Lady Of The Knight
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In answer he kicked her rags toward the closed tent flap.
She gripped the rim of the tub. Water sloshed over the side onto the rug. “Hold, my lord! Tis all I have in this world.”
Andrew gave them another kick. “Good!”
Just then something within their folds crunched under his heel. Rosie gasped and started to rise.
Andrew pointed at her. “Sit back down and soak!” he ordered in the same tone of voice he had often used on the Cavendish brothers when they had been his pages.
He lifted his foot and examined the bottom of his shoe. Blood dripped onto the clothing. More blood stained Rosie’s sorry excuse of a skirt. A grin threatened the corners of Andrew’s mouth. An old bawd’s trick! So much for the proof of his sworn virgin. Assuming an expression of innocent surprise, he glanced at Rosie. She had turned white under the layer of dirt. He shook his foot. A few crimson droplets spattered onto the rug. “Od’s bodkins, my sweet. What do you suppose I have stepped on?”
Rosie ran the tip of her pink tongue across her top lip in the most enticing manner. “Methinks ye have killed a monstrous fat beetle, my lord, and ye had best keep an eye on your bedding in case there are more.”
Andrew chuckled and silently applauded Rosie’s quick thinking. She would have to use those clever wits in the near future if he was going to successfully pass her off as a lady.
Aloud he remarked, “Aye, my very thought indeed, Rosie. I will instruct Jeremy to henceforth wield his broom with a vengeance.” He wiped his shoe on her shift, then kicked the lot under the flap. “Ho there! Timothy!” he called to one of his young servants who hovered outside the tent. “Burn those at once and mind you—there may be a large dead beetle within.”
Rosie sloshed more water onto the rug as she started to stand up again. Her pallor had now changed to bright red and her eyes glowed with green fire. “What right have ye got to destroy my things?”
Andrew crossed to the tub in two strides and pushed her back into the water. Then he knelt behind her and whispered into her ear, “You are mine, Mistress Rosie. I own you for as long as I please.”
She opened her mouth to say something but stopped when she saw him lathering his hands with soap. With a snort, she turned away from him. Pleased with his command of the situation, Andrew hummed a little ballad under his breath as he scrubbed her neck and shoulders. Rosie said nothing, but his fingers felt the tension in her muscles. Despite the heat of the water and the warmth inside the pavilion, she trembled.
Rinsing her back, he saw a number of purple bruises staining her fair skin. He touched one place lightly and gritted his teeth when she flinched. His mind clouded with anger at the sight of her mistreatment.
He massaged the back of her neck as if she were a child. “Rosie, who did this villainy to you?”
She would not look at him. “Tis nothing, my lord,” she snapped. “Are ye going to do it now with me all soaped up like a greased pig?”
Andrew sighed, and added more oil of roses to the bath water. “Nay, Rosie. I am not going to do anything to you but wash the grime of the ages out of your sweet skin. But, by the rood, I will punish the foul knave who did this piece of mischief. I warrant twas that whoremonger who sold you to me. I will slit the villain’s nose.”
Rosie hung her head, but said nothing.
He scrubbed one of her arms with a small brush. “That vermin is nothing to you now. You need not fear him.”
“Humph!” she retorted. “Tis easy enough for you to say. You do not have to face Quince in the morning.”
“Neither do you, sweetheart,” he murmured softly.
Slowly, she turned around. A sheen of tears filmed over her eyes. Andrew almost kissed away those bitter drops, but he checked himself in time. It would only reinforce her mistrust if he had.
“How now?” she jeered. “Is this another one of your tricks to drive me mad? I pray ye, do not jest with kind words.”
Andrew dipped a soft cloth into the water, soaped it, then gently held her chin between his thumb and forefinger while he washed her face. “I swear a solemn oath upon my word as a knight—oh, aye, Rosie, for all my fripperies and silvered hairs, I am a true swordsman—I swear that I do not make sport of you.”
Her lips hardened into a thin line. “That is a pretty promise, my lord, and as solid as smoke.”
He tenderly wiped the soap suds from her cheeks. “Mark me well, Rosie. I paid enough money for you to last a lifetime—both yours and mine. As of this night, you are bound to no man but me. You will never return to that abominable villain again, I promise.”
She stared at him searching to find a falsehood in his eyes. Then she wrinkled her nose. “I will believe you when pigs sprout wings, my lord.”
He chuckled. “You never can tell, my dear. Pigs are uncommonly intelligent. Sometimes they surprise us.”
Rosie almost smiled. Andrew yearned to kiss her lips, but the voice of prudence warned him in time. This girl was a skittish colt. He knew he must exercise great restraint and patience to win her trust, especially if he wanted her cooperation to turn her into a lady within twelve days. He picked up a jug from the floor.
“Bend over and close your eyes,” he instructed.
Rosie’s expression immediately hardened. “A blister on that sweet tongue! I spy your deceit, my lord. First you make me half believe you, then you show your true colors!”
Her sudden mood swing caught Andrew off guard. “’Sblood, Rosie, what brought on this tempest of fury?”
She glared at him. “Myself, my lord! Ye tell me that I should not fear ye, then, in your very next breath, ye tell me to bend over and close my eyes while you use me like a dog. I am a puling fool to have believed your honey words!”
Andrew beseeched heaven for patience. He sat back on his heels and held up the jug for her inspection. “I must wash your hair, Rosie, or else the whole bath will be for naught. I merely asked you to bend your head over so you will not get soap in your eyes.”