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father’s stables boast a bloodline coveted by kings and emperors. But more, since my great-grandfather’s time, Rossmoor has traded vigorously with the Easterners.” She smiled. “And the Vikings. ’Tis how he acquired my great-grandmother Signund.”
    “He traded for her?”
    “Not quite. He borrowed her with no intention of returning her.”
    “Did not her father demand payment for a stolen daughter?”
    Isabel laughed. She felt his body tense at the sound but continued to run the linen across his chest into a rich lather. “Nay, he stole her from a beached dragon ship laden with Danegold. He fled with her and the treasure, saying it was dower money, since he had no use for Nordic lands. He built Rossmoor with his angry in-laws in mind. Until your arrival, this hall has not been breached.”
    Rohan took the opportunity to remind her of their arrangement. “Aye, and I wager your thighs have not been breached, either.”
    Isabel sat back and glared at him. “Sir, I am a lady gentle born. Could you not curb your crudeness?”
    He shrugged. “’Tis what I am. Crude.”
    “Does not make it right. If you know these things are offensive, then why not work to change them?”
    Rohan sat up in the tub and turned his back to her. “I tire of this conversation. Finish the bath so that I may join my men and hear less waspish words.”
    Isabel lathered up the linen and scrubbed his wide back. “I am not waspish.”
    “I said your words were. There is a difference.”
    From his anxious movements, Isabel knew he was eager to be gone from the tub. Quickly, she rinsed him. As he stood, she wrapped him in a linen towel. He took it from her hands and tied it around his waist. He looked up at the colorful banners adorning the high walls bearing her father’s standard. A golden hawk clutching a Viking ax.
    “Have these banners bearing your father’s coat of arms removed from these walls. And move your possessions in here.”
    Did he say to move her belongings to this room? “But—”
    He turned to face her. “Your sire is no longer lord here.”
    “Should he swear to the duke?”
    “William has no trust of you warring Saxons. He would put his own men, men he can trust, in the power positions.”
    “What of my brother? He could wed with a Norman. ’Tis what my father did.”
    Rohan smiled and continued to dry himself. The damp linen clung to his muscular body. Isabel kept her eyes pinned to a spot on the wall behind him. Twice now she had almost dared to look at his full front. “That would explain your knowledge of my tongue.”
    “I have people in Normandy. Would that they knew a bastard claims their kin’s land they would surely raise arms against you! I will petition William myself for leniency.”
    “Feel free, damsel, but you will lose.” He dropped the damp cloth to the floor, and lord forgive her, but she could not help the drop of her gaze to what made him a man. She stepped back and pressed her hand to her mouth. Even dormant as it was, it was manlier than those she had seen before. And she had seen plenty. Not that she chose to, but as the lady of the manor, she had bathed dozens of men over the years, and more than a few had made it difficult for her not to look.
    This man stood in all of his naked glory before her like a bronze statue of a mythical god. Her mouth went dry. She backed away toward the door. “Sir knight, I beg to be excused. The servants await my commands for setting the feast.”
    She didn’t wait for him to give permission. Isabel threw the bolt and hurried through the doorway, never looking back.
    To her surprise and disappointment, the hall was filled with many of Rohan’s men. The others, she was sure, were out patrolling the land’s edge. Deep voices rose to the rafters, and from the looks of it, someone had discovered the wine cellar. Several barrels of Aquitaine wine that were set aside for only the most special occasions had been tapped. ’Tis a celebration, Isabel thought