Free Love Never Lies by Rachel Donnelly Page A

him stride away, then hastened to follow Hilda down the stairs. She shivered, clutching the basket tight against her. How was it that lust could change a man’s nature in the blink of an eye? She would have vowed Edric wasn’t capable of hurting a flea, or she would never have offered to mend his tunic. But then, she had never been alone with him before.
    “There wasn’t a rat in the constable’s chamber, was there,” she said between gasps, quite out of breath as they emerged in the courtyard below.
    Hilda cocked a wicked grin. “There will be now.”
    Isabeau chuckled, then just as quickly sobered. It was no laughing matter. Thanks to Alexander Fortin, guarding her virtue had become more difficult. She must remember to thank him when they next met.
    They delivered their baskets to the washhouse, then continued on to the bathhouse. ‘Twas a relief, if not a joy, for Isabeau to wash away the grime of her labors and the memory of Edric’s touch.
    Hilda kept up a steady stream of gabber in the wooden tub beside her as Isabeau scrubbed herself clean with the strong smelling soap.
    Normally she would have laid her head back, luxuriating in the pleasure of a bath, but the refreshing feel of the water did little to cool her ire. Edric’s assault at the gatehouse left her more determined than ever to pry any word of her ransom from Fortin as soon as she clapped eyes on him.
    After stepping from the tub, she rubbed her hair dry as best she could with one of the thick linen cloths folded on the bench, then dragged her fingers through it to release any knots.
    Hilda did not bother with her confusion of fiery curls, just gave her hair a quick rub before yanking her brown kirtle over her head. “I best fetch fresh linen for the high table,” she said, tugging on her shoes. “Lord Fortin and his men will arrive anon. They were nearing the gate ere I left the constable’s chambers.”
    Isabeau’s heart gave a leap. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She snatched up her sleeveless linen chemise to wrestle it over her head. When she emerged, Hilda was nowhere to be seen.
    After sitting on the wooden bench to slip on her shoes, Isabeau bounded to her feet in search of her kirtle. Panic seized her, when at first she could not lay her hand on it. At last she grabbed it from under the wooden bench with a frantic swipe.
    When she turned around the bathhouse was no longer empty.
    Fortin stood just inside the doorway, looking dusty and saddle-worn, his features inscrutable with his back to the bright light of the sun streaming through the door behind him.
    His great height alone in such a tight space was enough make her heart pound—to make her feel trapped.
    “I’d thought to be first in the tub, but I see you’ve beaten me to it.” He dropped his black leather gloves on the bench by the door. “No matter.” He shrugged. “As long as you’re here, you can assist me.”
    Heat rushed to her cheeks as she clutched her kirtle in front of her trembling form. His unexpected request left her speechless. Did he jest? Was he simply trying to bait her? Why should he wish her to assist him with his bath, when up until now he had made it clear he hated the very sight of her?
    She could not understand him.
    One moment his tone was mild, the next cold.
    What was he up to?
    Was this some new form of revenge—a new way to bring her shame?
    Touching his naked body would certainly do that. Her fingers were bound to tremble, coming in contact with such beauty. And then, he would know her desire. What could be more demeaning than to desire a man who loathed the very sight of you? How he would laugh. And how could she blame him? She didn’t understand it herself. How was it that she desired a man she did not even like. It did not make sense.
    Her belly fluttered, her lips grew dry, but she willed her voice to calm. “I cannot, my lord. Hilda’s waiting for my help in the hall.” Not to mention, if the work wasn’t completed on time, she would