Bliss(24)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Hethe raised his hand which held the dripping linen, the other covering the spot above his heart. "I swear to you here and now that I never gave either order. I never demanded that only pretty, young women work in the castle, that Maggie be removed – or Mary’s mother, for that matter – and I never ordered Maggie tossed out when her husband died." He lowered his hands, his eyebrows lowering with them. "A pretty face, while nice, is useless on its own. I value skill and ability more."

He gave her a pointed look. "Wife, I intend to see that this situation is rectified. Mary is skilled, but her mother should be here, too. It is obvious, from what she said, that the girl is still apprenticing. The two of them should both be here – the mother to heal and to teach Mary to take her place, and Mary to assist and learn. That is only sensible. I have not won battles by keeping only the strong and fair young men about. My veterans are less impulsive and, therefore often more valuable. It is not brawn that wins a battle, but skill."

"Aye," Helen murmured, actually believing him. "But if you have not been giving Stephen these orders…" She let the sentence trail off, unwilling to voice the implication of his second’s perfidy. "How long has he been in charge of Holden while you were away?"

Hethe paused and calculated silently. "About five years, now. Aye." He nodded. "It was shortly after your father died, I think. That was five years ago, was it not?"

"Aye," Helen said thoughtfully. "That is also approximately when I began to hear news of the unpleasantness at Holden."

Hethe’s mouth twisted. "And soon after that, you started berating me with letters." He was silent for a minute, continuing to wash her back, then suddenly said, "We should wash your hair, too."

"Oh, I – " Helen began nervously, only to gasp in shock when a pail of water was suddenly poured over her.

"Lean your head back," Hethe instructed.

After a hesitation, she crossed her arms over her br**sts and tilted her head back, remaining silent as he began to wash her hair. His hands were gentle and soothing as they massaged her scalp. Helen felt herself slowly relax, her eyes closing, her mind beginning to drift.

"What other problems have you heard of at Holden? What unpleasantness?"

Helen’s eyes slid open, a sigh escaping her lips. She really didn’t want to think about such things just now – his hands felt so good – but she supposed there was no hope for it. Hethe began to rinse her hair.

She closed her eyes again and considered the matter. There had been much unpleasantness over the years.

"Well." She opened her eyes, staring at the shadowed ceiling above. "There was the incident with that Adam boy. He started a fight in church. His hand was cut off for punishment. That was the first atrocity I heard of at Holden. It was shortly after my father died."

"I see." Hethe was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat and said, "Well, I do not remember ordering that, but it is the punishment suggested by the church. Fighting in church is – "

"He was seven years old," Helen interrupted grimly. "He and his brother were arguing and – "

"Seven?"

Helen twisted her head slightly to peer at him. There was no way he could be feigning his shock at this news. He was truly horrified, as she had been. Helen felt some of her years of anger against the man ease the teensiest bit. He truly hadn’t known about this. She turned her face forward again, merely waiting, and after a moment he returned to rinsing her hair.

"Did he survive?" His voice was husky and tight.

"Barely. He is twelve now and helps out in the stables at Tiernay."

"At Tiernay?" Hethe repeated in surprise.

Helen nodded. "His mother brought him to me after the incident. She begged me to buy him and his brother from you ere something else could happen. They were both serfs."

"And you did." There was no doubt in his voice.

"Aye. I bought them all, including the mother. Paid a pretty penny, too," she added sharply, and felt his breath against her bare damp shoulder as he sighed.

"As far as I know, I have sold no serfs since becoming Lord of Holden."

Helen said nothing to that. She had purchased quite a few of his serfs over the years; sometimes after a punishment, sometimes to save them from one. Sometimes she didn’t hear news of trouble soon enough and was unable to save them. Like with Bertha.

"Bertha?"

His question made her realize she had murmured the name aloud. Swallowing, she nodded and glanced back at him. "Old Bertha had her br**sts severed."

Hethe recoiled at his wife’s words. "Her br**sts? Isn’t she my alewife?" he asked, not missing the irony of the fact that she was one of the few servants he could recall. He had liked to drink when he was younger. But he had cut back on that since taking up the responsibilities of the lordship of Holden.

"She was." Lady Helen nodded her head awkwardly. "Her wound became infected. She didn’t recover."

"Jesu," Hethe breathed. "What was her offense?"

"She was caught money-lending."

Hethe shook his head, furious. "I did not order these things done. I did not even know about them."

His wife peered up at him silently for a moment over her shoulder, then turned to face front again. He wasn’t sure if she believed him. He didn’t like the idea that she might not. He truly hadn’t been aware of these things happening.

But whose fault was that?, his conscience asked. Hethe winced. He was lord here; he should be aware of all. He was responsible for his people. Ultimately, he was culpable for young Adam’s severed hand and Old Bertha’s lost br**sts and life. Which were hard things to accept. He should have spent more time here, should have been more aware of his duty. Instead, he’d been off licking his wounds from the death of his first wife. The woman before him had been forced to protect his people.

"George lost his legs for poaching."

Hethe stilled, his hand unconsciously squeezing the damp linen he held and drizzling water down her back. He had no idea who George was, but that mattered little. "Poaching?"

"Aye. He was caught with a deer he said he found dead. From what I understand, there were no signs of injury to the animal; his story was most likely true. Still, the man’s legs were cut off for trespassing in your forest and taking Your Lordship’s game."

Hethe was silent. Removing a poacher’s legs was an acceptable punishment by law, but… "Was it a first offense?"

"Aye. So it was said."

Hethe would never have ordered a man’s legs cut off for his first offense. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have for a second or third offense, either. Neither would he have cut off a child’s hand for fighting in church, or severed a woman’s br**sts for any offense.

"I needs must have a talk with Stephen. Something is not right here," he announced, straightening abruptly and heading for the door, only to pause and swing back.

"What is it?"

"If I go out there now, with no proof, Templetun will be on me about consummating the marriage," he answered with a scowl. All these questions about who had been taking the rulership of Holden and its land into their own hands, and Hethe had to worry about the irritating interference of the king’s chaplain.

He was not pleased, but what could he do?

Helen stiffened in the water. She had forgotten all about Templetun and his insistence that the marriage be consummated. He would not leave without being sure it was complete. Which meant they had to…

Hergaze slid over Hethe’s nak*d chest, taking in the width and strength of him, the hard muscles, the flat stomach, the narrow waist, the breeches that covered him. He had started to remove them earlier, but she had been so busy laughing she had missed seeing what they hid. Now her gaze focused on the bulge of his manhood, and she shuddered at the thought of what he was supposed to do with it.

"You are shivering," he said to her. Hethe’s scowl slid away, and he moved back to the tub. "No doubt the water has gone cold. We should get you out of there before you catch the ague." Bending, he picked up the linen the servants had left behind for her to dry herself. Unfolding it, he held it out.

Helen hesitated, feeling herself flush with embarrassment. Then she stood quickly and huddled into the linen, letting out a breath of relief when he quickly wrapped it around her. She let out a squeal of surprise a moment later when he scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the room to the fireplace.

Setting her down before it, to warm and dry herself, he turned away and moved back to the bedside chest to collect the ointment Mary had made up.

Helen was still toweling herself off when he returned. The activity had been slowed by the fact that she was trying to use a corner of the linen which was wrapped, toga-style, around herself. Hethe smiled slightly at the sight, apparently amused that she was suddenly so shy, when she had been splayed out nak*d before him earlier. Of course, she hadn’t been comfortable then, either. Not exactly. And the possibility of their consummation suddenly seemed so much more likely. She turned away.

When, a moment later, he tapped her on the shoulder, she straightened immediately and whirled back to face him. As her eyes slid from him to the bowl he held, she forced herself to relax.

"Oh. Thankyou." She held out a hand for the salve, but Hethe merely arched his eyebrows and shook his head.

"I told Mary I would apply it."

"Oh." Helen felt herself flush at the very idea. "There is no need for that, my lord. I can do it myself."

He took in her pleading expression, appeared about to acquiesce, then shook his head with a sigh. "You might be able to do your front, but there is no way you can do your back. Turn around and I shall apply it there. You can do the rest," he bargained.

Helen hesitated. Then, realizing there was nothing else for it, she reluctantly turned her thinly clothed back to him. Knowing that his eyes were roaming down her barely covered skin, she was as stiff as stone as she waited for him to start.

Chapter Fourteen

Hethe hesitated, his gaze moving over his wife’s body wrapped in the damp linen. He had seen her nude, her skin unblemished, on their wedding night when he had ordered her into the tub. He had also seen her dressed, prepared beautifully for their wedding ceremony. Now, he was staring at her standing before him, a wet linen clinging lovingly to her curves. Undoubtedly, this half-covered view of her was the most erotic. The cloth was extremely thin, turning transparent where it was damp, and it lay upon her like a gossamer web, driving his imagination wild.

Muttering under his breath, he dipped his hand into the healer’s anti-inflammatory salve, then paused again. Where to begin? His gaze slid over his wife’s bare shoulders, down over the linen hugging her damp buttocks, then to her bare calves and ankles where the fabric stopped. She had nice ankles. She had nice shoulders, too. And he was to rub all of her, not just her ankles and shoulders.

Shaking his head, he set the bowl of salve down, inserted a finger between the skin of his wife’s back and the linen covering it, and tugged. The covering dropped away, pooling at their feet. He didn’t miss the little gasp she gave before instinctively trying to cover her front. Fortunately for Hethe, he wasn’t facing her front. He stared at her back and behind and gave a little sigh of pleasure. Had he really thought just a moment before that she looked sexier half-covered than she did in nothing? He’d been a fool.

Wee Hethe raised his head in agreement with that thought, and Hethe glanced down at his tenting breeches with a frown.

Helen bit her lip and stared at the fire before her, waiting in an agony of anxiety for her husband to begin to salve her back. She had half a mind to stop him, but she couldn’t find the voice to do so. It occurred to her that if he applied the salve to her, there was probably no way he would actually want to consummate their marriage then, and get all sticky himself. Part of her thought that was a grand thing. The other part really didn’t want to suffer all this again; it wanted to stop him from applying the balm and delaying any further.

The cowardly side of her won. Helen held her tongue and nearly sagged in relief as he began to smooth the cool cream over her shoulder. She was safe. Her deflowering would be put off for another night.

Of course, Templetun would not be pleased about that – but he did not have to suffer being poked by an ungreased pig!

Hethe finished applying salve to her shoulders, and his hands slipped down to slide over her back.

Hands? Aye, he was using both, and she could feel them spreading the cream around. The decision was good of him, really as it would be done much quicker this way. Unconsciously, she relaxed and leaned into his touch. It was really very nice. The salve was soothing what few itches still remained after her bath, and her husband’s touch was firm and warm, almost causing her to melt beneath it. She let her eyes drift shut, absorbing his caresses as his hands slid down her back and up her sides. His fingers brushed lightly over the sides of her br**sts, and her breathing gave a little hitch, but then they slid past, rising right up beneath her arms. A moment later, in descending, his fingers brushed again past her br**sts.

A little shiver running through her, Helen leaned further backward and sighed slightly. His hands clasped her waist briefly, then slipped down over her behind, massaging and kneading as they went.

Helen blinked her eyes open, some of her relaxation leaving, but quickly his hands were gone. She heard the wooden bowl of ointment scrape a small ways across the floor; then his hands were back again, and he applied fresh cool salve to the backs of her ankles. It was only then that Helen realized that the salve had grown liquid in his hands from the heat of his touch.

She was distracted from such unimportant considerations by the way his hands were soothing and caressing her lower legs, slowly making their way upward. He spread the salve over the skin of her calves, and Helen almost giggled at the ticklish sensation; then he moved on and began to work on the backs of her upper thighs. She felt herself tremble, and her breathing seemed to turn shallow as his fingers ran along the inside of her thighs and skimmed upward. The oddest little tingles were set off between her legs, and Helen felt herself grow alarmed, but then he stopped again.