Entreat Me by Grace Draven

as if she held the worst of all secrets and was about to reveal them to the worst of all listeners—her sister.  He was right.  As soon as she bathed the grime off her skin and out of her hair, she intended to describe every detail regarding her confrontation with Ballard de Sauveterre to Cinnia.
    “Has Cinnia seen him like this?”
    Gavin shook his head.  “No.  What will you tell her?”
    “Everything.  She needs to know why he’s locked in a cell—that it’s more than angry cries and a few days out of sight below the buttery because the roasted capon didn’t agree with him.  She may wish to leave. She may wish to stay, but she’ll make that decision knowing what resides here.”
    Gavin gave a defeated sigh.  “I can’t fault you for trying to protect her.”
    “I can.” Ambrose glared at Gavin.  “I still don’t know why we opened the gate to this shrew.”
    “Not an issue if your precious lordling here hadn’t absconded with my sister!”
    “Enough!”  Gavin’s command made the two foes start.  “We’ll resolve this upstairs.”  His nose wrinkled.  “Mistress, you’ll want a bath before you visit anybody.  I’ll meet you both in the hall to break our fast, and we’ll hash this out between us.”
    Louvaen nodded, still shaken from her encounter with the master of Ketach Tor and sick to death of arguing with every person she encountered in this cursed place.  She took her pistol back from Ambrose and climbed the stairs two at a time.
    She found the housekeeper in the kitchen serving a groggy Cinnia a cup of ale at the table.  Magda backed away while Cinnia covered her nose and mouth with her hand and spoke through her fingers.  “Sweet mother of night, what happened to you?  You smell like you’ve been sleeping with the swine.”
    “I’ll tell you in a minute.”  She placed the flintlock on the table and clasped her hands together in a semblance of prayer.  “Please, Magda.  A basin of hot water and a cake of soap, and I will be your servant forever.”
    The older woman laughed.  “Too bad all help doesn’t come so cheap.”  She gestured to a small alcove off the hearth.  “Get yourself into that corner.  You can bathe in the kitchen.  It’s the warmest room.  We’ll bring out a screen for privacy.”
    She eyed Louvaen curiously.  “You’re a right mess, and I keep the buttery tidy.”  Her features stilled.  “Where were you?”  The question was rhetorical, the answer reflected in Magda’s eyes.
    “Introducing myself to your master.”  Louvaen marched to one of the sinks where Clarimond waited to pour a pitcher of icy water over her filthy hands.  She gasped at the sensation of cold fire spilling between her fingers.  “Gavin or Ambrose will likely call for your help soon.  I think I broke his lordship’s nose.”
    Clarimond’s grip slipped on the pitcher.  Water splashed across Louvaen’s night rail, soaking her to the skin.  Cinnia nearly dropped her cup in her lap.  “Oh, Lou, how could you?”
    Dripping wet and freezing, Louvaen scowled.  Magda’s guffaw deepened the scowl, but she stayed quiet.  As the woman in possession of soap and hot water, the housekeeper held all the power here, and Louvaen knew how to pick her battles.
    The two servant girls set up the screens; Cinnia volunteered to bring a change of clothes from her room while Magda whisked away her ruined garb with a disapproving cluck.  They left Louvaen to ladle warm water out of the large pot at her feet and wash off the grime from the cell.  Her hair had taken the worst of it, and she scrubbed her scalp until it burned.  She was in the midst of wringing the excess water out of the wet locks when she heard heavy footsteps and Magda’s warning command.
    “Keep walking.  I’ve a lady at bath and don’t need you hanging about getting in the way.”
    Gavin’s voice drifted to her.  “Father needs—”
    “Aye, I know.  I’ll check on Hisself in a moment.