Chapter Five #2
Christopher re-entered his wife’s room to discover that she had only partially obeyed him. True, she had taken off the dress, but she had not donned a robe, instead, choosing to take a bath, of all things. She was busy singing away with her back to him, lathering a bar of soap between her hands.
He stood by the door for several minutes, watching her run soapy hands over her arms and legs, the firelight glistening off of her slick skin.
He knew she had not heard him enter with all of the noise she was making and wondered if he should announce himself or if he should continue to stand there, stealing glances at the woman he married.
But he was not a voyeur and he cleared his throat loudly, telling her he had returned. Dustin shrieked and covered her nakedness with her arms, sinking up to her mouth in the warm water.
Christopher walked slowly and deliberately around the tub, his hands on his hips as he gazed down at her. She was watching him with huge eyes, obviously quite shocked and outraged at his boldness.
“I do not recall telling you to take a bath,” he said.
“The warm water makes my aches feel better, my lord,” she replied, water in her mouth.
“I told you I would return,” he pointed out.
“But you did not say when,” she insisted.
He had to admit she was, technically, correct. He gave her another reproachful glance as to not admit her accuracy and went to put a vial of some kind over on the table. She eyed the container curiously.
“What is that?” she asked suspiciously.
“Get out of that tub,” he told her.
She sat a little straighter, eyeing him and the vial. “I would know what that is.”
He frowned. “It is not poison, for Christ’s sake. Get out of the bath.”
“But…but I have not washed my hair,” she said, wondering if she was going to have to drink the potion in the glass and absolutely not wanting to.
He looked at her irritably for a moment before beginning to roll up his sleeves. “Very well. I will do it and you will be done with this.”
“I am quite capable of washing my own hair,” she protested, thinking his hands on her while she was in the tub were entirely too intimate and disturbing.
“Why? Do not you have maids to do it for you?” he was still rolling up his sleeves.
“I bathe alone, my lord,” she said stiffly.
He frowned again and moved towards her. “Why in the hell would you do that with a house full of servants to help you?” he asked. “ ’Tis most strange that you would.”
He had come too close and she suddenly plunged her head underneath the water, as if trying to hide her whole body from him.
He fought off a grin, trying to remain severe as he stood over the tub and waited patiently for her to run out of air.
She came back up several moments later, sputtering and coughing. He did grin then.
“Are you finished?” he asked, picking up her soap. “Can we get through this, please?”
She started to protest and again attempted to dive under the water but he grabbed her by the hair, rubbing soap into her scalp until it frothed up a rich white.
Roses filled the air, permeated the skin of his hands and he knew he would be smelling the scent for the rest of the night.
Not an entirely bad prospect, he had had to admit. The scent was growing on him.
Dustin was initially appalled at his actions.
She didn’t want the man near her, much less helping her to bathe.
But the very moment his big, gentle hands started massaging her scalp, she quickly reconsidered.
The maids could be rough, which was why she liked to do it herself.
But not Christopher; his hands were actually tender as he scrubbed her scalp, lathered her hair, and worked his way down to the very ends.
She felt herself relaxing, closing her eyes at his touch and hating herself for it, yet it was so wonderful she could not help it.
There were moments when she would remember that she didn’t like him and she would stiffen again, but a mere few seconds later she would go as limp as a wet rag.
It was a strange condition that struck in wave after wave until she finally relented completely and allowed herself to enjoy the attention.
It was so new to her, so completely foreign, but she knew she liked it very much.
Christopher liked it, too. It was certainly one of the most pleasant experiences he had ever had and he soaped her hair much longer than was necessary simply because he loved the feeling of her hair in his hands and was growing to like the smell of roses.
She had stopped fighting him and that pleased him strangely, too.
But the water was growing cool and it would not do for her to take a chill. Taking an empty pitcher left by the side of the tub, he filled it from the bath and poured it over her hair, again and again until the water ran clear.
Neither one of them had said a word the entire time.
It was as if both of them were reconsidering their harsh stances, wondering if indeed the other was not as bad as was originally thought.
It was a curious time for wondering and reasoning and thinking, trying to sort out insane ideas as to what marriage was truly about.
They were married, the holiest and most intimate of unions, yet they were strangers to one another.
Mayhap under different circumstances they might have felt differently toward one another, but their beginning had been so rough that it was difficult to feel any other way.
Christopher twisted her hair, wringing the water from it. Then he moved for the large square of linen and held it up for her.
Dustin looked back at him, stunned at what he was suggesting.
Yet his expression was completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever as he held it up patiently; even so, she was extremely hesitant to climb out of the tub.
After all, they were strangers. Surely he did not expect her to forget all of her modesty simply because he was labeled her husband.
But the fact was that he was her husband. He had every moral and legal right to see his wife unclothed. She could hear her mother’s words.
Duty, Dustin, duty!
Swallowing her embarrassment and humility, and knowing she was surely going to die from shame, she rose quickly from the tub as the water coursed off her body.
Avoiding his eyes, she jumped over the side and threw herself into the linen towel, pushing herself against him in the process.
Much to her surprise, his massive arms went around her and began to dry her briskly.
Dustin was buffeted back and forth by the force of his invigorating drying.
She remembered how her mother used to dry her like this when she was young, and it almost made her smile.
He was rapid yet thorough, starting at her shoulders and moving all the way down to her feet.
As rough as he was, it was actually rather pleasant and she was so relaxed by the time he finished that she almost fell forward onto the floor when he stopped.
He caught her before she could fall and mumbled something she didn’t catch, then threw the towel over her head and rubbed her hair vigorously until it was wild and askew and hanging in front of her eyes.
“Do you have a dressing gown?” he asked.
She was standing naked before him and had completely forgotten her state. The way he had bathed her and dried her left her feeling so comfortable and familiar with him that when he asked her the question, she simply pointed to the wardrobe and he retrieved an old robe that her mother had given her.
He held the robe out and she put her arms in the sleeves, tossing her hair out of her eyes as he pulled the sash tight. He pulled it so taut she grunted and he took her hand and led her back over to the bed.
“Now, to take care of your shoulders,” he murmured, pulling the top of the robe down to reveal her delicate shoulders and neck.
Truth was, he was so caught up in tending her that he hadn’t even stopped to realize that this was the same vicious woman who had slapped him earlier, who had screamed disrespectfully in her rage. The woman before him was calm and obedient and completely, entirely beautiful.
He didn’t know why he had held up the towel to her.
True, he was intensely curious about her body and was not disappointed with his observations.
She was perfectly formed, even for her small size, and her ripe breasts were the most beautiful he had ever seen.
Aye, she was damn pleasing and he had been a fool to cover up all of that beauty with the robe.
It was so strange, this relationship they had developed since he had washed her hair.
He hadn’t spoken but a handful of words to her, and she had yet to utter a sound, yet they moved together and responded to one another with alarming comfort.
The male part of him liked it very much, but the rational part did not.
To have a wife that was distant and cold was safe for him, someone who could not affect him in any way.
But this woman in front of him now, this vulnerable lass, was dangerous.
This was a wife who could get under his skin.
“Wait,” she put up her hand as he picked up the glass vial. “My hair. I would brush it before it dries into a bird’s nest.”
“I shall do it.”
He said it so fast that he startled himself.
Why in the hell should he want to brush her hair?
It was a maid’s duty. Yet he was brushing it all the same, watching the light from the fire play off of the silver and gold highlights.
It began to occur to him that he wanted to do these things because his wife was now an acquired possession and, like most possessions, it was natural to want to inspect what was now his.
He had been married to her for nearly an entire day and was not ashamed to admit he was pleased with this fancy piece of property.