Marian sighed and pushed back a thick lock of hair. Should she have done the same with his decision regarding traveling to the cathedral? It was just that she wasn’t used to anyone ordering her life, telling her where she could or couldn’t go. And she was beyond frustrated knowing the cathedral was less than a fifteen-minute car ride away, yet she had no way to get there.
There was still the possibility of sneaking out and walking to the cathedral by herself. But if Will had decided even riding with him would pose too many dangers, then was she really willing to take the chance alone?
Although she chafed under his overprotectiveness, the long night had given her plenty of time to think about her predicament and to conclude she was left with no choice but to trust him.
At a soft rap on the door, Marian’s pulse spurted forward, and she stood. After avoiding her the previous evening, had Will decided to seek her out? Did he miss her too?
The door opened a crack, and Sarah poked her head in. Upon seeing Marian, she opened the door further.
No Will again. Marian crossed her arms over her chest to ward off a chill filled with disappointment.
Sarah gave quiet instructions to someone behind her, and then before Marian realized what was happening, a kitchen boy carried in an enormous wooden tub followed by two strong men each hauling cauldrons of steaming water.
Marian stared in confusion as they dumped the hot water into the tub. After they departed, Sarah emptied two pitchers of what appeared to be cooler water into the wooden tub before motioning to Marian. “A bath, milady.”
“Oh, heavens above.” Marian’s skin was already tingling in anticipation. After ten days of nothing but sponge baths, the thought of immersing her entire body into the water filled her with a sense of bliss.
“Sir William ordered it brought up for you.”
Will had done this for her? In spite of their argument? Tears sprang to her eyes.
Watching her reaction, Sarah smiled. “He may be stubborn, milady. But he will love you to his dying breath.”
Marian had to swallow hard to dislodge the tight lump in her throat. “Where is he now?”
“Readying to leave.”
Her heart gave an erratic thump. “He’s leaving? Where’s he going?”
“He did not say, milady.”
To Canterbury. Marian glanced at the bedside table. The leather pouch where she’d stowed the ampullae was gone. Will had crept in or had one of the servants retrieve it for him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t see the note she’d penned to her dad, warning him of his impending death. The note was carefully wrapped along with the ampullae in layers of an old blanket. If he did read it, what would he think? Whatever the case, she was relieved he was willing to carry the ampullae to the crypt.
“Has he left yet?” Marian crossed to the door, anxious to see him, to thank him, to bridge the rift that had opened up between them.
Sarah glanced out the window. “Not yet.”
Marian slipped into the hallway and ran toward the stairs that would lead to the great hall. Thankfully, Sarah made no move to stop her. Only when Marian started down the steep steps did she realize she was barefoot and donned in her thin nightshift. For only a second, she considered returning to her room for a cloak, but at the sound of Will’s voice below, she made her feet move faster.
In the entryway, she caught sight of him through the arched doorway striding toward a waiting horse. “Will. Wait.”
He stopped and circled around. His expression was grim, his eyes ringed underneath with dark circles, and his lips pressed into a hard line. Yet he was ruggedly handsome, more so with each passing day she was with him.
She had an overwhelming urge to fling herself into his arms and to kiss him and tell him she loved him. But surely she didn’t love him and was only grateful for his kindness. She stopped short and stared at him, suddenly mute.
He seemed to be resisting meeting her gaze, looking slightly beyond her for a long minute. When he finally dropped his sights and looked into her eyes, his anger was gone. Yes, his determination was still there. He still had no intention of letting her go with him, no matter what other tantrums she threw. But he wasn’t upset at her.
“The bath,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
He nodded and gave a slight bow. Then he spun and continued striding toward his squires already atop their steeds and a groomsman who held the reins of his horse.
She wanted more than a nod and a bow. And she wanted to give him more than a thank-you. Before she lost courage, she bolted after him and wrapped her fingers around his bicep. “Will?”
He froze.
His name on her lips was an invitation. For a second she was afraid he might reject it. Then he slowly pivoted, and when he was facing her again, she launched herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing into him as though it might be the last time she’d see him.
His arms closed around her fiercely then, without hesitation. And he pressed his face into her long, wild hair.
She breathed in his woodsy scent. This was where she wanted to be, in a place she never wanted to leave. Against him. In his arms. With his strength and life pulsing around her.
Love burned through her. The words pushed for release. How was it possible to love this man already?
His arms slackened, and he began to pull away.
She clung to him and lifted her face to his. It was another invitation, and he read it well. He angled down and seized her lips, like a warrior laying claim to his prize. His kiss was powerful and spoke to her—saying all the things he couldn’t—that he cherished her, wanted her, and would do anything for her.
He broke the kiss as forcefully as he started it, swung up on his mount, and rode away without looking back.
She watched him until he disappeared. Only then did she tremble. It came from deep within—a trembling that warned she was heading toward disaster and that if she didn’t stop herself from falling in love with William Durham, she would be the cause of untold tragedy.
* * *
Marian sat in the tub until her skin wrinkled. The water, steeped with thyme, was soothing. And the soap, unlike the hard modern bar, was soft and oily and scented with musk and cloves.
She was embarrassed to have Sarah in the room with her while she was naked, and at first turned down the offer to wash her hair. But once Marian started the process, she found it was cumbersome in the small tub, and having Sarah’s assistance was essential, especially for the rinsing process.
Sarah seemed to think nothing of the awkward situation, helping Marian dry off and then assisting her into a gown, this one an emerald green that was as soft as velvet and flowed like a summer brook.
Marian still couldn’t get used to not wearing undergarments. What did women do when they had their periods? How in the world did they manage without underwear and adhesive pads?
Even though, hopefully, her period would hold off until she returned to the present, she brought up the question to Sarah as the young servant ran a comb through her hair. “What would happen if I began to menstruate?”
Sarah paused, the comb deep in Marian’s thick wet hair. “Menses? Do you mean your courses?”
Marian nodded. She was getting better at using medieval words but still had much to learn.
Sarah gently pulled the comb the rest of the way through Marian’s hair before answering, clearly choosing her words carefully. “Do you suspect the master’s babe already grows inside you?”