A/N: Here's the bath scene (one of them) y'all were waiting for! Hope you enjoy!
Chapter Fifty-three: Unseemly
Ruarc and his men were at the blacksmith's shop, getting their swords repaired and the horses' shoes replaced. The man was skilled, and Ruarc had paid extra in advance to see that they were moved to the front of the line; he expected to be out of London, on the way home to Ireland by first light. He would have left sooner, but the prince had invited Ruarc to dinner that evening, so he wandered off to the castle to find a hot bath, and perhaps a willing maid to take the edge off his tension. The prince's majordomo, who reminded Ruarc of a weasel, accosted him as he re-entered the castle.
"My Lord, the prince has asked me to show you and your men to a room for the evening; you will be his honored guest." The slender man bowed obsequiously, his front teeth extending slightly over his thin lips.
"Thank you. What of the A' Dale couple?"
The man sniffed disdainfully as he arose from his bow and began leading Ruarc up the stairs and down a corridor. "They are to find their own accommodation outside the castle, My Lord. Unless you think they will run? Then, I am sure the prince will allow you the use of his dungeons." The man's voice held ill-disguised glee at the thought of the couple being made to sleep in the dungeon, and Ruarc felt his temper rise.
"They will not run. They will stay with me and my men in our room."
"But surely the woman cannot…oh," the weasel answered, a knowing smile on his lips as he stopped before a door that looked much like any other. "I suppose she will be too tired to run by morning."
Ruarc bit his tongue, reminding himself that it did not matter what others thought; what mattered was leaving here in the morning, and getting Deirdre and Tom to safety. And Allan, he added darkly to himself.
Ignoring the man's comment, Ruarc asked for a tub and bathing essentials to be brought to him and stepped into the room to await their arrival.
Once Allan was snoring softly, Deirdre arose, determined to find Guy and his new wife. She had seen the new Lady Gisbourne's condition and her look at Guy just before Gisbourne had spoken to the prince, stopping the whipping. Deirdre had no idea why Lady Gisbourne had urged Guy to stop, nor why Gisbourne had listened to his wife, and she didn't care; what mattered was thanking them for saving Allan and Ruarc. She stole from the room softly, not wanting to wake Allan up—for one thing, he needed sleep desperately, and for another, she knew he would never allow her to run this errand. Treading silently, she came to a corner and gnawed on her lower lip, unsure which direction to go. She watched some servants walk by, laden with water buckets, soap, brushes and towels; someone was having a bath, and that someone was likely a lady. She took her chances that it might be Lady Gisbourne, and stepped up to the last servant in line, relieving her of her towel and making up a story about her presence being required in the kitchen. The rest of the servants entered a room, leaving soon afterwards; Deirdre leaned against the wall of the corridor, gathering her courage, wondering how Lady Gisbourne would receive her or if she even knew Deirdre's name.
Maybe I shouldn't do this, she thought nervously. Maybe she saved me because my name was unknown to her. Maybe if she knows who I am, how I was once betrothed to Guy, she will have me whipped herself.
The thoughts ran through Deirdre's head like mice scurrying before a cat as the minutes passed. Finally, she looked to the towel in her hand, smiling ruefully at the corner she had backed herself into. If she didn't go in now, Lady Gisbourne would have to air-dry, and the young servant she had taken the towel from would be beaten. Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes, and bowed her head obsequiously, quietly opening the door and turning to close it; she would be Lady Gisbourne's body servant and perhaps get a chance to talk to her in that way. She heard the sound of cloth hitting the floor, and kept her eyes downcast until she heard her name spoken incredulously.
"Deirdre?"
Ruarc's eyes were huge as he stared at her; Deirdre looked up quickly, noting his eyes were not the only things that were huge, and obviously reacting to her presence. She flushed in embarrassment, turning away from Ruarc's naked body, so she didn't notice the look of shock turn to one of playfulness.
"Now, lass. There's no need to go quite so far to express your gratitude to me…unless of course, you want to."
"Jazus, Ruarc. I thought you were Lady Gisbourne!" Deirdre whispered vehemently.
Ruarc looked down at his manhood in trepidation, one eyebrow cocked.
"I'm thinking that's the first time a woman's ever seen me naked and called me a female. Allan must be part horse, to bring such a reaction to my…"
"Shut up, Ruarc! That's none of your business!" Deirdre shot over her shoulder, still whispering loudly.
"Why are you whispering?"
"Because…" Deirdre was still clutching the towel when the door opened once more, and in strode the prince's majordomo. The flunky, secure in his position, didn't bother looking at the "servant" and so didn't recognize Deirdre at first as he looked to Ruarc, careful to only look into the Irish lord's eyes.
"Do you have everything you need, My Lord?"
Ruarc grinned, nearly bursting with laughter. "I believe I do. Thank you."
The majordomo turned to give orders to the servant and found himself staring at the face of the woman from the courtyard earlier. He leered at her as he caught the musty scent of sex coming from her body.
"Be sure you clean him thoroughly," he commanded before leaving the two alone.
As the door closed, Ruarc picked up a scrub-brush and handed it to Deirdre over her shoulder; her nearness had the smell of her earlier activities with her husband washing over Ruarc and his body reacted once more, his cock hardening and his balls tightening as he fought to keep his breathing even. "You heard the man. Clean me thoroughly."
Deirdre grabbed the brush and turned, temper in full swing due to her acute embarrassment. Ruarc had not stepped back and so their bodies brushed as she turned, causing him to groan as her elbow inadvertently swept across the head of his straining member. He shuddered and closed his eyes, nearly cumming already from the accidental touch.
Deirdre growled low in her throat and shoved him away from her. "Tub!" she ordered, and as he turned partially to walk stiff-legged to the tub in an odd, almost-sideways manner, she took aim and the brush hit him on his flank. He yelped and Deirdre sniffed haughtily before striding to the door and wrenching it open, determined to make her escape. Outside, the majordomo stood, talking to two guards. He looked up in surprise as Deirdre tried to push past him.
"Just where do you think you're going?"
"Away!"
The majordomo was proud of his station; without Prince John, he would be nothing and he knew it. The small amount of power he wielded, he wielded like a club, enjoying it while it lasted.
"I don't think so. I gave you an order."
"Ruar…Lord O'Brian released me," she lied.
"An order from me is an order from the prince. Now, go do as your prince commands and prepare your new lord and master for his dinner with his sovereign!"
Deirdre's eyes flared—a year ago, this man would have never dared to speak to her in such a way, but now the tables had turned and she had no choice; nostrils pinched in suppressed rage, she backed into the room and slammed the door. She could hear the sound of the water splashing behind her as she turned and stomped over to the tub. Ruarc eyed her approach warily.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked nervously, noting the way her body was vibrating.
"What I've been ordered to," she growled. "Give me the brush."
"I don't think so, lass. I've plans later that involve a willing woman or two…not you, of course," he emphasized quickly at her black look. "But I will need to be a whole man, if you know what I mean."
"Hand me the brush, O'Brian, or I'm going in after it," Deirdre threatened.
While a part of Ruarc thought it might be great fun to have Deirdre play "find the brush" since both the brush and his bits were under the water, another part was extremely fond of those bits, and so, with trepidation tinged with resignation, he pulled the brush from the water and handed it to her. She held out her other hand for the soap and set to work on a task she had never once been asked to do in her life—wash another human being. Mind, she had washed Allan once or twice at their stream, but that had usually turned into something that required bathing once more afterwards. She had no intention of letting Ruarc think this could turn into anything other than what it was—a servant bathing her master.
A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she smelled the soap—lavendar; Ruarc would sure be smelling pretty when she was done with him. Deirdre took the soap and rubbed it along the hard bristles of the brush, noting with satisfaction the tenseness in Ruarc's shoulders, and the fact that his erection no longer bobbed close to the surface of the water; in fact, his manhood had softened, and seemed to hiding from her wrath.
"Down!" she ordered gruffly, putting down the soap and pushing on his shoulder to get him to duck under the water. Another mischievous smile touched her lips as she watched him take a deep breath first, possibly fearing that she would not let him back up for air anytime soon. She kept her hand on his shoulder, exerting light pressure to let him know that the thought had crossed her mind as well.
As he came back up, Deirdre sucked in a breath, noting the lines that criss-crossed his back. She had not seen those lines before; it almost as if he had been careful to conceal them in the moments she might have noticed them. The scars were old, but there, nonetheless. Ruarc had been whipped before. She had thought, when he had walked nearly sideways to the tub, that he had been trying to show off his manhood; it seemed he had been trying to hide his back instead. All the anger went out of her as she thought of how much braver it had been for him to step forward and agree to take her punishment, since he knew what a whipping felt like. Gently, she traced one of the scars with her finger-tip, feeling Ruarc shudder beneath her touch. He reached up and grabbed her hand, leaning his head back to look into her troubled eyes.
"Don't, lass. It was long ago."
"Did my father…" The thought had come unbidden and unwelcome to her mind, that her father may have punished Ruarc for some reason, despite the fact that she had never seen or heard of her father having anyone whipped.
"No." Ruarc's answer was curt. "Give me the soap, lass, and the brush."
"No." Deirdre suddenly felt the need to repent to Ruarc, to make up for all the pain she and her father had caused him. "I want to wash you, Ruarc."
He looked into her pain-filled eyes and kept his playful comments to himself as she put down the brush and wet her hands, grabbing the soap and rubbing his hair with it before massaging it into his scalp. He leaned back, nearly falling asleep as he gave himself over to the pleasure of her fingertips working their way through his hair, cleaning it thoroughly. She pushed him gently back under the water to rinse the soap out before putting pressure on his shoulder blades to lean him forward so that she could wash his back. Instead of reaching for the hard-bristled brush, she made a lather of the soap in her hands, rubbing his back to clean it. He felt himself hardening once more at the touch of her hands, and then she was rinsing his back and lathering her hands to wash his chest. As her hands began to travel from his chest to his belly, he grabbed her wrists, afraid that he wouldn't be able to control himself if she gave the same attention to his manhood as she had given to his head and back; he loved her, he had no desire to rape her or to take advantage of her feelings of remorse. When and if she ever came to him, he wanted her there because she wanted to be, not because she felt she owed him something. He stared into her eyes.
"I'll finish, lass. Please. Just turn around, eh?"
He knew that she would not be allowed to leave until he was done with his bath and dressed, and cursed the power-hungry little wretch that oversaw things for the prince here at his London estate. He tried desperately to think of horrifying things to calm his excitement as he continued washing his body, but every time he did, visions of Deirdre entered his mind instead; he remembered the feel of her hands on his back and chest, sliding soapily over his skin, and the scent of her body, so recently used by her husband, and tried not to picture the scene, to no avail. As he washed himself, his hand moved of its own accord, stroking his cock as he took the place of A' Dale in his vision, with Deirdre moaning and writhing underneath him. Moments later, he let out a hoarse groan as his cum spilled onto his belly and he lay for a moment trying to catch his breath before cleaning up once more and exiting the tub. He reached quickly for the towel, his face flushing as he noted Deirdre's equally red neck and ears; luckily, she had done as he asked and turned away so she had only heard him masturbating. He hadn't meant to do it but had been unable to stop himself after so many nights sleeping close by her yet not touching her, coupled with his own adrenaline push from their encounter with Prince John. He smiled ruefully, thinking of all the penance he was going to have to make to the priest for the last few minutes: masturbating, coveting another man's wife; and they'd probably get him for adultery for thinking of Deirdre while he was masturbating.
He finished drying his hair and put on his braes, pulling on his pants after. Bare-foot and bare-chested, he strode over to where Deirdre stood stiffly by the bed. He sat heavily on the coverlet and pulled her into his lap, kissing her temple.
"I'm sorry, lass. If Prince John's man would've let me send you away, I would have. And once you started touching me…I just couldn't control myself. Better that than throwing you to the bed and breaking your marriage vows, eh?"
"I suppose so." Deidre paused before adding in a strangled voice, "Ruarc, can we never speak of this again?"
Ruarc smiled and chuckled deeply. "Can I not even speak of it with my men? I'm sure they'd be interested in your bathing me."
Deirdre turned a horrified countenance to Ruarc before closing her hand into a fist and swinging at him. He caught the fist only because he was expecting it, and laughed louder.
"Peace, Firéad! Have you lost your sense of humor, then? Do you think I'd really tell my men how close I came to lying with you, but still didn't? I'd be the laughing-stock!"
"Just please let's not tell Allan, okay? He'd never understand." Deirdre's lip was trembling, her eyes filling with tears as she thought of how much it would hurt Allan if he found out about what had just happened, even though she'd had no choice in the matter, even though she had not even had sex with Ruarc. The fact that she had been in the room with Ruarc when he was naked, that she had bathed him, and he had pleasured himself with her so close by would send Allan over the edge.
Ruarc pulled her head to his shoulder. "It'll be our little secret, lass, I promise. 'Til the day I die."
