Chapter 9 #3
He'd be flattered to think that he alone had this effect on her, but he'd heard it was not so.
She was skittish with all men, especially young ones.
It was strange in a girl with five brothers.
People seemed to accept that it was her vocation to the holy life that made her prudish, but Raoul wasn't sure.
In truth, he found it hard to imagine Aline of Burstock as a nun. A dictatorial abbess, yes, ruling a community of both men and women, and large properties as well. But it was necessary to go through the process of learning to be a nun in order to end up an abbess.
He peeled off his linen leggings, using force where blood had stuck them to his skin.
She looked up from where she was testing the temperature of the water. "Are you injured, sir? I apologize. I should have asked."
He looked over to see that her genuine concern had banished embarrassment for the moment. "It's someone else's blood."
"Galeran's?" she asked with alarm.
"No. Someone we encountered on the way." He pulled off his shirt so he was dressed only in linen drawers, and glanced at her.
She had modestly turned her head and now moved away from the tub. Of course it wouldn't be polite for a lady in this situation to ogle a man's parts, but her avoidance of the sight of his body was extreme. She must have seen many male bodies in her time.
She was clearly ideally suited to be a nun and he should accept that fact. It was as well that servants continued to come in and out, refilling the big kettles, building up the fire in the hearth, and filling the jugs of rinse water. He wouldn't even be tempted to be foolish.
He stripped off and sat down in the tub, finding it a little small for his length, but otherwise ideal. The water was exactly the right temperature, seasoned by the herb bag, and with a film of oil that would linger on his body.
Though she might avoid the task, the Lady Aline was clearly skilled.
She turned cautiously, first eyes, then head, then—once she was sure he was decently covered—her whole body, suddenly brisk again.
She picked up the pot of soap and a cloth and moved to wash his back.
He took another cloth, had her soap it, and washed his own legs, chest, and arms. In fact, as was usual between strangers, he washed the parts he could reach.
It was sweet to feel her rubbing his back, but he'd rather she were where he could see her.
"So you still intend to be a nun, Lady Aline."
"Of course."
"What rules must you obey during this time away from the convent?"
"None. I never took a novice's vows."
Interesting. "Why not?"
"I was about to when Galeran went away and I went to Heywood to be with Jehanne."
"Do you miss the cloister?"
"Of course." But her voice did not carry conviction.
His lips twitched. "I'm sure it must be hard to be meek and obedient." When she was silent, he added, "Especially if the orders are foolish. We encounter that, sometimes, in battle."
Her hand paused. "And yet you obey?"
"Generally. That is how armies work. And religious communities, I suppose. I wonder why you wish to be a nun."
"Why not?" Her hand picked up its task again. "It is a productive life."
"Some would say it is a sterile one."
"Only those who think of nothing but rutting." She stood and tossed the cloth on the floor. "Are you ready for rinsing yet?"
"In a moment." He made a business of cleaning his feet, pleased that she had moved where he could see her.
With her cheeks flushed, tendrils of her hair damp with steam, and her garments clinging to her generous curves, she was completely luscious.
He felt his body respond, and decided he'd better stay in the water a bit longer to control himself.
A serving woman, bringing extra drying cloths, studied him with a sliding look and winked. Another Ella. She was tempting, but he ignored the invitation and leaned back against the rim of the tub. "What productive work do you hope to do in the nunnery, Lady Aline?"
"Prayer, of course," she said warily, "and care for the unfortunate." Then she added, "Also work with numbers. Accounts."
A light in her eye told him he'd found her true vocation. "A useful interest for a wife too, surely?"
Her lips curved in a cynical smile "What man would let his wife know all his business? Most certainly not a man of our class. I know only of merchant's wives who share fully in the trade."
"Perhaps you should marry a merchant, then." He was talking just to keep her where he could enjoy the sight of her, and also, perhaps, to teach her to be at ease with him.
"I would marry a merchant, and willingly, but Father would never permit that."
"So you wouldn't mind marriage?"
That set her blushing again. "Are you not ready for rinsing yet, Sir Raoul? The water must be getting cold."
"Another moment, if you please. It is pleasant to relax here. So, will you be returning to your convent soon, now that Galeran is back?"
Her eyes slid away. "As soon as matters are settled."
"But can you do anything to help settle them? I think not."
She looked back at him, eyes clear and unflustered. "Why are you here, then, Raoul de Jouray?"
"Just to be with a friend."
"And that is why I stay too."
"Ah." He stood, deliberately catching her unawares. "I am now ready to be rinsed."
Her eyes skittered wildly and her color danced around her face, but she brought him the clean water—eyes averted—so he could pour it over himself. Then she held out the warm drying cloth and he stepped out of the tub into it.
They were alone for the moment, and he couldn't resist. Once he had the cloth wrapped decently about himself, he ran a finger gently over her rosy, averted cheek. "Thank you."
She turned to look at him, her large eyes huge. "I have only done my duty...."
"But you do it well. And I know it was against your inclination. I hope I did not upset you."
"No, of course not..."
"I'm glad." He wondered how long he could hold her spellbound. "I must seem large to you. Your father is not a large man."
Her gaze sank down to take in his broad chest—which meant that she had to look forward rather than up. Then she broke free, turning swiftly to begin picking up cloths. "A man is a man. Size doesn't mean much."
"Alas. And I am so proud of my generous attributes...."
She swiveled to stare at him. So, the little Aline was not naive.
"It is generally an advantage," he went on smoothly as he dried his legs, "for a fighting man to be big and strong."
He glanced up to see that she was staring at his body as a rabbit stares at the dog that will kill it. It made him suddenly ashamed of his teasing.
"If you would do me a kindness, Lady Aline, I have clothes on the pack horse that are a little cleaner than those I took off...."
"Oh, of course." And she bounded out of the room just like a rabbit unexpectedly released from the hound's jaws.
Raoul dropped his modesty cloth and, hearing noises in the bailey, wandered over to the window as he pondered the encounter. He was a mischievous wretch to tease a lady so, especially one who wished to be a bride of Christ. But, in fact, he had some doubts about that....
It sounded as if someone was arriving, but he couldn't see the bailey from here.
He wondered what the effect would be if he told Aline that his family had many mercantile interests-
She dashed back in. "Forthred's here!"
Then she stared at his naked body.
He was some distance from any scrap of clothing, and he'd be damned if he was going to cover himself with his hand like a nervous boy.
She just stood there, mouth agape, studying him inch by inch as if he were a fascinating manuscript. He felt himself begin to respond.
He walked over, turned her around, and propelled her toward the door. "Then I need some clothes. Does Galeran know?"
"Father's gone to tell him—them. What are we going to do?"
"If you don't get me some clothes, I'm going to walk out into the hall naked, which should at least cause a distraction."
He pushed her through the door, and with a wild giggle she ran off to find his pack.
* * *
Galeran listened to the full story of Jehanne's encounter with Brother Forthred, then he and Jehanne set to considering various ways of handling the crisis. No action was particularly appealing to people who didn't want to mortally offend the Church.
He had not taken the time to remove his armor or clean himself, and when Hubert came to say the monk had arrived, it was too late. So he walked out into the hall knowing he looked unkempt and stank of blood.
All in all, it might be a good thing.
Hubert certainly eyed him with concern. "It would bother me mightily to offend the representative of Christ here, Galeran."
Galeran didn't think Bishop Flambard deserved that elevation, but he knew Hubert was devout. "With God's blessing, that won't be necessary." He went to the big hall doors and saw three tonsured clerics on mules trot into the bailey, followed by five sturdy men-at-arms.
He wished Hubert had been as cautious as Jehanne and made the soldiers stay outside the castle, but Hubert had too much respect for men of God.
Despite the simple robes, Galeran had no doubt that one monk at least was a man of some importance. There was intelligence written on his smooth face, and he bore himself like someone who knows his worth.
Brother Forthred, no doubt.
Hubert went forward. "Greeting, Brother. Welcome to Burstock."
"Blessings upon this place, Lord Hubert," said the monk smoothly as he dismounted. "We have come from Heywood, since the Lady Jehanne was called away, apparently to visit her family here. We have business with her. Business of the bishop."
Galeran stepped forward. "Then you have business with me, Brother. I am Galeran of Heywood."
It was only an extra blink, but Galeran knew he had surprised the monk, which was useful.