came to her, and the sadness in it changed her mood.
“I need no help; you do not need to stay.”
She turned to smile at him and found herself staring wideeyed as he sat in the steaming tub. His shoulders were wide, his chest thick and the great muscles on his arms clearly defined. The firelight gleamed on the smooth, damp skin, bronzed by the sun. His entire chest was covered in a thick fur of curling black hair. She could not help laughing. “You look to be the Black Lion all over.” She hurriedly looked away, appalled at her boldness.
Ranulf returned her smile, and they were at ease with one another again. “Your mother was right. The water grows cold, and my patience grows thin.” He held out a bar of soap. “Come, wash my back.”
As she stepped forward, she remembered her mother’s warning. She removed her mantle from her shoulders and then the sideless surcoat and the leather belt beneath. From a little leather pouch she took gold scissors and snipped the tight sleeves of her tunic, putting them with her other clothes. “Now I will not get wet.”
Ranulf watched her undress and was glad for the debilitating heat of the water. Dressed only in the gold tunic, which fitted her like a second skin, none of her lovely body was hidden. Her breasts rose with each breath, and he remembered too well the feel of them against his chest.
Silently, she took the soap from Ranulf’s hand and lathered it. She was hesitant about bathing him, not sure of where she should begin or exactly what she should do. She shrugged and thought she should bathe him as she did herself. All hesitancy fled as she touched the warm, smooth skin of his back. The thick muscles bunched beneath the glistening surface, creating hills and valleys, waves of smooth planes. Her hands delighted in the undulations, causing a not unpleasant tightening along the sinews at the back of her neck.
She followed the contours of the wide shoulders to his arms, her hands generously soaping the hair on his forearm. His fingers were long and beautifully shaped, the nails smooth and well cared for. There was an especial pleasure in the feel of her own sensitive fingertips against that hard palm, the callousing reminding her of the strength of the enormous man who sat docilely under her exploring hands.
His chest was of iron, the granite of it relieved only by the covering of bronzed flesh and the thick mat of curling black hair. She lathered the sable mat vigorously, watching it twine around her fingers, her hands small and light against the dark mass.
His neck was indicative of all the reserved, restrained power of the knight, the muscles lengthened and tightened from years of strenuous training. Her fingers traced the steel tendon that ran down the back of his neck to his spine. She pressed on it with a great deal of strength, but Ranulf seemed not to notice. She smiled and looked, for the first time, at his face.
He stared at her with the strangest expression on his face. For some reason, she felt the blood stain her cheeks. She did not know where she erred. Her mother had bid her bathe their guest, and she did but obey. She knew she enjoyed the task; was that showing on her face?