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rooms.”
    Fitzhugh allowed him to proceed into the room where he was greeted by a small army of servants awaiting his arrival. The room was sumptuously furnished with tapestries on the walls and several thick rugs spread around the room. In spite of it being summer, a fire burned brightly in the hearth, taking the chill from the room. A large metal tub, larger than most hehad seen or been in, sat before the fire, its contents releasing wafts of steam into the room.
    A young maid rushed forward and placed a cup in his hands. Another busied herself opening his meager baggage, which had been delivered in advance of his arrival. An older, stouter woman stood waiting next to the tub. Fitzhugh cleared his throat and all of the servants stopped their activities and looked to him for direction.
    “Let us give the count some measure of privacy for his bath. You can finish your work later.” And with a wave of his hand and a flurry of movement to the door, Fitzhugh and the servants were gone. Except for one.
    Christian drank the wine without tasting it, for the appeal of the bath held his attention. He walked across the large room and sat on a chair to remove his leather bindings and shoes.
    “Would you prefer me to leave, milord, or give you some assistance in your bath?” The voice did not match the woman, for it was softer and lighter than he expected for one of her large size. In a way, it held a resemblance to his own mother’s voice with its melodic soft tones.
    “Your name?”
    “Alyce, milord,” she answered, dipping into a slight curtsy and bowing her head.
    “You would help me by setting out all I need within reach of the tub and then you may go.”
    Christian could not bear the thought of someone, even a servant, witnessing what months of imprisonment had wrought on his body. His gaunt appearance was one thing he could not hide, but the sores and scabs were his own private hell.
    “Very well, milord.” Alyce moved with an efficiency that once more surprised him and in a few moments had arranged the bowl of soap, the linens and extra buckets of hot and cold water exactly as he had requested. She walked toward him and stopped with her arms outstretched. “If you will give me your clothes, I will have them washed for you, milord.”
    Christian thought to refuse but changed his mind. His baggage was light, for he had brought few clothes with him. Cleaning these would be necessary. He nodded and turned his back to strip out of them. When he glanced in her direction, Alyce was standing near him, but her gaze was trained on the door across the room.
    Feeling some comfort in her impersonal manner, he quickly removed his belt, tunic and undershirt. He rolled his stockings down and peeled them off his sweaty feet. Grimacing at the stench permeating them, he rolled them into a ball and held them out to Alyce. She took them without comment or glance and walked away from him toward the door. Still not moving from the chair, he waited for her to leave so he could enter the blessed bath in front of him.
    “Milord?” she called from the door.
    “Oui?” He answered in his native tongue without thought. “Yes?” he repeated to her in hers.
    “Milady has an ointment that could help your injuries.”
    Shame poured over him as he realized she’d seen his body after all. Did she know how he had come by these injuries? He prayed not; he prayed the queen had not shared his disgrace, his dishonor with all involved in this endeavor. A lump blocked his ability to answer her offer, although any medicament that could take away the pain and itching from his sores would be welcome.
    “I will return anon with it and you may try it if youwish.” Alyce did not wait for his response. He wondered if she could tell he could not answer even if he wanted to. He cleared his throat several times until he could speak.
    “Alyce?”
    “Aye, milord,” she answered without turning to him.
    “Leave the door ajar.”
    “Milord?” This time she