queen laughed softly. ‘Your brother’s ambitions for your marriage stretch high, if that is what he believes. No, Lady Joan. You are Norman, like I am, and you know our customs well. I have given Ronan our hospitality, and we will grant him men to aid in his cause.’
Her reassurance eased Joan’s tensions somewhat. But she asked, ‘Then why have you brought me to his chamber?’
‘After the battle, Ronan asked for a hot bath. I would have asked one of my ladies to serve him, but I thought you might wish to do so. You could meet the prince and decide if your brothers should fight with him.’
It was the custom of noblewomen to help bathe their guests, and Joan understood that the queen was granting her the opportunity to learn more about Ronan Ó Callaghan for her brothers’ sake. ‘So long as you are not trying to set up a betrothal.’
The queen shook her head. ‘His family was trying to arrange a marriage to another king’s daughter from Tornall, from what I have heard.’
It felt as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders, and Joan could breathe again. ‘I am very glad to hear this.’
Queen Isabel smiled at her. ‘Go now, and see what you can learn for your brothers’ sake. You need not fear that we are arranging a marriage.’
Joan inclined her head and entered the chamber. Ronan was not inside, but the queen assured her that he would arrive shortly. The servants had already filled the tub with hot water, and Joan busied herself by arranging the soap and all that she would need.
Knowing that this man was merely a guest and nothing more eased all the tension from her mood. She had tended many visitors in her father’s castle over the years, and this man would be no different.
After a time, the door opened and Ronan stood at the threshold. He was a tall man, and she guessed that the top of her head came to his chin. His chainmail armour was covered in blood and would need to be cleaned. Beneath the shadows of his green eyes, she saw weariness and strain. His blond hair was matted, and she wondered what it would feel like to touch his unshaved cheeks. She could not deny that he was attractive, and she forced a calm smile on her face.
From the wry expression, it seemed that he, too, believed others were trying to make a match between them. He spoke in Irish at first, and she shook her head, for she did not understand his words. Then he drew closer and spoke in the Norman language, ‘Did your brothers arrange this?’
She shook her head. ‘The queen did.’ With a light shrug, she said, ‘But I am here to tend your bath, nothing more.’
He stared at her for a moment, as if he wasn’t certain whether to believe her. She met his gaze frankly, for what did she have to hide?
At last, he asked, ‘Will you help me with my armour?’
‘Of course.’ She aided him in removing his outer tunic, followed by the heavy hauberk. The weight of the chainmail was staggering, but she laid it carefully on the floor, along with the tunic. ‘I can arrange for a servant to clean it for you tonight, if you like.’ The sight of the dried blood was sobering, for she realised the extent of the fighting he had endured.
‘Thank you. I am Ronan Ó Callaghan,’ he said.
‘I am Joan de Laurent. You met my meddling brothers, Rhys and Warrick, not long ago.’ She smiled at the prince, not wanting him to be ill at ease around her—especially when she had no intention of following her brothers’ wishes. ‘Pay them no heed.’
He nodded and stripped off his remaining armour until he stood only in his trews. Joan kept her gaze upon the floor and took the rest of the heavy chainmail, averting her gaze as he stepped into the tub of water. When she was certain he was covered, she turned around.
A strange flush suffused her cheeks at the sight of him. His broad shoulders were exposed in the narrow tub, and he was heavily muscled. Water droplets slid over his bare skin, and she felt a strange ache within her body. So very odd.
‘Is the water warm enough?’ she asked.
‘It is.’ He reached for a cake of soap, but she took it first and dipped her hands in the water, lathering it. The Irish prince was silent while she moved behind him and washed his back. He flinched slightly when she scrubbed away the dirt with a linen rag. It was a task she had done for many of her family’s guests, a common courtesy.
Yet, somehow, with this man, it seemed different. She was conscious of his bare skin and the touch of her hands over the firm male flesh. With her hands, she scooped water over the soap and rinsed it away, following the path with her hands.
‘Were you wounded in the battle?’ She didn’t want to inadvertently hurt him by touching a sensitive place.
But he only shook his head. ‘Nothing serious. Only a few bruises.’
Joan tried to behave as if he were an ordinary visitor, but the truth was, she did find him attractive. He was nothing like other visitors she had tended in the past. Not only was he handsome, but his body appeared hewn from stone with its hardened muscle.
Her cheeks burned with the flush of interest. If he had been her first betrothal, she would have been quite pleased about him claiming her innocence. She liked what she saw, and the very thought of a man like this touching her made her feel breathless. Suddenly, she was beginning to understand the teasing remarks she had overheard by other women in the past. Washing this man made her own skin tighten with anticipation, and she became more aware of him.
‘You must be weary after this journey,’ she said. ‘It looks as if you rode here straight from the battlefield.’
‘I did,’ he admitted. ‘It took two days to reach Laochre.’
Her heart softened at the realisation that Ronan had sacrificed everything to reach the MacEgans quickly. It was evident that he’d gone without sleep and food until now, hoping to help his people. He was a man of honour, and she admired his inner strength.
Ronan was so quiet, it seemed that his thoughts were troubling him. She helped him lean back, and she filled a pitcher with warmed water, pouring it over his hair. It was a strangely intimate task, and the air grew heated as she lathered soap into his hair. He closed his eyes and relaxed against the tub. Joan found herself staring at his muscled arms and the way the water slid over the hardened planes.
She could almost imagine herself kissing this man, feeling his arms around her. A sudden aching caught her between her legs, stirrings of an unfamiliar desire. She didn’t understand these feelings, but her breasts tightened beneath her gown.
To distract herself, she rinsed the soap from his hair. Ronan opened his eyes and caught her gaze.
‘You have a soothing touch, my lady.’
All words fled her brain, and she managed only a nod. His green eyes stared into hers, and she found herself fascinated by his mouth. She forced her attention back to the soap in her hands. ‘I—I was sorry to hear that your father is now a captive.’
Ronan’s expression turned grim. ‘He is. But not for long, I hope.’
She knew he needed an army to help him fight, and she understood that this was not a king’s son who remained behind stone walls while his men fought to defend the Kingdom. This man would venture into battle with no fear, only aggression. His bloodstained
