permit him to restraint her. She would throw herself in the cold sea, and swim to France, if that’s what it took.
Instead, Ragnor strung the rope up between two sturdy tent posts. He unfurled a bundle that lay next to the tub, shaking it out. It was a large cloak made of fur, lined on both the inside and out. She had never seen such a thing. He hung the fur robe over the rope, tied it with the belt, making a temporary curtain. He stepped to the other side to give her privacy.
Elizabeth hesitated. This was still highly improper in every way. Even if she weren’t pledged to the church, this man was not her lawful spouse, not even her betrothed. She barely knew him.
And he was a contemptible Viking.
Yet the bath looked heavenly. It had been five years since she had bathed in a tub. At the abbey, the only hygiene available was daily cold ablutions, between chilly stone stalls, in the undercroft of the convent. Occasionally, Elizabeth had snuck out in the wee hours of the morning, before dawn, to immerse herself in the frigid water of the River Aln. It had been invigorating, and it had gotten the job done, but there was nothing in the world like a long soak in a tub of hot water.
Mayhap it would not be so improper if she remained clothed...
Finally, she gave in to temptation. She doffed her cloak and kept her kirtle, then stepped into the water. What harm could possibly come from it if she was still wearing a dress? She wasn’t technically naked, she told herself, so truly nothing unseemly could occur at all. Except that she was alone with him. And he had kidnapped her.
And that he was the most virile and handsome man she had ever seen.
Shrugging off the feeling that she was hurling herself into a dangerous abyss, she sat down in the bathing tub, and laid back. Just as she expected, the hot, fragrant water was heavenly. Elizabeth closed her eyes and relaxed.
Inevitably, thoughts of Ragnor filled her mind. She recalled how he had kissed her, just before the feast, gently at first, and then with passion. She imagined herself kissing him back, touching his face, and running her hands though his hair. She twirled his downy locks through her fingers in her mind, feeling his lips on her breasts. Her body grew warm and restless, and an ache began to grow in her nether lands. She wanted to relieve it but she knew not how.
Agitated, she pulled her skirt up around her hips, feeling confined by the annoying, wet fabric.
“Sæbe?” Ragnor’s voice penetrated her vivid reverie.
His head peeked around the fur curtain, looking right at her shamelessly. His hand was extended, holding out a bar of soap.
Elizabeth gasped, and scrambled to cover herself. The water only barely came up to her armpits, and her breasts were floating like water lilies on the surface.
“Ragnor!” she squealed.
Her wet kirtle was all but transparent, and she knew he could see everything. For all the good it had done to conceal her, she should have disrobed completely. It was utterly useless.
He laughed, and held out the soap to her, just out of reach.
“Kom,” he teased. Come.
Elizabeth shook her head forcefully. Their eyes met.
“Kom, Elizaveta,” he coaxed.
Again, she declined.
He strolled towards her from behind the curtain, eyeing her body blatantly as he moved. He stopped directly next to the tub, slightly behind her. He knelt down close, leaning over her shoulder. Teasing, he held the soap in front of her, and she tried to grab it. She clutched at it frantically, but he held it away, smiling.
Finally, he dropped it.
Straight between her knees.
“Sorry,” he said in English, with a boyish shrug.
She knew he was anything but sorry. His eyes flashed mischievously.
Elizabeth groped between her legs, searching for the slippery soap, while at the same time, trying to cover bobbing breasts from his sight. The comical display only aroused Ragnor further. She was a lovely vision, a water nymph, a kelpie, or a captivating siren, he
Instead, Ragnor strung the rope up between two sturdy tent posts. He unfurled a bundle that lay next to the tub, shaking it out. It was a large cloak made of fur, lined on both the inside and out. She had never seen such a thing. He hung the fur robe over the rope, tied it with the belt, making a temporary curtain. He stepped to the other side to give her privacy.
Elizabeth hesitated. This was still highly improper in every way. Even if she weren’t pledged to the church, this man was not her lawful spouse, not even her betrothed. She barely knew him.
And he was a contemptible Viking.
Yet the bath looked heavenly. It had been five years since she had bathed in a tub. At the abbey, the only hygiene available was daily cold ablutions, between chilly stone stalls, in the undercroft of the convent. Occasionally, Elizabeth had snuck out in the wee hours of the morning, before dawn, to immerse herself in the frigid water of the River Aln. It had been invigorating, and it had gotten the job done, but there was nothing in the world like a long soak in a tub of hot water.
Mayhap it would not be so improper if she remained clothed...
Finally, she gave in to temptation. She doffed her cloak and kept her kirtle, then stepped into the water. What harm could possibly come from it if she was still wearing a dress? She wasn’t technically naked, she told herself, so truly nothing unseemly could occur at all. Except that she was alone with him. And he had kidnapped her.
And that he was the most virile and handsome man she had ever seen.
Shrugging off the feeling that she was hurling herself into a dangerous abyss, she sat down in the bathing tub, and laid back. Just as she expected, the hot, fragrant water was heavenly. Elizabeth closed her eyes and relaxed.
Inevitably, thoughts of Ragnor filled her mind. She recalled how he had kissed her, just before the feast, gently at first, and then with passion. She imagined herself kissing him back, touching his face, and running her hands though his hair. She twirled his downy locks through her fingers in her mind, feeling his lips on her breasts. Her body grew warm and restless, and an ache began to grow in her nether lands. She wanted to relieve it but she knew not how.
Agitated, she pulled her skirt up around her hips, feeling confined by the annoying, wet fabric.
“Sæbe?” Ragnor’s voice penetrated her vivid reverie.
His head peeked around the fur curtain, looking right at her shamelessly. His hand was extended, holding out a bar of soap.
Elizabeth gasped, and scrambled to cover herself. The water only barely came up to her armpits, and her breasts were floating like water lilies on the surface.
“Ragnor!” she squealed.
Her wet kirtle was all but transparent, and she knew he could see everything. For all the good it had done to conceal her, she should have disrobed completely. It was utterly useless.
He laughed, and held out the soap to her, just out of reach.
“Kom,” he teased. Come.
Elizabeth shook her head forcefully. Their eyes met.
“Kom, Elizaveta,” he coaxed.
Again, she declined.
He strolled towards her from behind the curtain, eyeing her body blatantly as he moved. He stopped directly next to the tub, slightly behind her. He knelt down close, leaning over her shoulder. Teasing, he held the soap in front of her, and she tried to grab it. She clutched at it frantically, but he held it away, smiling.
Finally, he dropped it.
Straight between her knees.
“Sorry,” he said in English, with a boyish shrug.
She knew he was anything but sorry. His eyes flashed mischievously.
Elizabeth groped between her legs, searching for the slippery soap, while at the same time, trying to cover bobbing breasts from his sight. The comical display only aroused Ragnor further. She was a lovely vision, a water nymph, a kelpie, or a captivating siren, he
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