Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(184)

She trailed off and he lifted his eyebrows to encourage her. “Wet?”

“Rotted.”

He cocked his head but there was a smile on his lips. “Rotted, am I?” he said. Then he shrugged his big shoulders again. “Then mayhap I had better wash so I do not shame my well-dressed wife. But my clothes are upstairs where Rhys and Gart are sleeping, I believe. On the day I arrived, I took most of my possessions up there. I shall retrieve clean clothing and return.”

He quit the room and they could hear his big boot falls heading up to the second floor above them. Chrystobel, wanting to be alone with her husband in order to help him bathe, sent Izlyn off on an errand to the kitchens to pack some food for their journey, simply to get the girl out of the room. Izlyn went happily with her lovely necklace and beautiful scarf. By the time Keller returned, Chrystobel had poured the “waters” into a big bowl and was awaiting him. He closed the door behind him, tossing the clean tunic onto the bed.

“I brought my razor,” he said, holding up what looked like a dirk in a sheath. “I have a feeling I could use a shave as well.”

Chrystobel smiled. “You do look a bit ragged.”

With a grin, Keller pulled the smelly tunic off and tossed it to the ground. “Then I am in your hands, Lady de Poyer. Do with me as you will.”

She did. She had Keller bend over the table, over the big bowl of scented water, and proceeded to scrub him with a horsehair brush she had that was used solely for bathing. She also used a bar of lumpy white soap that smelled of roses because it was the only thing she had, and she scrubbed the man’s head, face, and upper torso with it. Using a linen rag, she wiped the soap off his skin, rinsed out his hair with the heavily-scented “waters”, and proceeded to use the soap on his face again to lather up his beard. But that was where she stopped.

“You will have to shave yourself,” she said. “I have never shaved a man before.”

His dusky eyes glittered. “Then perhaps you should learn,” he told her, removing the razor from its sheath. He handed it to her. “I will sit down. The best way for you to learn is to stand over me, with my head against your belly, and drag the blade up my face towards you.”

Chrystobel wasn’t too sure about it but she did as he asked. When he was seated, she came up behind him and he rested his head back against her breasts. Holding his chin with her left hand, she proceeded to drag the sharp razor up his left cheek, scraping off a portion of his beard. With a few more drags, she grew confident and proceeded to very carefully shave his entire face without a single nick. She even shaved his neck. Thrilled at her first attempt, she used more of the “waters” to wipe off his face, cleaning it of the slimy soap, and stood back to inspect her handiwork.

It took Chrystobel a moment to realize that it was the first time she had ever seen her husband clean-shaven. His skin was rough and weathered, but removing the sprouting beard gave her a clear view of his full, smooth lips and square jaw. She found the entire vision extremely handsome and her heart beat perhaps just a bit faster in her bosom. Keller didn’t have the overt beauty that Rhys had, or the smoldering sensuality that Gart had, or even the gentle good-looks that William had, but he certainly had something that made her heart race.

“Well?” Keller said, breaking into her train of thought. “Am I presentable yet?”

Chrystobel nodded, setting the damp linen rag onto the table. “You are indeed,” she said. “Thank you for allowing me to help you bathe.”

He stood up, picked up his tunic from the bed, and bent over to kiss her gently on the lips. “My thanks to you, Lady de Poyer,” he murmured against her mouth, kissing her again because she tasted so good. “I have a feeling this will not be the last time.”

Chrystobel blushed furiously, giving in to his kisses so much that when he pulled away to put the tunic over his head, she nearly fell over. She had to catch herself. A bit addle-brained from his sweet kiss, she struggled to focus, collecting the wet linen and taking the bowl of used water and setting it aside so the servants could use it. Soapy, fragranced water, even though it had been used by the lord, was a prized commodity to the servants who liked to bathe in the sweet-smelling water as well.

As Keller straightened out his tunic and ran his fingers through his dark, damp hair, Chrystobel went to her dressing table and collected the emerald and pearl necklace he had given her. Holding it out to him, he fastened it around her neck and she put her new pale green scarf over her head, draping it elegantly over the single, heavy braid that cascaded over her right shoulder. When she collected the dark brown cloak on the bed, the one she had been mending, and turned to Keller to signal she was ready to depart, he just stood there and looked at her for a moment.

“By God’s Bloody Rood,” he muttered. “You are by far the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Chrystobel blushed. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, bobbing a little curtsy for him. “It is the necklace, I am sure.”

He shook his head, giving her a somewhat reproving look. “It has nothing to do with the necklace,” he said. “You could be dressed in rags and you would still be the most beautiful woman in Wales.”

Chrystobel didn’t know what to say. She was unused to flattery in any form, so she simply grinned demurely and lowered her gaze. Keller reached out and took her hand, kissing it sweetly.