Free The Shattered Rose by Jo Beverley Page A

could imagine he was in the past and Jehanne was bathing him after a hard day's hunting.
    She had always been clean when she came to bathe him, for bathing had always been followed by lovemaking and she believed clean should go with clean. Was she clean now? If he'd thought, he would have asked the guard whether the Lady Jehanne had bathed today.
    Now his chest. "Thank goodness you don't have much hair here," she muttered. "I've picked off a dozen lice."
    He almost smiled. It was good to hear her scolding. But amusement faded. These pleasant moments weren't going to solve anything.
    Did he want to keep Jehanne as his wife?
    Oh, yes.
    Even if she loved Lowick?
    Yes.
    Was it wise to keep Jehanne as his wife?
    He didn't know.
    Was it possible to keep Jehanne as his wife after her open adultery, and suspicion of murder? The latter was surely untrue, but her unfaithfulness could not be ignored.
    Was he going to have to beat her to redeem her?
    If so, she was likely to go unredeemed. Of all the trials he had ever imagined facing in life, that one he shrank from. If he'd known how much he'd hate hitting her, he'd never have found the will to do it.
    She cleaned down his torso, but again stopped just short of his genitals.
    "Lean forward."
    When he obeyed so she could get at his back, he saw the filthy scum on the water. "I'm sorry. I don't think you've ever had to deal with me in such a state."
    "If I mind, I can think of any number of reasons why I should be inflicted."
    Trust Jehanne. Sometimes life would be more comfortable if she would avoid a confrontation or allow herself a polite lie.
    After a moment, she added. "Is any of this dirt from the Holy Land? If it is, we should preserve it and build a shrine."
    He couldn't tell if she was serious or not. "No. I did have a thorough bath in Constantinople. They take bathing seriously there. You'd like it." Head resting on his knees, he went on to describe the beautiful city, the ornate baths, and the sensual bathing rituals, realizing only when it was too late that this was talk for the Jehanne of his dreams, not for his adulterous wife.
    She stopped her cleansing and went to get the smaller bowl to wash his hair. "Shall I cut it?"
    "I'm sure it will make it easier."
    She used the sharp knife with skill to cut his hair quite short, shorter than was fashionable. The working of her fingers against his scalp was almost unbearably arousing. Then she soaped and washed it three times before combing it carefully and squashing some nits. "It's not too bad," she said. "A pennyroyal rinse should keep it free of pests. Shall I shave you, or do you want one of the men to do it?"
    He looked up at her. "If you were going to cut my throat, you'd have already done it."
    "They burn women who kill their husbands."
    He stared at her, trying to read meaning into the flat words, but then sighed and closed his eyes. "Yes. Shave me."
    As she used the sharp edge of the blade to scrape away his rough beard, he wondered how long he could live in this wasteland without cutting his own throat.
    At one point he thought he felt her fingers trace the scar down his chin, but she said nothing. Then she was wiping the soap away. "Stand up, and I'll get the rinse water."
    He stood, finally irritated by her calm. "You've forgotten some bits of me."
    She turned sharply, almost at bay, and he knew she wasn't calm. But being Jehanne, she didn't back down. "The water's too dirty now. I'll rinse you first."
    She sluiced him with clean water. Then, without noticeable hesitation, soaped her cloth and began to wash his genitals. At the first touch he caught his breath, and in moments he was hard.
    Her hands faltered. "Galeran?"
    The rising edge of it revealed the true state of her nerves. It asked for guidance, but carried with it a note of submission, an agreement to do whatever he commanded. If he said, "Take me in your mouth. Clean me with your tongue," she would do it.
    Was this all that was left between them—fear and