both.”
Maire swallowed a startled gasp. She wondered if the battle paint had worn away enough to reveal the scarlet tide she felt burning her scalp. Crom take the man, he was a veritable mockingbird of thinly veiled affront to her, his conqueror and the queen of Gleannmara!
“Aye, that it would—” she rallied, adding with a slashing look—“should I decide to share it with you.”
He let the challenge slide with a goading smile of satisfaction. One would think
he’d
won the day, not she. The daftnessthat led him to give away the battle was his weakness, not hers.
“Meanwhile, in the time it takes for our men to round up your tribute, I intend to rid myself of this battle grime and change into something suited to the voyage ahead. Would you care to join me, little queen?”
“And give you the chance to drown me? I think not.” What an absurd idea. The man was crazy as a swineherd to think she’d wallow in the same water as he.
“Never let it be said that I was ungallant to my future bride. I would willingly leave the heated bath for you and use the
frigidarium
instead.”
“No.” Maire gave no hint that she had no idea what a frigidarium was.
“Ah, I should have guessed your kind had an aversion to cleanliness. Do you know what a bath is?”
Maire’s temper bristled.
Her kind?
Her clansmen might be more barbaric than his farmers, but by the gods, they were not unclean, not as long as the gods provided nature’s own bathing pools. Some were even heated and blessed with healing powers, which was more than this man-made bath could boast.
“Of course I do. And I resent your overblown air of superiority. If you recall, it was I who won this battle, not you or your god.”
She turned to Rowan’s mother, who watched the exchange keenly.
“Aye, I’d have this bath after all, but with one of my clansmen as guard, lest there be any trickery to this.”
“Who knows?” Rowan remarked wryly. “Beneath all that filth, she might not be harsh on the eye at all.”
“Rowan, you go too far,” his mother gasped. She turned to Maire in apology. “Come, child. I’ll fetch the towels and attend you myself.”
“I need no attendant.” Maire’s gaze remained on Emrys’s face. “Stay on that course with me, Emrys, and what you see will be through blackened slits!”
With a decided swagger, she turned to follow Delwyn ap Emrys out of the room. And, lest the man decide to push his luck, she rested her hand on the hilt of her sword.
FIVE
B y the time the ship was ready to depart, Maire felt renewed by her surrender to the whim of a bath. And what a bath it had been! It was no large wooden tub in which to hunker down, with knees drawn to the chin so that the water reached one’s shoulders. This had been a small pool lined in beautiful, blue tiles and large enough for Maire to stretch out her full length. She’d done so gladly to wash the lime out of her hair with the pleasantly scented soap Lady Delwyn had left her.
On the walls of the room were paintings of frolicking sea nymphs and dolphins, but most marvelous was the manner in which the room was heated, not by a fire sooting up the beautiful walls and plastered ceiling as it did in her lodge, but by ductwork beneath the floor, which was fired by strange furnaces in another section of the house.
Maire fingered the equally fine material of the dress rolled beneath her arm, as if to remind herself that the experience had been real and not a dream. The garment had been given to her by Delwyn ap Emrys to put on after her bath. Adorned with gold and silver embroidery, it was more beautiful than any Maire had ever seen. But for the possibility of renewed battle on their retreat, she’d have donned it instead of her old clothes and fighting gear. Instead, she washed out the stain of battle from her tunic and wrung it as dry as she could before putting it back on.
Between disputes among their respective tribes and Rowan’s good-byes, there’d been an
Maire swallowed a startled gasp. She wondered if the battle paint had worn away enough to reveal the scarlet tide she felt burning her scalp. Crom take the man, he was a veritable mockingbird of thinly veiled affront to her, his conqueror and the queen of Gleannmara!
“Aye, that it would—” she rallied, adding with a slashing look—“should I decide to share it with you.”
He let the challenge slide with a goading smile of satisfaction. One would think
he’d
won the day, not she. The daftnessthat led him to give away the battle was his weakness, not hers.
“Meanwhile, in the time it takes for our men to round up your tribute, I intend to rid myself of this battle grime and change into something suited to the voyage ahead. Would you care to join me, little queen?”
“And give you the chance to drown me? I think not.” What an absurd idea. The man was crazy as a swineherd to think she’d wallow in the same water as he.
“Never let it be said that I was ungallant to my future bride. I would willingly leave the heated bath for you and use the
frigidarium
instead.”
“No.” Maire gave no hint that she had no idea what a frigidarium was.
“Ah, I should have guessed your kind had an aversion to cleanliness. Do you know what a bath is?”
Maire’s temper bristled.
Her kind?
Her clansmen might be more barbaric than his farmers, but by the gods, they were not unclean, not as long as the gods provided nature’s own bathing pools. Some were even heated and blessed with healing powers, which was more than this man-made bath could boast.
“Of course I do. And I resent your overblown air of superiority. If you recall, it was I who won this battle, not you or your god.”
She turned to Rowan’s mother, who watched the exchange keenly.
“Aye, I’d have this bath after all, but with one of my clansmen as guard, lest there be any trickery to this.”
“Who knows?” Rowan remarked wryly. “Beneath all that filth, she might not be harsh on the eye at all.”
“Rowan, you go too far,” his mother gasped. She turned to Maire in apology. “Come, child. I’ll fetch the towels and attend you myself.”
“I need no attendant.” Maire’s gaze remained on Emrys’s face. “Stay on that course with me, Emrys, and what you see will be through blackened slits!”
With a decided swagger, she turned to follow Delwyn ap Emrys out of the room. And, lest the man decide to push his luck, she rested her hand on the hilt of her sword.
FIVE
B y the time the ship was ready to depart, Maire felt renewed by her surrender to the whim of a bath. And what a bath it had been! It was no large wooden tub in which to hunker down, with knees drawn to the chin so that the water reached one’s shoulders. This had been a small pool lined in beautiful, blue tiles and large enough for Maire to stretch out her full length. She’d done so gladly to wash the lime out of her hair with the pleasantly scented soap Lady Delwyn had left her.
On the walls of the room were paintings of frolicking sea nymphs and dolphins, but most marvelous was the manner in which the room was heated, not by a fire sooting up the beautiful walls and plastered ceiling as it did in her lodge, but by ductwork beneath the floor, which was fired by strange furnaces in another section of the house.
Maire fingered the equally fine material of the dress rolled beneath her arm, as if to remind herself that the experience had been real and not a dream. The garment had been given to her by Delwyn ap Emrys to put on after her bath. Adorned with gold and silver embroidery, it was more beautiful than any Maire had ever seen. But for the possibility of renewed battle on their retreat, she’d have donned it instead of her old clothes and fighting gear. Instead, she washed out the stain of battle from her tunic and wrung it as dry as she could before putting it back on.
Between disputes among their respective tribes and Rowan’s good-byes, there’d been an
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