her nostrils all through dinner last night.
Her gaze returned to the transformed bed. What would it be like to sleep on such a soft thing, to sink into its depths and be as warm and snug as a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes?
Pressing her lips together, she reminded herself that she wasn’t a baby, but a woman.
Skirting the carpet, Aileas went toward the table and caught that now familiar scent. She set down the linen on the stool and picked up something wrapped in a piece of cloth from which the scent seemed to emanate. She unwrapped the cloth to discover a small piece of scented soap, then lifted it to her nose. Yes, that was what he had smelled like last night, when he was beside her. He must have used this soap when he bathed. It had glided all over his naked, wet body....
She dropped the soap as if it were one of the hot coals from the brazier. Suddenly anxious to get out of this sinfully luxurious den of iniquity, she quickly wrapped the soap again, all the while trying not to actually touch it.
Then, from outside the tower, she heard shouts of encouragement and the familiar clang of sword on sword.
Practice time in the inner ward. She would go there and tell her father what she had seen.
She was quite sure he would share her less-than-flattering opinion of a man who surrounded himself with such opulent decadence:
Even if he did smell most pleasant.
Unfortunately, Sir Thomas was not in attendance at the sword practice today, as Aileas realized the moment she rounded the corner and saw the men in the inner ward. Cheering encouragement, they had gathered around two combatants circling each other.
A practice engagement. Her father allowed such things, for while it was enjoyable for the men watching, they also learned by example. A wry smile grew on her face, for she knew the soldiers well enough to guess that several wagers had probably already been made, as well.
Curious and wondering who she would bet on to win if she possessed any money, she ventured forward. The men who noticed her moved aside, until she could see who was fighting.
It was Rufus, stripped to the waist and sweating profusely, and an astonishingly composed, half-naked Sir George, whose well-made leather breeches clung to him like a second skin, although Aileas would have been hard-pressed to find any evidence of sweat on his body.
It was a surprisingly good body, too. Whoever would have guessed that beneath the sumptuous clothing were such broad, muscular shoulders, lean, sinewy arms, narrow waist and long, strong legs? He had to be stronger and in better condition than she had suspected, too, for while Rufus was panting and glazed with perspiration, Sir George didn’t even look winded.
She also noticed that he made Rufus, who lifted a broadsword as another man would a dagger and who usually dispatched his opponents in minutes, look clumsy and sluggish. It didn’t take her long to see why.
Sir George was so light on his feet, it was almost as if he were dancing with Rufus, not waiting for him to strike. When Rufus did bring down his weapon. Sir George was no longer where he had been moments before, but someplace else.
When Sir George lifted his own sword, he did so with a strength and dexterity Aileas would never have suspected he possessed. Then he grinned with what looked like amusement and swiftly moved away again with lithe, graceful steps.
He was a far better warrior than she ever would have given him credit for.
She came a little closer and watched more carefully to see that she hadn’t been quite correct in her appraisal of Sir George’s expression, for while a smile constantly lurked about his lips, there was a gleam of competitive determination in his eyes.
So, he did care if he triumphed or not, even if he masked his feelings very well—unlike Rufus, who at that very moment gave a shout of annoyed frustration and charged like a bear with a bur in its paw. As he swung wildly, Sir George twisted abruptly and stuck out his foot, an intricate maneuver that sent Rufus sprawling in the dirt.
Before he could get up, Sir George sheathed his sword and held out his hand to assist his opponent to his feet.
“I don’t want your help,” Rufus grumbled, staggering slowly upright. “Where did you learn that?”
“A friend of my father’s taught me. Urien Fitzroy—perhaps you’ve heard of him?” Sir George replied with a smile and elegant shrug of his broad shoulders. “An amazing fellow and quite a teacher, I assure you.”
Rufus grunted his acceptance of Sir George’s appraisal.
Then Sir George caught sight of her.
“Lady Aileas!” he cried with what seemed genuine pleasure. “I didn’t expect—” He glanced down self-consciously. “Excuse me,” he muttered as he immediately went to retrieve his tunic.
“Aileas, did you get a look at that move?” Rufus demanded, panting, not a whit embarrassed by his half-naked state.
And why should he be? Aileas asked herself. She had watched him, and every other soldier here, practice similarly attired, or unattired, a thousand times. Besides, she had six older brothers, so surely she should be acquainted with the male body.
But why would Rufus not look directly at her?
“Show me how you did that,” Rufus ordered, turning toward Sir George again without waiting for her to reply.
Sir George, now wearing his tunic, sauntered toward them, his sheathed sword and finely worked leather sword belt held loosely in his hand.
“Forgive me for appearing so poorly dressed, my lady,” Sir George said when he joined them. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I should wash.”
Aileas tried not to think about that soap. “In truth, I...I must not stay,” she stammered, “I...I only came to...” She couldn’t very well say she came to denounce Sir George’s lavish bedchamber to her father. “I came to see if you would all care for some refreshment.”
Rufus frowned. “It’s early yet.”
“Delightful suggestion,” Sir George replied. “Provided you will join us, my lady.” He raised his patrician eyebrows quizzically.
“We’re supposed to practice until noon,” Rufus reminded her.
Aileas colored, for he was quite right. Her father had very strict ideas about keeping to a regular training schedule.
Sir George gave Rufus a slightly condemning look. “It is very kind of her to offer refreshments to a guest. who surely is not bound by her father’s strictures regarding how he spends his day. And to tell the truth, I am extremely—” he paused and smiled ever so slowly “—thirsty.”
Aileas’s mouth went as dry as a riverbed in a drought under the force of his gaze. “I...I should have remembered before. I have to speak with the falconer. One of the pages can get you some wine. I’m sure you’ll find one in the hall. Or the kitchen. Just ask—” Aileas realized she was babbling and snapped her mouth shut before she made herself completely ridiculous. Mercifully, he stopped looking at her. She could think better when he wasn’t.
“So you
