Commanded by the French Duke by Meriel Fuller

Author:Meriel Fuller
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Medieval
Published: 2016-06-30T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

The water was hot, fragrant and delicious. Plumes of steam rose up from the circular wooden bathtub, wreathing around Alinor’s head. Shifting her hips, she wriggled down into the water, the linen cloth that lined the tub soft against her bare skin, protecting her from splinters. Heated liquid lapped against her neck. The accumulated tension in her body eased, the worries about Bianca, about Eustace; all temporarily flew away and her mind emptied gradually until all she was left with was...Guilhem.

Bianca’s words still haunted her. What had happened to him in France? To be locked up and left to die; why, she couldn’t even begin to imagine how horrific that must have been. Would she ever be brave enough to ask him about it? She bit her lip, doubt crawling through her heart. She might ask, but he would surely never tell her; why would he? He scarcely knew her.

Beneath the water, she moved the flannel slowly across her breasts, down over her flat stomach. Silky dark lashes fluttered downwards, touching her cheek. Why did her flesh respond in such a way to him, why did the briefest touch of his hand, or the faintest glimpse of his smile, send her heart racing to a pitch that was almost intolerable? She had never lain with a man, she was an innocent, but she wasn’t totally clueless. Even at the very thought of him, her loins gripped with an unbearable longing; she sank down below the waterline, soaking her hair, trying to rid herself of such wayward thoughts, wash them away. She desired him, she wanted him, and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.

Spluttering upwards, she pushed her wet hair out of her eyes, blinking rapidly, scrubbing ferociously at her arms, her neck. Lifting one leg, she rubbed the flannel down her calf, over her foot. She would do well to cast such thoughts from her mind. It was obvious he held no such desire for her; he had laughed off his kiss as if it had been a trifle and had left her chamber so abruptly at Claverstock when she was in a state of undress, it was obvious that he couldn’t stand the sight of her. Aye, he was kind, and had helped her after Eustace’s attack, but, as he had rightly stated, any man, any knight in his situation would have done the same for her, out of chivalric duty.

She would present her predicament to the Queen; she didn’t need him nursemaiding her all the while. Up to now, she had managed perfectly well alone, priding herself on her own reliance. Wilhelma’s behaviour with Bianca, the episode with Eustace—both had shocked her, set her back temporarily, but now...now she felt stronger, more able to deal confidently with her stepmother and brother again. Guilhem’s quiet, laid-back energy drew her, his sheer physicality supported her, but she had begun to rely on him too much. It would make it far harder for her when they inevitably parted.

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