Suzanne Barclay - Knight's Rebellion

“We’ll sit over here.” Footsteps scraped on the stones, coming closer, pausing at the spot she’d recently vacated.

Alys held her breath, dying inside. If only she could sneak out without being seen, but Bette had said there was only one entrance. Gowain and Maye were between her and that doorway.

“Shh. Easy, now, dearling,” he crooned. “First let us get your clothes off.”

“Oh, no,” Alys mouthed.

Muffled rustling followed, accompanied by Gowain’s gentle murmurs. “How does that feel?” he asked.

“Mmm,” said a small, sweet voice. Alys groaned and tried to cover her ears..

“Sit here, put your feet into the pool,” he urged.

“Oh!” someone gasped.

“It feels hot at first, but you’ll grow used to it. See?” A splash marked the entry of a big body into the water.

Alys shivered, trying not to imagine what those wide shoulders and broad chest would look like without chain mail. She’d seen her father and brothers shirtless, but some inner sense told her this wouldn’t be the same. The soft voice of Gowain’s companion reminded her he wasn’t alone. Wasn’t for her.

“Ready, sweetheart? Let me lower you into the water,” Gowain coaxed. “That’s it.”

A breathless feminine squeal followed, chased immediately by a rumble of male laughter. Water splashed, chuckles ensued, and Alys’s imagination flitted down amorous paths. She’d seen lovers dallying in Ransford’s gardens. Seen and envied them the lingering touches, the closeness forever denied her.

“Your skin is so soft,” Gowain said. “Especially on your belly. Mmm. Does it feel good when I rub it?”

Alys bit her lip to keep from groaning aloud in shame and misery. She had to get away before things went farther.

“Sister Alys,” Bette sang out.

Alys did groan then and scrunched down.

“Oh, Gowain. I didn’t know you were here,” Bette said. “Sorry to intrude, but I am looking for Sister Alys.”

“Here?” Gowain growled.

“Aye. She spent the whole night tending the wounded. I thought a soak might ease her aching muscles.”

“I did not see her when we arrived.” He sounded wary.

“Oh, dear. I hope she didn’t come to some harm. She said she could swim.” Footsteps came closer. “Sister Alys?”

There was no help for it. Better to stand and face trouble than to be found cowering like this. Generations of proud Sommerville breeding stiffening her nerve, Alys got to her feet. “Here I am, Bette.” She kept her gaze on the woman for fear she’d see more of Gowain and his mistress than she wanted.

“Sister, whatever were you doing back there?” Bette asked.

“Er, lacing up my boots.”

“They must reach to your knees,” Gowain dryly observed, “for we’ve been here a goodly time.”

Alys’s eyes flicked toward him, then away. It was enough to see he stood in waist-deep water, torchlight emphasizing the planes and hollows of his heavily muscled chest. Something fluttered in her midsection. She prayed it was nausea. “I am ready to go back, now, Bette.” She sounded strained.

“Of course.” Bette smiled at her, but bent toward the pool.

“Are you enjoying your bath, lovey?”

“Hot,” said a small voice.

Alys glanced down and saw a tiny sprite of two or so sitting bare-naked on the hollow rock where she herself had rested.

“My daughter, Enid,” Gowain said.

“Oh.” Heat crept up from the neck of Alys’s gown, burning her cheeks. “I thought—”

“Did you, now?” he asked archly. “Shame on you, Sister.”

“Aye, well…” Thoroughly mortified, Alys nonetheless raised her chin and left with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Good night, Gowain,” Bette said. “Wait, Sister, or you’ll get lost in the tunnels.”

“I hope so,” Alys muttered under her breath.

Gowain’s chuckled. “Don’t be shy, Sister Alys, you’re welcome in my bath anytime.”

Alys fumed all the way back to the sleeping chambers. When she saw the one assigned to her, her smoldering temper erupted. “I cannot stay here.” Her horrified gaze moved over the damp, mossy walls and the thin pallet spread on the stone floor. A brazier glowed in one corner, but it didn’t take the chill or the smell of mildew from the place.

“‘Tis the best we have,” Bette said, wringing her hands. “Gowain’s own, in fact.”

“His?” The heat drained from Alys’s face. “Surely he does not expect me to share his bed.”

“Nay!” Bette exclaimed. “He moved his clothes and the trunk with his papers into his counting room so you might have the largest chamber…and the brazier to warm you.”

The lump in Alys’s throat thickened, a tangle of fatigue, misery and, aye, fear. If only she hadn’t dismounted to aid Dickie. Nay, she’d had no choice in that. Nor did she have a choice now, it seemed. Swallowing hard, she managed to nod. “I—I am sorry to seem ungrateful, but at home…” She swallowed those words, too. Kind as Bette had been, ’twould not do to let these brigands know her father would pay all he had to ransom her. She’d gotten herself into this. She’d get herself out. Tomorrow. When she was dry and rested. “I am just tired, is all.”

“‘Course you are.” Bette laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. The purity of her compassion seeped through the fine wool to soothe Alys’s troubled heart. “You’ve had a rough day and night, but you’ve naught to fret about. You’re safe here with us. Gowain will not let any harm befall you.”

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