In Bed With A Stranger Page 9

  “We have a fine bath house. The lord has made sure it’s as modern as any in England.”

  Helen moved past the kitchens, and the maids turned to cast curious looks their way.

  “We don’t even have to haul the hot water by bucket anymore.” Helen preened as she entered the bath house behind the kitchen and pointed eagerly at a wooden trough.

  “The lord had that added when he saw one at the house of one of yer English nobles. Ye ring the bell and the cook pours the water and….there ye are. Almost as modern as the Romans had.”

  It was such a simple idea but one that would save a lot of sore fingers. Anne touched the wooden spillway, shaking her head at the simplicity of the idea. The trough extended over a large slipper tub. A peek inside showed her that it was clean, not sporting rust. As bath houses went, Sterling was no shame. But something near the bottom of the tub caught her attention. A round piece of expensive cork, pushed into the metal side.

  “Is there a hole in the tub?”

  Helen reached for an iron ring hanging from another hook. She pulled it several times before turning to answer.

  “Yes, ma’am. The lord calls that a stopper. Look at the floor and ye’ll see another wooden track constructed to let the water carry itself away when ye’re done. That’s why the tub is set up on blocks, so that the water can flow.”

  Anne hurried around and sure enough there was another pair of boards waiting to guide the water toward a missing stone in the floor. She couldn’t see where it went from there but the idea was immensely ideal. No hauling of water at all. Simply scrub out the tub and bathing was suddenly a simple matter.

  Now that was modern thinking.

  Water began splashing into the empty tub.

  “There now, let’s get yer dress off before Bythe sends the hot water.”

  Helen was already reaching for the buttons that held her doublet closed down the front of her body. She made quick work of it, moving behind her to gently tug the open garment down her arms. There were rows of pegs set into a long piece of wood that ran the length of the walls. Helen hung the doublet on one as Anne began unlacing her skirts. Her fingers were slow as she tried to think of a reason to avoid getting into the tub and thereby put off the coming inspection.

  But she could think of nothing, so her skirts were lifted over her head and hung on another peg.

  “’Tis glad I am to see that ye’re not padded. The lord didnae care for the court ladies he met. He said you couldnae even tell that they were women for all the steel and padded pieces they strapped to themselves beneath their dresses.”

  “The queen does love her fashion.”

  Anne watched Helen take her small hip roll away. It wasn’t any larger than her fist and considered modest by most. Worn around the hips, it helped carry the weight of the cartridge pleated skirts. There was the added bonus that it kept your hem away from your feet, making it far simpler to carry a heavy tray because you didn’t need a hand to pick up your skirt.

  “I heard that the English queen padded her hips a full foot on either side of her body. As if anyone would believe a woman could be so broad.”

  Helen shook her head on the way to a peg. Anne smiled because it was true that many women wore large hip rolls to give the illusion that they were good child bearers. Prenuptial inspections had become popular in the last decade due to the practice.

  “’Tis glad I am to see that ye’re not suffering your monthly curse. That would have put the lord in a nasty humor indeed.”

  Standing in only her stays and chemise, it was easy for Helen to notice the lack of stain on the cream cloth.

  “But it would have been his own fault for not giving you any notice of when he was going to be arriving to fetch ye. I imagine that ye are a wee bit tender having to leave your family without time to truly prepare for the separation.”

  Helen pulled on the lace securing Anne’s stays in place. She tugged and loosened each eye until the stiffly boned vest released its hold on Anne’s breasts. A little mutter of delight escaped her because she didn’t sleep in her corset normally. Freedom from the steel-stiffened garment was very welcome, her breasts rejoicing in it.

  Helen tsked. “You need a better tailor. This corset has worn a hole clean through yer lovely chemise and skin. It’s too long on the side.” She shook her head as she frowned.

  “I wasn’t thinking when I wore it.”

  Helen clicked her tongue again. “I’m glad ye left yer maid behind. The girl obviously lacks a good eye for dressing her mistress.”

  Yet another little error that proved she was not born to noble station. Mary would have blamed her servant for any discomfort caused by an ill-fitting corset. Such attitudes were the reason that the staff banded together. It took everyone to ensure that the nobles weren’t unhappy because if they were the staff would suffer for it. Every new piece of clothing that was delivered to Warwickshire was inspected by the housekeeper and measured to check for accuracy before it ever made it into the chamber of the mistress.

  “Sit down, so I can get at yer boots.”

  Anne made use of a stool. Her chemise billowed up as she sat down. A shiver shook her as the cool air rushed over her skin.

  “Don’t ye worry, ye won’t be cold very long. The lord will tend to that.”

  Her face burned as Helen pulled both boots off. The maid winked as only an experienced woman could, a saucy smile appearing on her lips.

  “Well now, no need to be blushing. Ye’re a married woman now.”

  “As everyone keeps telling me.” She leaned down to cover the disgruntled expression taking root on her face, reaching for one of the finely knit stockings and gently rolling it down her calf.

  “Och now, you couldnae have been so surprised to hear of yer marriage. I wager yer governess has been telling ye to expect such news since ye grew enough to need a pair of stays to hold up those breasts.”

  Anne crossed her hands over her chest. It was a fact that most women understood that they would marry and that they would not choose their groom. In that respect, she was the spoilt one. Lady Mary’s governess had often lectured her on the importance of being poised and ready to hear that her husband had been selected.

  Helen propped both her hands on her hips. “Ye’re a bit of a shy one.” Her eyes studied the way Anne covered her nipples. “If I might be so bold as to instruct ye, that modesty will not please the lord.”

  He’s got a mistress for sure.

  Philipa’s words rose from her memory. “Does he bring many women to his bed?”

  “Och well, there’s nothing for ye to worry about. What a man does afore he’s wed is only natural. Ye can’t be holding that against him.”

  Helen’s tone turned guarded as she averted her eyes. She busied herself with placing the stockings carefully over pegs.

  “No, ’tis only a woman who is expected to remain virgin.”

  Helen’s posture stiffened. She turned, aiming a mature look at Anne.

  “That’s only due to the fact that it’s important to be sure that children are born into the family that they were fathered from.”

  She didn’t apologize for speaking so strongly, but Anne didn’t want her to.

  “You enjoy serving in this house, don’t you, Helen?”

  It wasn’t truly a question. Anne could see the loyalty, even hear it.

  “Aye, that’s a fact. I suppose I’ve got a bit of passion in me due to knowing that I serve a good man.”

  “Your lord is fortunate to have you among his staff.”

  Helen glowed under the compliment. Clasping her hands together, she rubbed them, her eyes sparkling.

  “Well now, listen to me chattering away when ye’ve got important things to be preparing for. Ye’ll be right as spring rain once the formalities are finished. Tomorrow morning ye’ll have forgotten all about being timid.”

  Helen stopped and pulled the ring for water once again. This time steam rose from the water that spilt into the tub. Helen picked up a
large wooden paddle and stirred the contents of the tub a few times. She stuck her hand in the water to test it.

  “Ye’ll have to tell me how ye like your bath. For now, it’s warm enough to take the winter chill out of your toes.”

  Anne forced her stiff fingers to release her chemise. Her hands had fisted in the fabric but Helen grasped the hem and lifted it away. Standing up, Anne tried to not dwell on the fact that she was bare. She really had no idea if she was built for bearing children or not. It was very possible that the midwife would find her lacking. Noble daughters were often inspected several times by their own family’s midwives before marriage negotiation progressed. It brought shame to great names when a bride was found by her husband to have deformities. Even Queen Elizabeth had been displayed to ambassadors when just a babe because it was rumored that she was misshapen. As the illegitimate child at Warwickshire Anne had never seen the midwife. It was quite possible that her body was not the same as other women. Anne snuck a peek at Helen, to see what the woman’s expression was. Helen was quietly studying her with a knowledgeable eye. The servant shook her head.

  “Stop lingering and worrying. Ye’re well put together, nothing at all to fret over.” She motioned her forward.

  The tub was inviting with its high sides. It was better than standing in the center of the room at least. The water was warm, delighting her stiff toes. Helen began pulling the pins from her hair.

  “I dinnae ken the English. Men don’t care for a woman to tie her hair up. They like it soft and flowing.”

  Did they? Anne bit her lower lip as she looked down at her breasts. Her nipples were hard from her anxiety. She studied the pink buttons, shivering as she considered seeing Brodick’s head leaning toward one to kiss it. Her nipple drew tighter with her thoughts, hardening into a pink berry.

  He’d promised to do that.

  “There. Much better. We’ll give this a rinse to make it perfect.”

  Helen moved around, fetching a bar of soap and cloth. The woman was good at her job, bathing Anne with confident hands. She rang for more water, catching it in a pitcher before it poured into the tub.

  “Beware yer eyes, lass.”

  The water trickled over her head a moment later, drawing a gasp from her because it was cold. Helen clicked her tongue as she gathered up the wet mass and applied some soap to it. Using the cloth, Anne scrubbed at the marks two days of riding had left on her hands. Dirt had made its way beneath her fingernails and she worked diligently to clean it away.

  “Beware.”

  Anne squeezed her eyes shut as more water landed on her head. Tension knotted her belly as she felt like a pig being readied for roasting. Knowing the traditions surrounding marriage had somehow failed to impact her with just how it must feel to be taken through the steps. There really wasn’t so great a difference between what she was enduring and what a stable master did before presenting a mare to a stallion.

  More precisely, before the mare was mounted.

  Her face flamed but the heat didn’t remain in her cheeks. It traveled lower until her breasts were rosy and warm with anticipation. Lust coiled through her, spreading to every bit of her body. There was a portion of her that looked on her situation with happiness. At last she would understand what it was to be a woman.

  She had enjoyed those kisses.

  She lifted her eyelids and felt her clitoris flicker with excitement. Heated lust was curling up in her belly, drawing attention to her sex. There was a hypnotic feel to it, a mesmerizing need that hooked her attention. The water felt so smooth as it flowed across her skin, almost as if she’d never taken the time to really feel. All of her senses were heightened. She smelled the soap; this bar had rosemary oil in it. Her sense of smell was so keen, she even noticed what the water smelled like…fresh and full of life. Everything filled her, touching off a storm of longing. Her lips tingled, craving a kiss.

  Brodick’s kiss.

  His midnight eyes sprang to mind as Helen held out a length of toweling. Standing up, Anne stepped from the tub trying to banish Brodick from her thoughts. She still hadn’t thought of a way to keep him from her bed tonight. Dwelling on her lust would certainly be no help. More like a pixie leading her on to ruin.

  Perth

  Brodick stewed as he was forced to walk his horse in a zigzag pattern to allow for the cart to keep up. Agnes didn’t ride horses, claiming the beasts were noble and too fine for her. She was the matriarch of her village and had been present at his own birth, but only when she was still a young under-maid of Sterling. Now half of the lowlands snapped to attention when Agnes spoke.

  “Why are ye doing this?” Cullen had lost his teasing tone. His brother kept his own horse under a tight rein near him.

  Brodick muttered under his breath, his patience already strained. He didn’t have much left to deal with his own brother thinking him a brute.

  “’Tis nae my idea.”

  Cullen shot him a hard look that cut clean into his temper. Pointing a finger at his brother, he snarled softly. “Do yerself a favor, Brother, thank God that ye were nae born first.”

  With a snort, Brodick turned and let his horse pace a wide circle in the dirt outside Agnes’s home. The stone cottage had dried bundles of herbs hanging from most of the rafters. Two men were working a sharpening stone under the eaves. They stood up as he and Cullen rode into view.

  Making his bride suffer through an inspection had never crossed his mind even if it was the custom and in his best interest. Mary’s own mother had a stench attached to her name. One girl child wasn’t a very good reference for her daughter. Marriage was for union and dowry, but he would be stuck with Mary as his lawful wife. If she didn’t produce children, he’d never have any legitimate ones.

  “I just never figured ye’d be so hard on a little lass.”

  “This is her idea. Use that head of yers and remember that I was more than happy to take care of consummating our vows last night. It’s my bride who seems to be unwilling.”

  Cullen frowned, his features darkening. Most people didn’t think he had a temper but Brodick knew better. Light hair aside, his brother was pure McJames—fierce and unrelenting.

  “Now why would she be wanting an inspection?” Suspicion coated Cullen’s words. “Inspections are done for the groom’s family interests. She has nothing to gain from it and much more to lose.”

  “Except time or the possibility that I’ll send her back after hearing what the midwife has to say.”

  “Will ye?”

  “No.” Firm and resolute, Brodick shot his brother a determined look. “She stays.”

  “But at what cost? I’ll nae see ye stuck with a wife who isn’t going to honor yer union.”

  “Suspicion’s an ugly thing, Cullen. Be wary of it.” Brodick kept his voice low to hide the uncertainty in it. He was unsure of his bride and her attempts to leave him, but he was also very intent on keeping her.

  “Does she love another?” Cullen stroked his chin with one hand. “I hear that the English ladies are marrying for love with the queen too old to keep them from running amuck.”

  “I dinnae know.” Yet he should have considered it. His bride had been at the English court for many years. “She wanted me to return her to her father at court.”

  “Maybe you should.” Cullen sounded dangerous. “Ye dinnae need a discontented wife. She’ll turn against ye. Possibly be barren.”

  Many men would agree with Cullen. A sullen wife often didn’t conceive just to spite her spouse. Everyone knew that a woman controlled her fertility. Still, the taste of her sweet kiss clung to his lips. He’d touched something inside of her that was beautiful. She hadn’t complained even once on the journey home, never muttered a cross word for sleeping on the ground.

  “She’s nae a spoilt lass.”

  Cullen nodded, some of his temper fading. “She was pleasant enough on the way home. I know a few Scottish lasses who would have quarreled with sleeping on the trail with a bunch of retainers.”


  “Maybe she’s truly afeared that I’ll send her back to her father, disgraced, after bedding her. I hear that happens in England now that the queen is too old to care.”

  “I’d have to thrash ye if ye even thought of it.”

  Brodick grinned, showing his teeth to his sibling. “That’s providing ye could. I hate to remind ye of how ye fail to measure up to my strength.”

  “But I make up for it in cunning.”

  “Ye’ve got that confused with blustering.” The men who’d been working the stone tugged on their hats as they recognized the earl.

  “I’ve a need to fetch Agnes to Sterling.”

  A moment later the midwife appeared. She still walked straight, even if her pace was a bit slower these days. Her hair was silver but still hung in a thick braid down her back. The McJames’ plaid was pulled proudly over her right shoulder and secured with a silver brooch that had been a gift from his own mother.

  “My lord.” Her voice was sharp and only a bit graveled by age. “How may I serve you?”

  Brodick swung out of his saddle, showing the woman respect by speaking to her on an equal footing. She lowered her chin as he stepped closer, acknowledging his title. When he’d been a boy, she’d swatted his ears when he got into mischief.

  “I’ve come to ask ye to return to Sterling with me.” He stopped, his next words sticking in his throat.

  “I heard in the market that ye’d gone to the border land to claim a wife.” Agnes paused, choosing her words with care. “Do ye have a concern with her?”

  “My bride has asked to have the custom of inspection carried out.”

  The two men looked at one another as Agnes took to stroking the silver brooch.

  “It is her wish, my lord?”

  “Aye.”

  She nodded, still fingering the broach. “I didnae know that the custom was so practiced in England these days.”

  “Nor did I.”

  Agnes lowered her chin. “Bring out my cloak, Johnny. I’m off to Sterling.”

  Brodick frowned as he headed back to his horse. He didn’t like it. Not a bit. Agnes allowed one of his men to help her into the cart. She sat back in the straw as her son handed her cloak in to her. Cullen had a good point; it was possible that his bride loved another man. He didn’t like the idea of it. In fact, he was jealous. The surge of emotion was surprising. Never once had he been possessive of a woman. Not even with the mistresses he’d enjoyed so well and completely. He liked women, enjoyed the way they felt when there was nothing between them but skin and passion. Some of them had accused him of being a demanding man.