In the Warrior’s Bed by Mary Wine Page A

fingers down a portion of it, two tears escaped her eyes. No bridegroom would ever see her with her hair unbound. Somehow, knowing that was a hard fact, made it hurt. Perhaps she had been guarding a secret bit of hope that she might in fact marry, but now that was gone. Swept away by her own father’s powerful hand. And there were girls who lamented the fact they were not born the daughter of a laird.
    What was…was.
    Reaching for her small bundle of belongings, she found her clean chemise and stockings. Clean skin would be nice. Maybe she would even sleep after her bath. Opening her door, she peered into the hallway. She listened for the creaking of the wood floor but all was silent. Using soft steps, she headed toward the back stairs that the servants used to bring food up from the kitchens. They were narrow and dark with only two tin lanterns set to light them. There wasn’t even a door at the bottom; the steps simply ended in the kitchen.
    Two maids were sitting at a small table. Their voices were soft while they chatted. One worked a lump of pastry dough while the other chopped leeks. They both stood as she entered.
    “Evening, ma’am.”
    Only the older one spoke, the younger maid watching, her fingers gone still on the pastry.
    “I thought to bathe.”
    The younger girl dusted her hands off using her apron. She turned and pushed the iron bar that held large caldrons inside the fire pit over the flames. There was a faint sizzle as water that had been dripping down the side of the copper caldron connected with the heat of the fire.
    “Shall I build up the fire?”
    Bronwyn shook her head. The glowing embers suited her mood. Besides, she did not want to call attention to where she was. Perhaps it was a small thing, but knowing she was not being watched felt better.
    “There is no need to waste wood.”
    The maid took her words kindly, thinking her a frugal woman. With winter due to encase the city in snow and ice any day, being wasteful for one’s comfort was unwise. She’d heard that many a noble daughter lingered in their baths while huge fires blazed to keep them toasty warm.
    That had never been her lifestyle.
    But that was not something to lament. She was strong and sturdy. Her hands added to the good of everyone at Red Stone. The respect she had was respect well earned, not demanded like her brothers often did.
    There was a rush of water. Bronwyn turned to watch water running down a wooden trough and into the tub sitting near the door. The maid waited until the tub was half full and then quickly pushed a thick slab of wood across the trough where it went through a window. Outside there would be a large rain barrel set up at the roof level. It would catch rain water and gravity would allow it to flow into the tub when the wooden shingle was removed.
    It was quite a modern bathing convenience.
    Only the hot water needed to be added. Bronwyn set about removing her clothing as the fire heated the water. She laid aside her skirt, doublet, and stays. Next came her stockings and boots. Placing her brush on the table top she pulled a bar of soap from the store box.
    When the copper kettle was steaming, the maids dipped large ladles into it. They added enough hot water to raise the level of water by half a foot. Reaching for the hem of her chemise, she pulled her last garment off. The maids had returned to their work. Having them in the kitchen did not bother her; bathing was rarely private.
    Sitting down in the tub, she worked the soap across her skin. She was oddly aware of the smooth texture of the water. Her nipples were far more sensitive than she could recall them ever being. Her body felt alive with some sort of anticipation. It made no sense at all, but when she rinsed her hair, the water stroked her cheeks, sending little ripples of pleasure through her.
    When she stood up, the night air brushed across her nude body, but she wasn’t cold. She felt bold and free. A blush stung her cheeks and she reached for