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© Cyndi Friberg, September 2006
All Rights Reserved
Dominic allowed the soothing heat of the bath water to ease the tension from his body, but no power on earth could have relaxed his turbulent thoughts. One stubborn slip of a girl had nearly bested him. The realization stuck like a fishbone in his craw. He’d battled England’s enemies for longer than he could remember, and never had he been so close to defeat.
Her delicate face and flashing gaze materialized within his mind, so Dominic opened his eyes. He didn’t want to think about how appealing he found her features. He refused to wonder if her lips were as soft and pliant as they appeared. Instead he looked about the chamber. The room was not large, but the furniture was stout, the floor clean. Was Rowena responsible for the orderly environment or did--his thoughts ended abruptly when he heard an odd creaking sound.
His eyes snapped toward the door. It inched open and four slender fingers curved around the wooden edge. The door eased inward and Lady Rowena stepped into the room.
Dominic felt his heart slam into the wall of his chest and blood flooded his groin.
Damn the wench! What was she about?
She closed the door, but didn’t move farther into the room. Firelight touched her face, making her smooth skin glow. He imagined that same flickering light dancing over her naked body and groaned. The golden flecks in her wide green eyes seemed to sparkle with metallic brilliance. Dominic’s hands gripped the rim of the tub so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Had William realized what he was doing when he set this woman in his path? Dominic smiled. Silly question. Of course he knew, the wily old goat!
“I promised I’d see to your bath. I’m a woman of my word.”
Her voice held far more confidence than her expression. She’d somehow managed to repress the fear he’d seen moments before, but her hands trembled. If she was afraid of him, why was she here?
“I’m quite comfortable,” he said. “You need not tarry.”
She clutched a small vial in her right hand. “I’ve an ointment that will soothe your muscles and help you relax. May I apply it?”
Dominic had been relaxed--until she stepped into the room.
Just before Dominic left Windsor Castle, William had insisted he vow not to touch Rowena intimately. Dominic had been confused by the conversation, but he was beginning to understand the reason for the odd request. Had tales of Rowena’s exploits reached the ear of William Marshal?
Bitterness and past resentment surged through Dominic, extinguishing his building desire. Rowena looked so young and innocent, but appearances could be deceiving. Dominic had learned that lesson a long time ago.
Curious to see how far she’d carry the game, he sat up and beckoned with his hand. “Come. Soothe me.”
Rowena was amazed that her wobbly legs supported her weight. Sir Dominic’s naked body left her shaking and breathless. His broad shoulders and brawny arms rested along the rim of the wooden tub, every ripple and curve of his chest and abdomen available for her inspection. Thankfully the water was clouded with soap, or she might well have crumbled to the floor--or flung herself into the tub.
Strangling a ridiculous giggle, Rowena quickly crossed the room. There was less to see from the back, but the view was no less spectacular. His back was wide and corded with muscles.
You must be bold. You must seem eager for his embrace. Nay, she corrected herself, you must be eager for his embrace.
Setting the vial on the floor, she raked her fingers through his sodden hair, drawing it into a mass at the nape of his neck. The heavy thickness felt wonderful tangled around her fingers. She twisted his hair into a tight coil that trailed down along his spine.
“Why do you wear your hair long?” She needed something to distract herself from the heat and tingles flaring to life all over her body.
“For the same reason I scrape my whiskers.”
She laughed, leaning in until her mouth hovered over his ear. “Are we beginning another competition of words?” A shudder raked his body, and she smiled.
“Nay.” He fidgeted, leaning slightly away. She could hear his ragged breathing and feel heat radiate off his skin. “Most men wear beards and cut their hair. I prefer my hair long and my jaw clean. I’ve never been overly concerned with social convention.”
“I see.” She lifted the vial Thora had given her and poured a small amount of amber oil into her cupped palm. Warming the oil with her body heat, she smoothed it over his broad shoulders.
A soft gasp escaped her throat. She’d not expected his body to be so hot--or so hard. The muscles beneath her fingers felt as if they were sculpted from stone--warm, living stone. She squeezed and stroked, fascinated by the slick slide of her hands over his flesh.
She kneaded his corded shoulders and worked the ointment into his thick upper arms. The side of his neck seemed especially tight, so she rubbed the area with her thumbs. She wanted to touch more of him. She wanted to touch all of him. Her fingers splayed across his shoulders and stretched downward, caressing his chest.
Suddenly, he grasped her wrist and dragged her in front of him. Anger, and something even more intense, drove every trace of gentleness from his features. Rowena wanted to run, to scream, but she needed him to act upon the lust smoldering in his dark blue eyes.
He grasped her upper arms and yanked her forward. The tub bit into her abdomen and tepid water splashed her skirt.
“I am not soothed.”
His voice sounded harsh and needful. Rowena fought through her terror and forced herself to meet his gaze. She let her lids droop slightly as Thora had showed her, and she remembered to lick her lips. “Then let me soothe you. Tell me how. I will do--”
He shoved her backward so forcefully she landed hard on her bottom. Tears blinded her as failure loomed on the horizon.
“Get out.”
He spoke the words with such finality that Rowena wanted to crawl beneath the floorboards. She scrambled to her feet and flew from the room.
Tears streamed down her face by the time she reached her bedchamber. She threw herself onto the bed and wept. All of her old insecurity crashed over her like storm swollen waves.
You are unfeeling and frigid, Rowena. No man will ever find solace in your bed! Gaston’s hateful voice echoed from the grave.
He had not wanted her.
Just like Gaston, Dominic had not wanted her.
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