Beggars Can't Be Choosers
Whatever secret concoction the baroness’ lady’s maid sprinkled into the hot water of Adelina’s bath did exactly what the woman promised. It soothed her blistered feet, eased the aches and pains in her muscles and bones, and banished her gnawing headache.
In some small measure, the easing of physical discomfort also lessened her anxiety. Or, perhaps relaxing in a magical bath had brought about a calmer frame of mind with which to examine her situation.
The crux of the matter was that Roland had tied her emotions in knots. He’d uttered no words of love, or even affection, yet his blue eyes spoke of longing and, admittedly, lust when he looked at her.
Her own feelings were equally confused. She’d never been in love. Did a constant craving to be close to a man constitute love? Or was it simply that Roland inspired a feeling of security?
Her cloak, along with the rest of her clothing, had been delivered to the laundress, but she’d retrieved the scrap of plaid that now lay on her bed. Was it love urging her to clutch it to her breast and inhale Roland’s scent? Or was she just being silly?
Many young women likely thirsted to become Roland’s wife; marriage to a worthy member of a respected noble family from which she herself was descended would be a dream come true; the possibility of sharing the bed of a rugged warrior like Roland sent very pleasurable sensations spiraling out of control in the most intimate parts of Adelina’s body. Or, was she contemplating marriage to him out of gratitude for coming to her rescue?
Did he even want her for wife?
A tantalizing inner voice whispered aye, but he’d never said as much.
* * *
Reluctant to surrender the bathtub to Terric, Roland nevertheless ceded to his impatient cousin’s demands that he get out while the water was still reasonably hot.
“Finally,” Terric sighed as he lowered himself into the water.
“It helps,” Roland assured him as he toweled water from his torso. “I’d love to know the ingredients of the powder the baron’s manservant sprinkled in the water. I feel renewed.”
Terric inhaled. “Some herbal concoction, I’d wager. Even the aroma is soothing.”
A tap on the door heralded the return of the servant, his arms laden with clothing. “The baron’s son is about your size, my lords,” he explained, arraying various items on the bed. “The laundress reports progress cleaning your gambesons, but the rest may be beyond help. My master wishes you to avail yourselves of anything you deem suitable.”
“I recall Lady Marguerite mentioning a brother,” Roland replied, supposing he’d yet to meet the baron’s heir.
“Sir Kendall is in Carlisle, with the king’s army,” the servant explained before taking his leave.
“Another conscript,” Terric groused.
Roland nodded. “Perhaps that’s the price Marguerite’s family paid for her defection to the enemy.”
“Could be,” Terric agreed, lathering soap in his hair. “Although every demesne is expected to contribute manpower to John’s army.”
Roland sauntered over to peruse the clothing. He picked up a pair of leggings and held them to his body. “I’d say Kendall’s a bit smaller than we are. These might be too snug.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Terric replied. “Naught amiss with giving the ladies something to ogle.”
Roland laughed at the bawdy remark which was out of character for his serious cousin. “Well, apart from the baroness and Adelina, I doubt there’ll be ladies in attendance at the evening meal.”
“Exactly,” Terric replied, ducking his head underwater before Roland had a chance to question him further.
* * *
Adelina appreciated being able to borrow Marguerite’s clothing, though Becket’s wife was clearly bigger in the bust. The maid had done her best to baste in tucks, but there was still a deal more décolletage showing than Adelina would have liked. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers, as Terric was fond of saying.
As she entered the dining hall of the baron’s home, the baroness greeted her, tears welling. “I’m overjoyed you could wear something of Marguerite’s. I’ve kept her things, just in case…”
Adelina took the woman’s cold hand when she faltered. This evidence of the injustice typical of John’s rule angered her, but she sought to show her appreciation. “I’m honored to wear her gown, and her shoes are just the right size. I’m afraid mine are out on the moor somewhere.”
“Who more fitting than you?” the baroness asked. “You saved her life and allowed her to find happiness with Becket de Montbryce. We miss her, but the most important thing for a mother is to know her children are happy.”
“And a father,” the baron added as he joined them. “Now, if Kendall could find a good wife…”