She sighed. Just as well. She really did crave that bath . . . as though the sordid events of the day could be washed away and she could be reborn clean and new. Wishful thinking.
Soon the simpering girls returned with kettles of hot water for her bath. They quickly searched the room with hungry gazes. Finding Weatherton absent, they simpered decidedly less and moved about with much more efficiency.
They prepared her bath and helped her out of her clothes as though she were a child. Or someone important.
As though she were not like them. This morning she had woken like them. Perhaps even beneath their station.
As she was freed from her garments, the butter spreader clattered to the wood floorboards. They all stopped and stared.
She cleared her throat and found her voice. “Ah, there it went. I thought I misplaced it at dinner.” She bent and picked it up as though her actions were the most natural thing in the world.
They watched her as though she was a half-wit, but they didn’t do anything as she placed it on the nightstand.
Soon they were pushing her into the fragrant water. They’d sprinkled some kind of floral-smelling concoction into the water and it was heady and wonderful.
“Nae need tae fuss now. We’ll ’ave ye smelling sweet and yer body warm and pink fer that fine man of yers.”
Her face caught fire. Clearly they thought she and Weatherton were in fact married. She opened her mouth to explain and then closed it. She was sharing a room—a bed—with the man. It was easier to let them make their assumptions.
“Och, a man like that must wear ye to the bone,” one of the maids lathering Alyse’s hair mused with a chuckle. “First I couldn’a imagine what ’e saw in a skinny thing like ye, but now I can see.”
“You do?” Alyse looked up at the maid.
“Aye,” the other one replied. “Ye’ve a woman’s body tae be sure. Plump lovely bosom on ye.”
“Aye, men love tae suckle.”
Her face burned even hotter at such bold language. Instantly, she was assailed with the image of her Non Husband’s dark head nestled at her breasts, his mouth at her flesh.
It was scandalous and wrong. She didn’t know him . . . she didn’t trust him, but a deep throb started between her legs. She pressed her thighs together in an attempt to assuage the ache, but that only seemed to make it worse. Oh, she was wicked to have such thoughts.
“And men love tae be suckled in turn,” the other girl reminded with a giggle.
Blast. Would they cease talking?
“Wot man dinna love that?” the other maid agreed as she dunked water over Alyse’s hair, rinsing it free of soap.
Alyse frowned, struggling to imagine such an act. How could a man be—
She gasped. Now it wasn’t only her face burning. Understanding dawned and she felt as though her entire body might combust. She didn’t utter another word, simply listened in stunned silence at the maids’ ribald exchange.
They dried her off and slipped her simple cotton nightgown over her head. She felt like a child as they seated her before the fire, toweling her hair and then setting to work brushing the long, tangled strands.
“Lovely ’air,” one of them remarked.
Alyse blinked drowsy eyes, feeling quite content as they pampered her.
“Ah, ye look ready tae fall over. Let’s tae bed wi’ ye.”
She let them put her to bed, feeling like a child. No one had coddled her this way in years. She knew her mother must have but memories of her were only vague. Papa was more pragmatic. They would read by the fire and she would tuck herself into her own bed at night.
She settled into the comfortable bed, permitting them to pull the down-filled bedding up to her chin. She was more tired than she realized. Yawning deeply, she folded her arms over the coverlet. Her lids drooped.
“Ah, get some sleep, ma’am.”
She heard their footsteps move toward the door and the hinges creak open as they prepared to leave the chamber.
“Ye’ll be needing it wi’ a man as virile as yers.”
Her eyes flew open at that parting remark and the full reminder of her situation asserted into her. Apprehension seized her.
The door clicked shut. She lay there for some moments, curled on her side, tense and queasy as she considered her Non Husband returning soon. His big body climbing into bed with her. Lying so close. Radiating heat. All night. And he no longer smelled foul enough to make her retch. Indeed not. He smelled of soap and virile male.
Seized with sudden impulse, she sat up and reached for the butter spreader where she’d dropped it on the nightstand. She immediately felt better as her fingers wrapped around it. She didn’t have anywhere to hide it on her body, so she slid it beneath her pillow, still clasping it in her grip. Sighing, she willed the tension to leave her body.
The day had very nearly melted away. The curtains were drawn on their second-floor room, but murky light crept in around the lacy edges. She lay there, rigid, ears straining for any little sound signaling his possible return.
Even as tired as she was, there was no way she could relax enough to fall asleep. It was impossible.
That was her last thought before her eyes drifted shut.
Chapter 9
The wolf’s father taught him how to hunt.
Because, as he had explained, that’s what wolves do.
Hunt prey.
He stayed downstairs longer than he intended.
The innkeeper invited him to use the private parlor and he sat in front of the fireplace, drinking a damn fine glass of whisky as he contemplated his situation.
Life was strange, to be certain. Not long ago he had very nearly died from an injury to the head. He had succumbed to a false sleep for days. The physician had warned his family that he may never wake. His temper had gotten the best of him the day of his mishap. He’d come face to face with his father’s by-blow and harsh words had been exchanged. Then blows.
It was strange to consider that had he not survived, had he never woken from a false sleep, he would not have been passing through Collie-Ben in the exact moment Alyse Bell stood on that auction block before that hungry mob.
One might say it was destiny. If one believed in such things. Marcus did not.
Life was made of choices. His choices had led to this moment and his choices would lead him out of this situation.
She was his now . . . his responsibility. An uncomfortable fact. He’d never had such a burden before. True, he had two sisters, but after his father died his stepmother had stepped to the helm in all matters concerning them.
He felt as though he’d arrived at a reasonable solution—one he could live with. He’d offered her the role of housekeeper. By all standards, it was a boon for someone of her background. She could be fairly independent in such a role, collect a decent wage and live in a fine residence with her own bedchamber. It was far better than her previous prospect as wife to the tanner. She’d be safe and that was something she couldn’t have said before.
So why did he still feel uneasy? The bill of sale burned a hole inside his jacket pocket. He felt it there like a brand against his chest. It was simply parchment and ink. Except it claimed the woman upstairs was his wife.
Downing the rest of his drink, he set it down with a clack on the side table. Enough. It was done. He’d freed her and given her employment. He’d let it trouble him no further.
He wanted a bed and to see the backs of his eyelids so badly he could taste it. She’d had ample time to finish her bath.
He made his way upstairs, knocking lightly and waiting several moments before entering the chamber. Just as he suspected, she was already in bed—a lump beneath the covers. The fire crackled, casting the room in a red-gold haze.
He closed the door behind him, locking it. After a night spent sleeping in a barn stall, the bed beckoned.
He settled into a wingback chair and removed his boots. Standing, he followed with his shirt. His hands hesitated at his trousers. Naturally he didn’t sleep in his breeches. He usually didn’t sleep in anything at all.