Carolyne Cathey (4 page)

"
L
ift my . . ." Eleanor
shoved her fists between her skirted legs.  "Nay!  I prefer you cut off my
hand!" 

Before she could
bite her errant tongue, Lord Kyle grabbed her ankles, his nose pressed so close
to hers that the blue flame in his eyes scorched her as much as his hold.

"Never again
make such a rash request."

"Not rash,
Sire.  Practical.  I have two hands, but only one maidenhead."

"Since I am
master here, I may take your hand
and
your maidenhead." 

She gulped. 
"But, my lord--"

"Ah.  I see
you do remember my title.  'Tis, my lord, now.  Are you so desperate to soothe
this unholy beast?"

Eleanor's words
stuck in her throat.  His lips hovered near hers and scattered her
concentration, his spicy breath warm wafts against her cold mouth. 

Lord Kyle released
one ankle and pushed his hand up under her damp skirt.  Panicked, Eleanor
groped at his wrist through the fabric, but he slid his callused palm up the
inside of her thigh, then paused, and burned.  She let out a sob and closed her
eyes. 

Lord Kyle squeezed
her leg.  "Look at me."

She squinched her
eyes tighter and shook her head.  Blood flooded her face.  He had warned her
she would beg.  "Please, cease, my lord."

"I said,
look at me."

Eleanor steadied
a shaky breath and fanned her lashes upward until she gazed on his taut mouth
surrounded by pale whisker-stubble, then up to his eyes that shimmered liquid
heat.

Lord Kyle circled
his thumb on her fevered inner thigh as if to sear a brand of ownership.

She kicked out
with her foot, then gasped with the shooting pain.

He flashed her a
how dare you defy me look and seared a path upward to her aching privacy that
even she touched only when necessary for cleanliness.  Lord Kyle brushed
against her curls and a thousand firesparks flared in her loins. 

"Although
you belong to me, Eleanor, I will not harm you.  Now, release my hand."

"Please,
don't, my lord." 

"You cannot
stop me.  No one will come to your rescue, so do as I say.  Release my
hand."

Eleanor blinked
at her welling tears and bit her lower lip to stop a sob.  Defiant, she met his
glare of authority and loosened her grip.

His mouth
twitched as if with smug victory.  He brushed at her curls once more and the
tingles intensified the hot fire that surely melted her insides, for she could
feel the moistness.

"If you had
not defied me, wench, I would not have touched you as I have.  For certain, you
did not know that.  But, in time, you will learn my moods and ways.  Now, lift
your skirt."

Wild beats abused
her heart.  With slow movement she grasped her hem and raised the fabric past
her knees.

"Enough." 

He squeezed her
thigh then withdrew his hand, but her flesh still burned as if he touched her. 

Lord Kyle reached
for a bucket of water and dragged it across the wooden floor to his side. 

Terrified as to
what depravity he intended, she scrutinized him while he picked up a linen
cloth from a stack on the hearth and draped it over his thigh beneath her
foot.  Dipping another cloth into the water, he squeezed the drips into the
bucket, then...washed away the dried mud!

Her mouth dropped
open in shock, then she uttered a cry of anguish as he rubbed the cloth over
her injured flesh.  "You wash my feet?" 

"Aye." 
He dipped the cloth, squeezed again, washing away more mud.  "I don't wish
to cause you pain, but these sores must be cleaned before they become proud. 
They look like raw meat."

He lowered her
foot on a clean towel and picked up her other foot.

"That's why
you wanted me to lift my skirt?  To clean my feet and legs?"     

The corner of his
mouth twitched as if he fought a grin.  The arrogant lout had used her own fear
to humiliate her.  Sudden rage burst past her fear. 

"How dare
you mortify me in such a way!"  She pummeled her fists on his head and the
rock hardness of his shoulders, which only added to her agony, for now her
hands stung, as well.  "How dare you wash my feet!  How dare you--"

Lord Kyle burst
into laughter.  He dropped the cloth and grabbed her wrists.  The corners of
his azure eyes crinkled with his amusement.  "Do I mortify you because I
wash away your filth?"

"Nay, you
big oaf.  Because..." She stopped, unsure what to say that wouldn't
further expose her humiliation.

His eyes
softened, then heated.  "Are you disappointed?"  His words breathed
from his mouth like soft velvet.  "If so, I'm most eager to accommodate
you.  I confess, I much enjoyed my search for your hidden treasure."  He
rested her other heel on the floor.

Eleanor struggled
to control her rapid breaths, her indignation.  "I would think you'd not
be bothered with such a lowly task, my lord."

"Did you
wish me to call Beth to clean your feet?"  He picked up the damp cloth and
wiped his hands.

Eleanor shook her
head, oddly irritated by the suggestion.  "Nay.  I'm used to my own care. 
I expect no aid from others."

His eyes
widened.  "Is that so?  'Twas not my aid you thanked me for at the village
green?"  He turned on his stool, lifted a steamy bucket, then poured water
into the tub.

Her face burned
again.  Did he think her ungrateful? 

As Eleanor
watched him add more water she sifted through the strange emotions, emotions
new to her since she had left the convent.  Fear, she recognized, but Eleanor
couldn't name the ache that had stabbed her chest when Beth had smiled on her
master, or the hot ache that still churned within her body.  And she didn't
know what the nameless ache needed to become satisfied.

Water gurgled
from another bucket as Lord Kyle filled the tub.

A different
desire throbbed in Eleanor as she admired his graceful strength.  Her fingers
begged to tangle in his mussed hair that surely had been spun from rays of the
summer sun.  Her hands ached to stroke the muscles of his back and shoulders
that, although hidden beneath layers of cloth, bulged and flexed as he lifted
each bucket.  At the convent she had felt none of these stirrings.  What hold
did he have over her?  And why did her thigh still burn?

"Sire?" 

He turned his
wondrous face upon her, and her heart tripped.  Why did the mere sight of him
unravel her senses?  What power did this man possess to snatch her composure
and control her thoughts, her feelings? 

"Are you a
wizard?"  Her voice came out too whispery and betrayed her dilemma.

Lord Kyle cocked
his head, his brow furrowed.  "Wizard?"

"Aye. 
Although I see both your hands, my flesh still feels your touch."

A smile lit his
face.  "Are you always so truthful?"

"'Tis the
way I have been taught."

Her lord seemed
pleased by her confession.  He placed his forearms on his thighs and leaned
toward her, an expectant look in his sapphire eyes.  "Perhaps you feel
unbalanced?  Perhaps to spare you such discomfort, I should stroke a path up
your other leg to even the sensation."

Eleanor let out a
nervous laugh.  "Nay, my lord.  My heart could not handle the
exploration."

"Nay, lass. 
'Twill leap with the probe."  He reached for her skirt.

Did he test her? 
Yet, she could not sit there and let him do his will.  Eleanor rammed her fists
between her legs.

Lord Kyle gripped
her hem.  "Defiance, again?"  He smiled.  "I hoped you would. 
'Tis sensuous retaliation beneath your skirt.  Besides, woman, 'tis time for
your bath."

Alarmed, Eleanor
pushed with her heels to scoot the stool away, but one wooden leg caught.  She
flailed her arms as she fell backwards, but Lord Kyle leapt, then ensnared her
and pressed her to his body as he came to rest upon one knee, her legs draped
over his thigh.  Her traitorous body tingled from the pressure of his touch,
from the nearness of his mouth.

"That you're
anxious stirs my passion, wench.  You tempt me apurpose to mate with you."

"Hah!  Only
when the sun ceases to shine!"

The room darkened
as if a hungry cloud swallowed the mist-covered daystar.  Thunder rolled as if
laughing at her.

The corners of
Lord Kyle's eyes crinkled with his amusement.  "'Even the heavens betray
you and declare your fate.  We'll start with a kiss." 

Eleanor held her
breath with nervous expectation as he leaned toward her, breath hot, lips
parted.

A clank sounded
from the doorway, then the shuffle of feet across rushes. 

"Me is much
too slow, milord.  Me old bones complain with... Saint's preserve us!"  A
wrinkle-faced old woman in servant's garb peered over Lord Kyle's shoulder, a
basket of clay jars on one arm.  "Did the poor lass swoon?"  

Lord Kyle
groaned.  "Nurse Kincaid.  How timely."  He set Eleanor upon the
rushes as if in resignation, but remained beside her on one knee.

Eleanor didn't
know whether to feel relief or disappointment.  Then she remembered Lord Kyle's
intentions.  "Nurse Kincaid, would you be so kind as to tend me in my
bath?  'Twill be my first experience with so much water."

Lord Kyle opened
his mouth as if to protest, but she rushed on.

"And my new
master also wishes me to tend to his bath, yet I have never done such a thing
before.  Would you aid me with that duty as well?"

Lord Kyle shook
his head and frowned.  "You're a selfish wench to overwork my nurse."

"Me would be
most honored, lass."  The woman's eyes brimmed with tears, her mouth wide
in an almost-toothless smile.  She patted a gnarled hand on Lord Kyle's head. 
"As to bathing the master, me used to do so when he was but a babe.  Such
a fair lad he was.  Take my hand, lass, and I'll help ye to yer feet."

Lord Kyle grinned
at Eleanor’s dilemma. 

Eleanor glared in
return.  He knew the woman couldn't pull Eleanor to her feet.  He knew that, in
spite of her boast of independence, she needed his aid.

He cocked a
supercilious brow, his hand cupped at his ear as if to detect a faint sound. 
"Do I hear the magic word, 'cannot', in your thoughts, the word that
means, again, you need my assistance?  Does the admission strain to be released
from behind your clenched teeth?"

Well, curse
him
.

Refusing defeat,
Eleanor batted her lashes.  "Kind, noble knight, who has sworn to honor
all women, would you be so gracious as to move yonder screen over beside the
tub to give me privacy, then set this stool beside it so that you may place me
upon the seat?  I'll not need you after that."  She fluttered her lashes
again, smiling.

Lord Kyle gripped
his fingers in her hair and placed his mouth close to her ear.  "You think
you have bested me, wench, but the evening is just born, and before long, you
will be alone with me at my mercy.  'Tis a promise."

Eleanor
shuddered, wondering whether the warmth of his whisper or the chill of his
threat caused the tremor to flow down her spine.

He dragged a
screen across the floor, then set it down so hard that she felt certain she
heard it crack.  His eyes glowered blue fire as he set her on the stool, then
straightened.

"Nurse Kincaid,
when she has stripped, I want her clothes burned."

Eleanor wrapped
her skirt around her legs.  "Nay--"

"Burned, I
say.  And after you have scrubbed every louse from her body and hair, you may
treat and bandage her feet.  After that, you may be dismissed."

And leave her
naked?  At his disposal?  "But, my lord, I have no other clothes!"

Curse his crooked
grin.  She watched him nod, then step behind the wooden divider. 

A long night
loomed unless an inspiration bloomed in her mind.  Eleanor pulled off her gown
and chemise, then sat naked on the stool.  She shivered, but didn't know if she
did so from cool air or from trepidation.

Lord Kyle's feet
shuffled on the other side of the protective screen.  "Should you need me,
woman, you only have to spout the magic word and I'll appear."

"There will
be naught that I'll need, my lord." 

She heard him
chuckle.  Distrust marred the excitement of her first true bath; her body
refused to relax because he prowled so near.  Nervous, she pondered the best
way to enter the tub.

"Is your
bath too cool, woman?  Do you wish me to add hot water?"

Eleanor set her
mouth to prevent her laughter.  In spite of her precarious situation, his
tenacity amused her.  "Nay, my lord.  'Tis fine." 

She motioned for
the nurse to lean down so that she could whisper.  "Is Lord Kyle not
wed?"

The woman shook
her head.  "He's widowed.  'Twas a terrible misfortune.  And this day is
the first time for him to grace us with his presence in nigh on four
years."  She peered toward the end of the barrier, then leaned close to
Eleanor.  "And I dare not let him hear me discuss the subject."  She
reached for a jar from her basket and opened the lid.  The woman sniffed, then
poured some liquid into the bath.  "Elixir of roses.  'Twill scent yer
skin."

Eleanor sighed
with anticipation as the open jar released the heavenly aroma.  She pushed to
her feet and closed her eyes against the discomfort.  With the old woman for
support, she lowered one foot into the water, then grimaced. 

"Aah.  It
stings."

"Come on,
lass.  Ye must bear the discomfort.  Step in."

"Nay, Nurse
Kincaid, I cannot.  Give me a moment to--"

Lord Kyle
appeared around the end of the screen like a warrior to the battle cry. 
"You quoted the magic word.  You said, cannot.  I heard you distinctly." 
Then he halted.