Scrub as she might, the stench of moat sludge continued to cling to Marian's skin. Still, it felt wonderful, relaxing in a warm rose scented bath, under her own roof, well fed, well loved, well rested.
"You look content. Not to mention...enticing."
"Step closer and take a deep whiff," she told her husband, who had somehow managed to seemingly materialize out of thin air in her bath chamber. "Not so enticing, you'll discover."
Robin was wearing his thick, dark blue robe, fresh from his own bath, his hair still damp.
"You forget, Marian," he told her, his voice low and warm and tempting, "I smell every bit as bad as you."
Her dimples deepened. "Is that meant to impress me? Of all the dribble you've ever spouted, Robin, that has got to be the weakest."
"Would you have me lie, and tell you your delicate scent delights my senses?"
"If you smell so foul, why did you end your bath?"
"I was missing you. Thought we might share a bath, as well as a bed. You know, you could scrub my back, and I'll scrub yours."
Her eyes sparkled their approval to his plan, and he shed his robe and quickly slid behind her into the copper tub.
"There," he said, burying his lips into her neck, "isn't this a lot more fun than soaking all alone?"
She found her back swaying sideways, back and forth, rubbing against the hardness of his chest. "You're supposed to be scrubbing," she mentioned, closing her eyes to better savor the delicious sensations beginning to tingle throughout her body, at the touch of his. "There's soap in the tub, somewhere. A gift from Queen Eleanor."
"I'll find it," he teased, groping expertly about under the water, not seeking the soap.
Marian's head fell back against his shoulder on its own accord, tilting up to reach his wonderful mouth, whose unhurried, deliberate, delicious kisses sent even more waves of tingling pleasure cascading through every inch of her body. Her eager willing responsiveness fired him, deepening his kisses and caresses.
Marian's soft moans of pleasure were cut short, when a crisp knock rapped upon their door, and the sound of Thornton, clearing his throat in the hallway, mortified her.
"Pardon me, Master Robin," the old servant was saying. "Matilda is here, and wishes to see you and Her Ladyship."
"Thank you," Robin answered politely, keeping the disappointment out of his voice. "Give us a moment, and we'll be down."
"Begging your pardon, Master," Thornton continued, clearing his throat again, as if it negated any bad news. "But she's coming up the stairs now. No! You cannot go in there!"
"Did you lock the door?" Marian asked Robin, breathlessly.
Before he could answer, or move to grab his robe or even a towel, the door was flung open, and Matilda appeared in the door frame, hands on hips, shaking her head and clicking her tongue at the young lovers.