Chapter Fifty-five: Cleanliness
Allan awoke as the sun was beginning its descent and the cool spring breezes began to blow through the open windows. He looked around to find himself in a storage room of sorts. Alone. He groaned, smacking his dry lips as he sat up and felt the coolness of the floor beside him; Deirdre had been gone for hours and he had been married to her long enough that he knew she was not just off relieving herself. Somewhere, in the castle or in the town, his wife was either in trouble or about to be. Heaving a sigh of exasperation, he rose and made his way back down to the kitchens. Not only could he get a drink in the kitchens, but kitchen maids usually knew all the gossip—they might have even seen Deirdre.
Ruarc turned on Deirdre as soon as they were out of sight of Guy and Adelaide's room.
"That man is an arrogant ass! I could kill him for the way he spoke to you! He had no right, Deirdre."
Deirdre laid calming hands on Ruarc's bulging arm muscles.
"Ruarc, it's all right. I'm not a lady anymore—in fact, you've made me a serf. Not that I mind," she added quickly at his black look. "I'd rather be a serf for you than a lady married to Gisbourne any day. Yes, he tortured Allan, and I can never forgive him that, but I did play with him, and hurt him; he deserves the chance to vent some of his frustration, does he not?"
Ruarc sighed heavily. "I suppose he does. But he's had that chance now, Deirdre. If he does it again, I'll take him to task on it, you can be sure of that."
"Ruarc, thanks to you, Allan and Tom and I have a chance at a regular life. Please don't mess that up because Guy says something bad about me. Promise me."
Deirdre looked up at him stubbornly, her raised chin only reaching his chest; it didn't matter that she was that much smaller than him and a woman to boot—she'd take him down if he didn't promise, and make good on his promise.
Sighing once more, he said softly, "I promise."
"I didn't hear you."
"I promise!" he nearly shouted. "Let's go find your husband. I've a sudden need to extend my gratitude and my condolences for his choice of a bride." He raised an ironic eyebrow at her as he spoke and was rewarded by a slap on the arm for his sarcasm.
Guy turned to Addy as Deirdre and Ruarc left their room.
"I'll thank you to not make me look like a fool again, Adelaide." He spoke harshly, his embarrassment over the whole situation making him angry.
Adelaide looked up at her handsome husband, his features pinched in anger; she liked him so much better when he was smiling. If it had been Lord Henry, she would have cowered, awaiting the beating, the rape that would have followed the scene with Deirdre and her Irish master. Adelaide found that it was becoming easier every day to realize that Guy was not her first husband, that Guy actually cared for her, and would not harm her for the fun of it or in retaliation. She placed a calming hand on his chest and looked up at him with doe eyes.
"I'm sorry, Guy. I thought I was preventing you from making yourself look like a fool," she cooed, her other hand stroking along the top of his thigh.
Guy inhaled sharply as her hand stroked along his suddenly hardening cock. She was smiling at him, and leaned up, her body language demanding a kiss. Growling, Guy complied, fisting one hand in her hair as the other crushed her to him, trapping her roaming hand between their bodies.
"You should not trifle with me, Lady Gisbourne," he whispered against her mouth.
"I would never trifle with you, My Lord Gisbourne. You are far too important to me," she whispered back before he kissed her again.
Deirdre and Ruarc were roaming the halls as Deirdre tried to remember which room she had left Allan in. All the doors looked the same, and she had been a bit distracted at the time, making the task that much more difficult. Deirdre was becoming frantic, afraid that if Allan awoke without her beside him, he would become worried or angry.
Ruarc stopped her and pulled her to him, cupping her chin in his hand and forcing her to look into his eyes.
"Come on, lass. We'll go back to my room. You can soak yourself in the tub and I'll go fetch my men to help me find Allan, all right?"
Deirdre swallowed and stared into Ruarc's eyes miserably. In that moment, Ruarc knew that what she had told him was true: if she ever lost Allan, she would quite literally die. His gut wrenched with the sure knowledge that he had truly lost her. He wanted to cry and beat the walls, but even more so, he wanted to see her smile again. He swore to himself that he would find Allan, if he had to walk in on every couple, and every roomful of women in this castle. Quietly, he led her back to his room and ordered her to get herself bathed while he was gone, promising that when she was clean, her husband would be standing before her.
In the kitchens, Allan was tearing into some bread, still hungry from having eaten very little earlier in the day, and his quick romp with Deirdre.
"Have you seen my wife?" he asked the cook. "She's got yellow hair, blue eyes, and stands about so tall." He held his hand to the bottom of his nose to show Deirdre's height.
"I know yer wife. At least I hope that was the woman you was in 'ere with earlier. One of my girls saw 'er in the corridor upstairs. They were bringin' water for that Irishman what brought you 'ere. Yer wife took the towel from my girl and sent 'er back down 'ere, sayin' as I had somethin' for 'er to do."
"Did you? 'ave somethin' for your girl to do?"
The cook gave Allan a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, lad, I didn't. Looks like yer wife wanted to express 'er gratitude proper to yer new lord."
Allan paled at first, then thought of all the times, particularly since O'Brian had come into their lives, that Deirdre had expressed how much she loved him, Allan, and not Ruarc.
"No, you got it wrong, missus. My Deirdre's faithful, she is. Yer girl was mistaken."
As Allan left, the cook shook her head, feeling bad for the blue-eyed man.
Deirdre sighed with pleasure as she eased her tired, sore body into the water. While she and Ruarc had been with Guy and Adelaide, the servants had re-filled the tub with hot water, which was still warm. Ruarc had thoughtfully asked the servants to bring a fresh towel as well, and rose petals so she could smell like her favorite flower. She still worried about Allan's whereabouts, but decided to trust Ruarc; when Allan was found, they could find her father and be off with him to his London house for the night. She drifted off to sleep thinking about the next day, and how they would be setting off for Ireland and a new life.
In the upstairs corridor, Allan asked a servant to direct him to Lord O'Brian's room choking on the use of Ruarc's title. He thanked the young woman and walked over to the indicated doorway, knocking until he heard a woman's voice—Deirdre's voice—tell him to come in. As he opened the door, he looked in on a scene that warmed him in all the right places. Deirdre was lying naked in a tub of water before a fire with a cloth over her face; he couldn't see any of the good bits, just her arms and the top of her chest and neck, but every scrap of her clothes lay in a heap near the bed. Allan closed the door behind him and silently approached her, a playful grin on his face.
"Ruarc, is that you?"
Allan froze in mid-stride, his face a confused mask.
"Ruarc? If that's you, you'd better keep your back turned. Did you find Allan?" she asked, removing the cloth from her face and looking into the horrified countenance of her husband.
"Allan!" she cried, launching herself from the tub and into his arms just as the door opened once more and Ruarc came in.
"Ruarc, I found him!" Deirdre exclaimed, as Allan hastily turned her body away from Ruarc's bemused gaze.
"I see that, lass. Shall I leave you two alone, then?"
"If you wouldn't mind, seein' as my wife's not got a stitch on," Allan answered hotly.
Ruarc grinned at Deirdre, whose face was suffused with joy, and then let himself out of the room.
As the door closed once more, Allan pushed Deirdre away from him and began handing her clothes to her; unfortunately, in his discomfort, he had picked up her outer things, and so she dropped them back, reaching down for the undergarments instead. Allan fought for control, choosing to turn away so temptation would not bite him in the arse as he watched her bend over to retrieve her clothing. He wanted answers from Deirdre first: where she had gone to, what trouble had she gotten into, and why was she here—naked—in Ruarc's room? Soon, he felt his wife's arms go around his waist, and he reached down to hold her hands before turning back to face her. Before he could start asking questions, though, she began unfastening his shirt.
"Now, luv, just you 'old on a minute. I've got some questions for you."
"And I'll have some answers for you. After you get in the tub."
"I ain't no sissy lord to be gettin' into a tub full o' rose petals."
"That's okay, then. Ruarc sure did smell good after his bath."
Allan glared at her suspiciously, sure he was being baited.
"And just 'ow would you know that?"
"Get in the tub and I'll tell you."
"If I get in the tub, I won't be able to catch you as quick if you decide you need to run away," he grumbled.
Deirdre folded her arms stubbornly across her chest, glancing up at him with her chin down and eyebrows cocked. Allan let out an exasperated breath before he finished untying his shirt and pulled it off over his head. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he had the shirt half off, and he felt the cool touch of Deirdre's fingers on his abdomen. She began untying his pants and he knew that temptation had found him once more; Deirdre could see exactly what he was feeling as the cloth fell to the floor and she grinned before pushing him onto the bed and pulling off both his boots and the trousers. To his disappointment, when she leaned over him, she reached for his hands to help him up and shoved him toward the tub. He climbed in awkwardly, curling his nose at the flowery smell.
"Where did you get yerself off to, anyway?' he asked, then squawked as Deirdre shoved his head under the water. He came up, splashing about, eyes shooting blue fire.
"What was that for?" he demanded, grabbing her arm as her hand reached once more for his head.
"If you're head isn't wet, how am I supposed to get the soap in?" she reasoned, opening her hand to show him the bar of lavender soap she had used on Ruarc earlier.
He raised a suspicious eyebrow at her, but settled back once more against the back of the tub and let her work the lather into his hair. As her fingers began working their magic, he forgot all about the questions he wanted to ask her and just enjoyed.
Deirdre took a deep breath, watching as Allan's body began to relax; better to catch him while he was calm. Her hands moved down to his muscular shoulders, continuing to massage him.
"I went to see Guy and his new wife," she began.
"You what?"
As Allan turned toward her, he lost the grip he had been able to keep with his body laid out in the tub. Deirdre took advantage and quickly pushed him under again to rinse him.
"Stop doin' that!" Allan shouted as he came up for air once more. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her around beside him, keeping a firm hold on her.
"Why would you go to see Guy?"
"To thank him."
Allan looked at her like she had lost her mind, and indeed, for a moment, he was sure she had.
"You wanted to thank 'im? Guy of Gisbourne? Who would've forced you to marry 'im and 'ad me tortured? You wanted to thank 'im?"
Deirdre gave a cry of irritation. "You and Ruarc are two peas in a pod, you know that?"
"Jazus, lass, you really 'ave gone round the bend! What are you on about now?"
"Let me go, Allan!"
"No. Not until you tell me what's goin' on, and why're you comparin' me to O'Brian!"
"Ruarc said the same thing about me being crazy to want to thank Guy."
"Then we actually agree on something?"
"Aye, you're both idjits!"
Allan pulled her closer, nearly into the water as he pushed his face into hers belligerently.
"Who're you callin' an idiot?"
"Well, if you act like an idjit and speak like an idjit…"
In pure frustration, he yanked her into the tub, pushing her head down under the water in revenge. She came up spluttering, and he began laughing at how bedraggled and angry she looked.
"Don't feel so good on the other side, does it?" he asked.
"Not with your stick and berries under there, it doesn't," she replied haughtily.
"Stick and berries? I didn't hear you complainin' about 'em before!" he huffed.
"Well, I…" Deirdre paused in her tirade. "I…"
Allan raised amused eyebrows at her. "Well, well, well. The mouthy Deirdre A' Dale is speechless! Call the town crier."
Deirdre smacked his chest, but not very hard. "Allan A' Dale, you are just such a…such a…"
"Yes?" he goaded.
"Man!" It was not lost on her sense of irony that she had given Ruarc the exact same "insult" not many days before, and how very much alike the two men were beginning to seem to her.
The smile that had been playing on his lips broke out into a full grin as he held her hips, grinding them onto his so she could feel how much of a man he was.
"Indeed I am, luv. A man who wants his gorgeous wife right now. What shall we do about that, eh?"
Deirdre gave a little groan as she felt his erection pressing against her soft core through the cloth of her dress. She pushed against Allan's chest once more, shifting enough to move the skirts up and out of the way before settling in his lap once more. She reached down between them to grasp his cock and help guide him into her, hearing his moan of pleasure as he felt her velvety walls close around him. She rose and fell on his lap, the rhythm splashing water onto the stone floor.
Allan pulled the shoulder of Deirdre's dress down on one side and pulled out a plump breast; the milk leaked out as he teased it, and he leaned forward to lick the sweet stuff off of her nipple, earning a groan of delight from his wife. He found it difficult to lick her while she was riding him so earnestly, so with a growl, he took the nipple in his mouth, suckling it instead.
The door opened as Deirdre cried out in pleasure from Allan's assault on her breast, and Ruarc stood in the doorway, smiling bemusedly for a moment, wishing it was him still in the tub, before clearing his throat. He was rewarded by startled cries and looks of shock and anger from the couple.
"Sorry, thought you'd be dressed by now," he teased. "I guess I'll have some clean things sent up for you both. Clean and dry," he added with a loaded glance at Allan's sopping things on the floor and Deirdre's dress that was still on her body. "I'll have the servant knock first, shall I? Inventive way to wash your things, by the way, Deirdre. Maybe you could be my washer-woman back in Ireland, eh?"
Allan picked up the brush that was on a table next to the tub and lobbed it at Ruarc, who dodged it by closing the door, and the brush clattered to the floor. Even through the oak door, they could hear his deep laughter.
"I'll kill that man one day, I will, Deirdre."
Deirdre took his face in her hands, planting a hot kiss on his mouth, feeling his softening erection begin to stir once more to life inside of her.
"Why don't you worry about finishing me off first, Mo Croi?"
A/N: Well, there's the tub scene y'all were really waiting for--hope you liked! There's a lot going on in this one--I'd love to hear what you think, so please review. I'm back to one chap a week, as Nano slowed me down for "Den", but now that I've completed it (YAY, I made the 50,000 words in a new story!), I will be back to work on "Den", wrapping it up in preparation for the third book in the series. Will let you know the title to look for in Den's last chapter. As always, thanks for reading!
