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hard.
    “You must tell me if I hurt you.”
    His grunt made her laugh, for he left no doubt as to his thoughts on her ability to hurt him. She poured a bucket of water over his head to rinse him.
    She moved to the end of the tub and motioned for a leg to come out, and she ignored his muffled protest. She was delighted to find that his legs also were covered in short, dark hair.
    With the last leg done, she looked up at him, seeing an expression of contentment on his face, the muscles relaxed, his wet hair clinging closely to his head. She could not help but laugh, and he looked at her in surprise.
    “My father, my maids and your men walk about you on their toes, as if they fear you, yet I do not think you look so fearful at this moment. The Black Lion looks more like a drowned puppy.”
    Ranulf glared at her, but one corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “I cannot see how such a lovely lady as your mother was cursed with such a mannerless daughter. Now stop your fun of me and fetch that rinse water.”
    He stood up from the tub with his back to her, and she paused to look at his nude body, glistening with water, the firelight playing on the droplets that shadowed and highlighted the bronzed muscles.
    Ranulf cast a glance over his shoulder, questioning her long pause. In spite of her good intentions, she had soaked the entire front of the figure-molding tunic, leaving little to his imagination. He turned away quickly. “Lyonene, that water grows cold!”
    She did not seem to notice the unneeded sharpness in his tone, but quickly stood on the stool and poured water over his magnificent body. She turned away as he took one of the towels warming before the fire and did not look again until he stood before her clad in a brief loincloth.
    He smiled at her, teasingly. “I vow I have not been bathed so since my mother bore me. Are you sure you have not done this many times?”
    “Nay, only once.” The memory made her smile as she tried to control her laughter. “That time ended in such misfortune,” she said, putting her hand over her mouth, “that my father never again allowed me near when my mother helped with the bathing.”
    Ranulf sat down on a stool near the fire. He tried to keep his mind from her transparent dress, her eyes sparkling in amusement. He was acutely aware that they were alone in the quiet little room. He knew he should dress and go to his men, but he could not. He could not yet cover his skin where she had touched him.
    “I would hear this story.”
    “It was in this very room when I was but ten and two.”
    “A great time ago, I am sure.”
    She ignored his sarcasm with dignity. “An old knight came to visit my father, and I thought him to be a silly man who often asked me to sit upon his knee.” She did not see Ranulf’s frown. “He wore a beret with a great red feather that curled about the top of his head and moved when he talked, which he did continuously.
    “I often came in here to play and escape him. One morn I brought my new tiercel with me and also my puppy. We played for awhile, but then Lucy called me to help her at some task, I left my hawk and puppy behind. When I returned, my mother was here helping the old man to bathe. I did not see my animals, but thought my mother had shooed them from the room.
    “Below stairs, Gressy and the cook began a terrible battle and my mother left the room, telling me to finish the bath.”
    “Just as today,” Ranulf added.
    She looked at his near-nude body, the power and strength of it obvious, leashed for this moment only, and thought there was little resemblance between the two men.
    “Everything happened at once. I walked to the fire for a moment and the old knight jumped from the tub and started to pull on his braies. He made a lunge for me, the tie string broke, the breeches fell to his ankles and he tripped on them, landing face down on the rushes. My hawk screamed and my puppy ran from the shadows, making a leap for the red-feathered